Page 5 of In Italy for Love

‘You think they hate me?’

She nearly swallowed her tongue. ‘No! I meant… the doggy duet might not be to everyone’s taste.’

‘Unlike the accordion,’ he added with a wink. ‘His name’s Arco?’

She nodded.

‘He’s a sweet dog.’ He gave Arco one more rub before turning to retrieve his instrument.

Jules watched him amble away with that same sense of life rolling over her that she’d felt on the bridge. It was one of those moments where you had to rollwithit.

‘Um,’ she began inauspiciously, but he turned back, prompting her with a lift of his eyebrows. Then, if he’d had any remaining belief that she was normal, she dashed it with the sentence that flowed out of her foolish mouth: ‘Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?’

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Alex was so surprised by the question that an answer was beyond him. He hesitated for long enough that she turned away and muttered something under her breath, her face contorting into a grimace of embarrassment.

Opening his mouth, he still couldn’t decide what to say, as much as he wanted to reassure her that she shouldn’t be embarrassed. It was the first time a stranger had asked him out while he was playing accordion in the street, but it was also the first time a dog had spontaneously joined in with his act. Hewasflattered – which surprised him.

‘Forget it,’ she said before he could pull himself together and respond. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. You don’t know me from a bar of soap and I’m sure you have better things to do than have dinner with a tourist.’

Avoiding his gaze, she headed for the bridge, urging the reluctant Arco to follow her. She was a tall woman – well above average – with her hair pulled back in a short ponytail that didn’t quite contain it. Her jacket was frayed at the cuffs and her sneakers were worn. He had the impression of a person who’d been on the road a long time and just wanted to get home.

She was five steps away, moving swiftly with her chin in the air, when he finally reacted. ‘We have a ritual here in Friuli,’ he called after her, ‘called the “tajùt”.’

It was a strange way to begin accepting her invitation, but at least she turned her puzzled gaze back on him. ‘Does it involve an accordion? If so, I’m not sure I’m your girl for that.’

‘No, perhaps “ritual” is the wrong word. A habit? It’s a glass of wine, drunk in an osteria. This… important custom requires company.’

‘Ohhh,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s a cultural experience, is it? Not just a glass of wine in a bar?’

He responded to her doubtful smile with an earnest nod. ‘Wine is more than culture here. It’s life.’

‘And you will… donate your time for the sake of sharing the cultural richness of your home?’ Her accent was clear now – along with a dry sense of humour.

Alone with her dog, in her shabby clothes and with that tired air, she didn’t look like the usual sort of tourist that turned up in Cividale.

He acknowledged her teasing with a nod. ‘Have a drink with me. Three courses and coffee might be a risk, in case the accordion player bores you to death,’ he added.

‘Don’t feel obliged. It’s weird that I asked.’

‘It’s a little weird that I want to say yes.’ More than a little, but she didn’t need his life story. ‘There’s a bar near the ruins of the Roman baths. Seven o’clock?’

It was her turn to hesitate, but she gave him a slow nod, studying him with a puzzled brow. She had brown eyes, striking in contrast to her blonde hair. Her most prominent feature was probably her pointed chin.

‘See you… then,’ she said. Giving him a tight smile and an awkward wave, she took off over the bridge after the lively dog.

Alex watched her go, craning his neck to follow her progress back into the narrow lanes of the old town. Even though he wasn’t convinced she’d actually come, how soon could it be seven o’clock?

Surely she wasn’t coming.

Alex had told himself exactly that at least twenty times already, but part of him obviously didn’t believe it, since he’d returned home, showered and shaved and even spent ten minutes trying to tame the wave in his hair.

And now he was around the corner from the bar near the Roman baths, telling himself firmly that he didn’t believe she’d be there anyway, so it wouldn’t be a disappointment when it turned out to be true.

The outdoor tables still sat hopefully on the cobbles, even though the evening temperatures dropped after sundown in October. Only a pair of hardy smokers hunched under the awning and Salvino’s more sensible customers were inside by the hearth.

Of course she wouldn’t come. She hadn’t even told him her name and he was unreasonably irritated by his neglect of simple courtesy in not offering his. But perhaps she’d wanted a degree of anonymity. He could relate to that.

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