Full Moon in Florence (6 page)

Still no appearance from the Signora. Laine decided to brave the few blocks around the hotel without directions. She slipped out the front doors into a golden May evening, her growling stomach urging her on.

Colin

Rudi rang him out of the blue. Colin chucked the paper on the low table beside the wing-back chair and answered his mobile.

“Hello?”

“Colin, my mate, how’s it gettin’ on? Not well, I imagine if you’re answering my call.” He started laughing on his end, the sound of it crackly and breathy.

“I just got here, you wanker. She doesn’t arrive until tomorrow. I never should have mentioned my side business to you. You can’t be calling me every day, you know.”

“No, no. Only every
other
day.” Rudi laughed again. “No, seriously, what I want to know is, what went on between you and Cassandra? I mean her friend Amanda’s hot and everything but now she’s up all over me about a mini-break with the four of us when you get back from Italy.”

“What? Nothing happened with her, Mate.”

Rudi started to laugh again.

“I’m serious, Rudi, it just wasn’t…” Colin couldn’t bring himself to explain it to his single-focused friend, in part because he couldn’t quite make sense of it himself. Sometime between March and May he’d crossed into some new land where guilt-free sex with a hot, long-legged fox wasn’t quite
enough
for him to get it up. He wondered what was wrong with him.

“All I said is I’d call her when I got back,” said Colin, sighing.

“Well, I’m in,” said Rudi. “Amanda’s a firecracker and I’d be happy to light her up for an entire weekend. She wants you and Cassandra to go, too, though, so I don’t keep her locked up in a bedroom the whole time.”

“There is no ‘me and Cassandra’, Mate. I said I’d call is all.” And he hadn’t really meant that either.

“You’d do it for me, though, wouldn’t ya’?” Rudi sounded genuinely concerned.

Colin looked down at the Italian paper he’d been pretending to read. “If things don’t work out on this trip, I guess—”

“—Great! I’ll call you every day to check up on things. Just kidding! Ring you later. Got another call coming through.”

Rudi rang off. Before Colin tucked his mobile back in his pocket, he checked his email. Rafaello had sent details about the morning meeting with the seller, and Keenan, Lady Allbright’s assistant had also sent a note.

We’re very excited about the painting. If you need to up the price a little bit, this is our top price. Aim lower, if possible, and you’ll get a bonus out of the difference. Good luck. K

Colin sent a note back saying that everything was under control and that he felt confident that the deal would be sealed in the next couple of days. Colin would make a tidy sum on this one. He then sent Laine an email telling her he’d booked a dinner reservation at Giammo’s. He included the address but also offered to pick her up, if she could tell him where she was staying. He’d like to treat it like a real old-fashioned date, by picking her up and dropping her off, but women didn’t always like that these days. They wanted to meet on neutral territory. Colin didn’t really blame them. Dinner dates were like long protracted interviews, with much more going on under the surface than what was revealed through conversation, but you had to jump through the hoops. You had to circle each other, find a sweet spot to aim at before firing your dart, provided you felt inspired to do so. Colin was ready to fire. His challenge would be to not fire prematurely and scare her off.

He looked around the communal room. An older German couple had come in and sat down on the divan across the room. The man brought the woman the paper. She smiled, pulled out a section, and handed it to him. He smiled and sat down closely beside her. They looked happy. Colin sighed, feeling impatient. He wished now he hadn’t arrived a day early.

Laine

After what might have been 2 blocks up and one block over, but was more like one curve right, one curve left, and then a zig zagging cobbled path to the left, Laine found a small pizza place flanked by two barrels of early blooming roses. The flowers drew her toward the open doors, a waiter’s smile drew her in, and the smell of fresh hot bread and melted cheese made her commit to a single slice with a side of lemon-and-salt-dressed arugula. The waiter brought her an empty wine glass and lifted a bottle of Chianti to its edge. Laine raised her hand to stop him, she hadn’t planned to drink anything today because of her jet lag, but the waiter, his dark eyes sparkling, said,

“Try, try. You must try. From my grandfather’s vineyard. Please. My gift to you.” His eyes held hers for moment and Laine gave up protesting. He filled her glass and as she took her first sip she was very happy he had foisted it on her. It was light, refreshing, slightly fruity and divinely delicious.

