Love & Gelato(82)

I held out for exactly nine-tenths of a second, then threw one leg over the windowsill and slowly lowered myself out. Some of the bricks were uneven, and I used them as footholds to slowly climb down the house.

“Be careful,” Ren whispered, holding his arms out to catch me.

I had to jump the last few feet, and I smashed right into Ren, who did this awkward crumpling thing that left us tangled up on the ground. We both sprang to our feet, and Ren took a step back, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t read.

“You could have used the stairs,” he said.

“Stairs are for stronzos.”

He cracked a smile. “You left the party.”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly a light turned on in Howard’s room.

“Howard!” Ren whispered. He looked like he’d just spotted a yeti in the wild. He was never going to get over that first conversation.

“Come on.” I grabbed his hand and we ran for the back fence, trying—and failing—to not trip over every single curb we came across. Hopefully we’d never have to resort to a life of crime, because I was pretty sure we’d be the worst fugitives in the world.

“There’s no way he didn’t hear us,” Ren panted when we reached the back wall.

“I think he went back to sleep. Look. His bedroom light is off again.”

Minor lie. Most likely Howard had figured out what was going on and decided to let my middle-of-the-night escapade slide. He really was kind of the best. I turned to look at Ren, but I was so nervous that my eyes kept sliding off his face. He seemed to be having the same problem.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?”

He kicked at the grass. “I, uh, didn’t tell you earlier, but you really looked amazing tonight. It was your version of The Dress, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I looked down too. “I don’t think it worked, though.”

“No, it did. Trust me. So back there . . . at the party.” He breathed out. “I was pretty upset when I saw you with Thomas.”

I nodded, doing my best to ignore the flicker of hope in my chest. And . . .

“I really need to apologize. I was pretty upset back in Rome when you said you’d never, ever, ever, ever considered me as more than a friend—”

“I only said ‘ever’ twice,” I protested.

“Fine. Never, ever, ever. It was like a slap in the face. And then when it comes to Thomas, I’m a total idiot. He’s like a British pop star. How do you compete with that?”

I groaned. “British pop star?”

“Yeah. With a fake accent. He actually grew up near Boston, and when he gets really drunk he forgets about the whole British thing and sounds like one of those guys you see yelling at Red Sox games with letters painted on their beer bellies.”

“That’s horrible.” I took a deep breath. “And I’m really sorry that I told you I’d never, ever, ever—”

“Ever,” Ren added.

“. . . ever consider you as more than a friend. It wasn’t true.” I cleared my throat. “Ever. Also, you’re not a stronzo.”

Ren grew a tiny, hopeful smile on his face that immediately transplanted itself onto my face too. “Where’d you learn that word, anyway?”

“Mimi.”

He shook his head. “So, did you mean it back there? When you said you aren’t with Thomas?”

I nodded. “Are you really not with Mimi?”

“No. I am one hundred percent available.”

“Huh,” I said, my smile ramping up like ten more degrees.

We looked at each other for another long minute, and I’m pretty sure all four thousand headstones leaned in to hear what was going to happen next. So . . . were we just going to stand around looking at each other? What about all that crazy Italian passion we supposedly had?

He took a tiny step forward. “Did you finish the journal?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

I exhaled. “I think they were perfect for each other. Things just got in the way. And Howard knew all along that he wasn’t my father. He just really wanted to be in my life.”

“Smart, scary Howard.” He held out the white paper bag he’d been carrying all this time.

“What’s this?”

“An official apology. After I left the party I went into Florence and started driving around asking people where I could find a secret bakery. Finally some women walking home from a party told me where to go. For future reference, it’s on Via del Canto Rivolto. And it’s awesome.”

I opened the bag and warm, buttery heaven wafted up at me. A flaky, crescent-shaped pastry was wrapped in white tissue paper. “What is it?”

“Cornetta con Nutella. I bought two of them, but I ate the other one on the way. And then I used my leftover change to wake you up.”

I reached reverently into the bag, then took a big bite of the cornetta. It was warm and melty and tasted like every perfect thing that could ever happen to you. Italian summers. First loves. Chocolate. I took another big bite.

“Ren?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, please don’t eat my other one.”

He laughed. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to talk to me at all, but I knew food was probably my best bet. Next time I leave you standing alone in the dark like a total jerk, I’ll buy you a dozen.”