Love & Gelato(35)

“All my stuff’s over there.” I pointed to my suitcase. Everything was piled on top of it, and it looked like there had been some kind of explosion.

“Aren’t you going to be here awhile?”

“Just for the summer.”

“That’s like two more months.”

“Hopefully it will be less.” I shot a look at the open door. Yikes. Was it just me, or had my voice just reverberated through the whole cemetery?

“I don’t think he can hear us.”

“I hope not.” I crossed the room, then knelt to get the journal from under the bed and started flipping through the pages. “I just read about this place . . . Pont Ve-chee-o?”

“Ponte Vecchio?” He looked at me incredulously. “You’re joking, right?”

“I know I said it wrong.”

“Well, yeah, I mean you totally butchered it. But you’ve never been there? How long have you been in Florence?”

“Since Tuesday night.”

“That means you should have seen Ponte Vecchio by Wednesday morning. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

I looked down at what I was wearing. “I am dressed.”

“Sorry. Figure of speech. Get your purse or whatever. We’re going now. You have to see it. It’s in my top ten most favorite places in the entire world.”

“Is it open? It’s almost nine.”

He groaned. “Yes, it’s open. Come on.”

I grabbed the money Howard had given me the night before, then stuffed my mom’s journal into my purse. Ren was already halfway down the stairs, but he stopped abruptly at the bottom and I crashed right into him.

Howard was sitting on the couch, his laptop balanced on his knees. “Where are you two headed in such a hurry?”

“Lina’s never been to Ponte Vecchio. I’m taking her.” Ren cleared his throat. “With your permission, sir.”

“Permission granted. That’s a great idea. Lina, you’ll love it.”

“Thanks. I hope so.”

We headed for the door, and just as Ren stepped out on the porch Howard said, “I’m keeping my eye on you, Ren.”

Ren didn’t turn around, but he straightened up like someone had just sent a jolt of electricity down his spine. Howard caught my eye and winked.

Great. Now Ren was never going to relax.

It was a hot night, and Florence seemed twice as crowded as the night I’d gone with Howard. Traveling by scooter was a little faster because we could just drive around stopped cars, but it still took us a long time. Not that I minded. Riding the scooter was really fun, and the cool air whipping past us felt like my reward for surviving such a long, hot day. By the time Ren parked his scooter, the moon had risen round and heavy as a ripe tomato, and I felt like I’d taken a long, cool swim.

“Why’s it so crowded tonight?” I asked, handing him my helmet to stow under the seat.

“It’s summer. People like to go out. And tourists come in droves. Droves, I tell you!”

I shook my head. “Ren, you’re kind of weird.”

“So I hear.”

“What are we going to see exactly?”

“A bridge. ‘Ponte Vecchio’ means ‘Old Bridge.’ It’s on the Arno. Come on, it’s this way.” I did my best to keep up with him as he elbowed his way across the street, and before long we were standing on a wide sidewalk running the length of the river. The Arno stretched black and mysterious in either direction, and the banks were lit up like a runway with strings of glittering lights that stretched and disappeared in either direction.

I gave myself a second to take it all in. “Ren . . . this is really pretty. I can’t believe people get to actually live here.”

“Like you?”

I glanced at him and he was smiling. Duh. “Well, yeah, I guess so.”

“Just wait. What you see next is going to make you want to stay here forever.”

People kept pushing us away from each other, so Ren linked arms with me and we headed up the river, stepping over a long-haired guy sitting with his back to the water. He was playing a banged-up guitar and singing “Imagine” in a heavy accent.

“?‘Ee-magine all da pee-pull,’?” Ren sang. “My dad has this book that’s supposed to teach English song lyrics to Italian speakers. I think that guy back there could really use it.”

“Hey, at least he got the feeling right. He sounds really nostalgic.” My arm was kind of heating up where Ren’s was interlocked with mine, but before I could think about it, he pulled away and put both hands on my shoulders.

“Ready to swallow your gum?”

“What?”

“Ready to see Ponte Vecchio?”

“Of course. That’s why we’re here, right?”

He turned and pointed. “This way.”

The sidewalk had led us to a small commuter bridge. It was paved with asphalt, and a bunch of tourists were milling around blankets set up with displays of knockoff bags and sunglasses. So not impressive.

“This is it?” I asked, trying not to sound disappointed. Maybe it was cooler at sunset.

Ren guffawed. “No. Not this bridge. Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.”

We headed toward the center of the bridge, and a dark-skinned man stepped out in front of his blanket of stuff, blocking our way. “Young man. You want nice Prada handbag for girlfriend? Five hundred euro in store, but ten euro for you. Make her fall in true love.”