She smiled and said, “Graci.”

The waiter beamed back.

“You are in Italy now. Accept all gifts while you’re here and you’ll go home with a full heart.” He said. “That is Italy. The heart of the world.”

Laine smiled and nodded, thoroughly enjoying the wine and the food and the attentions of the waiter. He was flirty and affectionate without being predatory. Not a combination she came across often in the States.

As soon as her appetite was sated she felt herself grow sleepy.

“Come back again,” said the waiter when he brought her change. Laine might have been mistaken but there seemed to be an invitation in his gaze. She smiled self-consciously. He shrugged and said, “Fate will decide.”

He had scribbled his name on her bill. Paolo. He was handsome, if a bit young, she decided, though it was difficult to be sure of his age. Around 25, she guessed. To Laine, a year shy of 30, that seemed much too young for her, not that she felt prudish about such things. But a 25 year old waiter as handsome as he was wouldn’t be looking for more than a bit of lusty fun. Laine remembered being 25, how it had felt her life, and the world, was stretching out infinitely before her, but as 30 loomed, she felt — not
old
by any stretch of the imagination — but ready to take on a more serious side of life. She’d had her college day fun, and strings of dates and boyfriends as she pretended to be a grown up working in San Francisco, and then she’d met Richard, fallen head over heels for his charms and plans for the future, feeling as if she could curl up content for the rest of life. She’d said yes when he’d popped the question, and yes to every grand scheme he came up with, until he’d dumped her and found someone else to scheme with. The hurt was fading. Meeting Colin in Paris had helped with that immensely. But it had only been one night. Then they went their separate ways.

But back home in San Francisco, Laine thought of Colin constantly.

She’d gone on several dates, at Tina’s urging (sometimes more than urging, more like threatening to disown her as a friend if she didn’t get off her sorry ass and try to have some fun), but always after she’d think of Colin, their night in Paris, and she’d wonder …

As she stepped out into the warm evening, Colin was on her mind again. She would probably see him tomorrow. Maybe for dinner. She had to work from the hotel in the morning and then she had a meeting in the afternoon with a man named Lorenzo Montrecetti, the son in charge of his grandfather’s estate, to see the painting and arrange for the donation transfer. After that, she would be free to test fantasy against reality. Would Colin be all that she remembered? As charming, as sweet, as sexy, as confident? As enamored with her as he had been in Paris? She would do everything she could to make that hope a reality. She’d even brought her red high-heeled shoes, the ones she’d been wearing when they first met, the ones he asked her to keep on her feet that night after all of her other clothing and accessories had been removed …

The waiter, Paolo’s words echoed in her mind: “Fate will decide.”

When Laine turned down the second curving side street, she didn’t recognize anything. Had she zigged when she should have zagged? She turned around, flanked on two sides by old medieval buildings. She couldn’t get a sense of where she was. The Chianti buzz and nipping jet jag didn’t help. At one end of the road it looked like there was an opening to a wider area, a piazza perhaps. She headed that way.

As she emerged from the narrow street, a wide piazza stretched before her. Groups of friends and pairs of lovers criss-crossed on their way to their destinations. A massive church dominated one end of the piazza. Laine guessed it must be Santa Croce, which meant she had turned the wrong way leaving the pizza place. She had to head back towards the river if she wanted to make it back to the hotel. She contemplated hopping in a taxi, but it was such a beautiful night, with the moon almost full, so she opted to keep walking.

Colin

Colin was restless in his room. He had sent Laine an email about dinner and then found himself constantly checking to see if she had replied yet. When he caught himself pacing across the room, he realized his excitement, and his afternoon coffee, weren’t going to let him sleep anytime soon. He dampened and combed his hair, put his shoes back on, and headed out to pound the streets. First he headed for the Arno. Once there, he turned left and followed the river a while before turning away from it and heading into the labyrinthine streets. Colin liked Florence. He’d been about three times before, for work, and had a general sense of the place. It could be touristy, and in May, was beginning to be so, but the streets weren’t thronged yet. The Florentines loved their city, too, and young and old they were out enjoying the warm May evening. Colin cast an appreciative gaze on several Italian women. Young or old, they took such care with their look and demeanor and became as aesthetically appealing a part of the Italian experience as the historic sites, great food, and abundant art. Italy was all about beauty and love. A refreshing change from the damp, industrial bustle of London.

