Page 21 of A Winter's Wedding

“Seriously? That’s more than our flights to Italy. Are you joking?” America gave a nervous giggle.

“And it looks like the earliest flight out isn’t until late tomorrow afternoon anyway.” Leo shook his head. “I figured it would be more expensive, but not that much.”

“It also means spending all morning tomorrow waiting around.” America closed her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh; the trip clearly taking a toll on her optimism. “I think I’d rather just get back on the road in the morning. At least I’ll feel like we’re doing something.”

“You sure?” Leo asked. Despite America’s nod in the affirmative, Leo felt the need to justify the road trip one more time. Perhaps he needed to hear it himself as much as he felt America did too. “If we get to Buffalo by tomorrow evening, then we’re only a few hours from the Cove. It’ll be fun.”

“Wait. Why can’t we just take this new car now?”

“The person said that our contract is for delivery in Elizabethtown. There’s a huge penalty otherwise,” Lee said and patted his wallet through his blue jeans pocket. Leo hated how thinking of money had become a new, unfortunate hobby since opening The Foundry last year. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I know there are other things to consider besides the cost.”

“Don’t feel bad about it,” she said and moved around him towards the rear door. “Things are just tight right now, with the wedding and the expansion. We knew it would be.”

“Yes, but we didn’t plan on all this. What was a sweet little gesture surprising you in Vegas, has gone completely sideways.” Leo paused and saw the corner of America’s lip pull up and expose a sliver of white teeth. “Not everything,” he said and winked.

“On that note, we might as well enjoy the city, if we’re stuck here for the night.” America kissed Leo on the cheek and reached into the back seat to grab her puffy garment bag. She stashed her suitcase and dress in the back seat of the rental replacement, a small four-door sedan. Leo held the door open for her and she paused, halfway in. “Plus, I’ve never been to St. Louis.”

Leo closed the trunk and went around to the driver’s side. With his forearms resting on the car’s roof as America got in, he took a moment and blew some excess stress out of pursed lips.

“You coming?” America called out to him.

Leo ducked inside and fastened his seatbelt, smiling at the way America lit up and nodded her head like everything was going to be alright. “The guy gave us a voucher for dinner; feel like anything?”

“Italian,” she said with a grin and tapped her fingers together in anticipation of a filling meal.

After a quick web search, Leo discovered the best Italian cuisine in town was in a historic neighborhood called The Hill. And the best restaurant to try was Charlie Gitto’s. Thankfully, the eatery was only a couple blocks away from where the flat tire had occurred. On the way over, he spotted a few nice hotels right at the highway interchange.

Leo parked the new rental, a basic little Nissan, and led America inside. “Table for two please,” he said to the hostess, a teenager with a long blonde ponytail who wore a white polo shirt with the restaurant’s logo embroidered on the front. She walked away, presumably to take stock of the wait times. The place was packed, and Leo was unsure whether they would even get a table.

“We can find somewhere else to eat,” America said.

Leo took her coat off and draped it over his arms. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

The hostess returned with a practiced smile splashed on her face. “It’ll be thirty minutes, is that okay?”

“It’s fine,” America parroted Leo’s sentiment.

Seeing their disappointment, the hostess shifted her weight. “You know what, you can eat at the bar, if you don’t mind.” She pointed across to a bar area trimmed out with rich dark wood and brass accents.

America nodded to Leo and the hostess led them to two empty seats. She handed them a menu in a sleek burgundy leather holder and placed two cocktail napkins on the glossy bar top in front of them. “Enjoy,” she said.

America read the menu quietly to herself, though it looked like she was looking through the paper instead of at the printed words. Distress tensed her shoulders and pitched them forward. Her posture said more than any spoken words could.

Leo slid the menu from her fingers and placed it on the bar. “You’re worried, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m just tired,” she said and took a deep breath, blowing it out through tight lips. “I was so hungry a few minutes ago, and now I just don’t know. I like to have a plan. I like knowing what to expect.”

Leo hugged her. “I know this isn’t how you imagined your week going. But I know everything will work out.” He lied, he gave it a fifty-fifty chance at best that everything would work out, but he didn’t want to add his own doubts to her own list of things to worry about. “I’m sure you’ll feel better after eating something. And that’s something you can plan on. What looks appetizing?”

Picking up his menu, the first thing on the list sounded good to him, “Do you want to split two things?”

America nodded and he was glad to see a genuine smile painted on her face.

He called the bartender over. “We’re ready to order.”

“What’ll it be?” The man leaned in.

“We’re gonna get the toasted ravioli. It says here that it’s a local treat.”

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