Page 69 of In Italy for Love

Alex glanced at the doctor in dismay. It seemed now even the town vet had worked out that he was an emotional wreck. Glancing at the door, he wondered what Jules was thinking.

‘Do you want to hold him?’ Dr Orsino asked.

‘He’s not normally the most affectionate cat,’ Alex said, but he did want to stroke the furball, reassure himself Attila was alive and there were no impossible decisions to be made tonight. ‘But are you serious, we can just take him home?’

‘I’ll check his temperature once more, but if he’s up and active and you can keep him warm, then he’ll do better at home.’The vet opened the box and the damp kitty had the audacity to leap to the floor.

Alex snatched him up, stroking one hand down his back and allowing the tears to prick afresh. They weren’t all happy tears, but it would be better to unpack his feelings at home, in the house he’d inherited from Laura – with Jules.

The storm was over by the time they left the veterinary practice and headed back, but there was hail strewn across the roads and Alex was chastened to realise that he barely remembered the drive there. It was a miracle he hadn’t crashed the car and caused more damage – or worse.

Jules held her hand out for the keys and he gave them to her. Only when she parked the car and hauled herself out did he realise she was still soaking wet.

Images from the incident at the creek flashed in his mind and his stomach clenched as though someone had punched him. Let her get inside and warm and dry and all the words would spew out of him and then she’d see more than she bargained for – she’d see who he was under the protective layers.

‘I’ll just have a shower,’ she said after hanging up her sopping jacket and giving the leaping and panting Arco a quelling stroke.

It took some effort to keep his jaw tightly shut and answer only with a grim nod. He found an old electric blanket and set it up in a pile on the windowsill in the kitchen, placing Attila on it to be well out of Arco’s reach. He struggled to look at the cat, seeing only scenarios of what could have happened, each more terrible than the last – or the terrible scenario that did happen: Jules wading into a rushing storm drain.

He was just wondering what to prepare for dinner when the doorbell rang and he opened the door to find Siore Cudrig standing behind an enormous saucepan.

‘Goulash,’ she said instead of a greeting. ‘I saw what she did, your… the girl.’

‘Jules,’ he supplied. ‘She saved his life.’

With a nod, his neighbour handed over the pot. ‘Goulash,’ she said again.

‘Graziis.’

She began to turn, then stopped and fixed him with a look from under her curls. ‘Jules,’ she repeated with a nod. ‘She has a nice… dog.’

‘Mhm,’ he responded.

As she walked away, she tutted under her breath. ‘…can’t see what’s right in front of him!’

Closing the door with a lift of his eyebrows at the words she wouldn’t say to his face, he breathed in the scent of onions and rosemary and paprika and headed for the kitchen. The bathroom door opened with a burst of steam as he passed and he looked up to see Jules with her head wrapped in a towel.

‘Oh my God, what is that divine smell?’

‘Goulash,’ he said with a twitch of a smile. ‘From Siore Cudrig. She said you have a nice dog.’

Jules stared at him, her mouth turned down, and his smile grew. ‘You have the weirdest neighbours.’

‘I did warn you, that first night.’

‘I think you’ll find thatIwarnedyouthat they were zombies.’

He stared at her, the normality of the moment overwhelming on top of everything already churning inside him. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to throw her out – of his life. And he wanted to make her stay.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, her tone still light.

‘No.’

She laughed at first, before something in his expression made her smile fade. ‘Are we going to eat that?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Goulash.’

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