Turning up a small side street, Colin realized he’d walked here before. He looked up at the buildings, admiring certain architectural details in the dusky light, and then he saw the rising moon peek above the rooftops. It was only a sliver shy of full. With his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heel watching the moon ease higher in the indigo sky. Lost in a bit of a dream, he barely noticed a taxi racing by behind him and was shocked when he felt a blow to his side. His hands didn’t come out of his pockets fast enough to catch his balance and down he went on the cobbled curb where he met with a second blow. This time something, no
someone
landed right on him. He cursed a blue streak as he tried, unsuccessfully, to scramble to his feet. His curses were equally matched by his tackler, who was softer and lighter than his feel on first contact.

“I’m so sorry. I was trying to hail that cab. Gawd, what a clutz I am.”

“American. Typical.” Colin had managed to get up on one knee now that the woman who’d rammed him had climbed off of him and now stood, straightening out her skirt, on the sidewalk above him.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Forget it. Apology accepted.” He was not about to apologize for his rudeness when she was the one who had careened into him.

“Colin?”

Shocked at the mention of his name, he looked up, seeing her face for the first time. Sort of. It was still rather dark on this little side street.

“Do I know you?” He stood up now, feeling one ankle twinge when he put weight on it.

She grasped the elbow of one arm with the hand of the other, holding herself, and looked down at her feet.

“I can’t believe I just did that,” she mumbled, biting her lip.

And then the voice, and the way she bit her lip, flicked a switch in Colin’s brain.

“Laine?”

She looked up and met his gaze, an apologetic smile gracing her pretty lips. He’d been dreaming of those lips for months.

“Bollucks,” he said. “We weren’t supposed to meet like this.”

Her smile froze.

“I could turn around, disappear around the corner, pretend it never happened.” She looked like she really wanted to. She seemed to lean in to her retreat and Colin stepped forward to grab her arm, to stop her.

“Ouch.” He winced in pain.

“You’re hurt,” she said.

He shrugged. “I’ll be fine. Just a twist.”

They stared at one another for a few moments, as if drinking each other in, trying to match up hazy fantasy memories with the clear lines of reality.

“I thought you arrived tomorrow,” said Colin.

She shook her head lightly. “But you were supposed to. You wrote May twenty-first.”

“My meeting got moved up to tomorrow morning.”

“Oh. Well.”

“Yes. Well.”

“I guess we’re both here now.”

“I can’t believe we just ran into each other. Literally!” They both laughed awkwardly.

“How odd,” said Colin, still trying to catch up with the moment. Laine looked away, touched her hair, tried to pat one side down. Colin thought she looked lovely. A bit tired, but otherwise lovely. Lovelier than he remembered.

“You must be tired.”

She nodded, seemed self-conscious all of a sudden.

“I’m a bit messed up time-wise. Long flight. I was hoping to feel better tomorrow. When we…” Her voice drifted. Maybe she was imagining how tomorrow would have been a better time to meet up. Colin thought that, too. He’d had ideas about what he’d say, what he’d wear, how’d he’d smile and look into her eyes… Instead, at first glance, he’d basically insulted her.

“Sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“What I said when I fell. About, you know, being American.”

She laughed. It was a sweet relaxed sound of amusement. Colin liked it.

“I remember your disdain for Americans. I’ll try not to take it personally.”

“Not disdain exactly.”

“Prejudice then?”

“You’re the exception.”

She looked up at him, searched his eyes for something, he didn’t know what, but he desperately hoped she’d found it before she turned away to look up and down the street.

“You’re staying near here?” said Colin, though he couldn’t be sure since she had been attempting to hail a cab a moment ago.