Love & Gelato(10)

As he walked away I impulsively stepped forward so I could see both our reflections in the glass door. Gloria may be ridiculous, but she hadn’t been afraid to point out the obvious. Howard was well over six feet tall with strawberry blond hair and blue eyes. I had dark features and had to buy all my clothes in the petites section. But sometimes genes just skip a few generations.

Right?



I jogged out the front gates of the cemetery and crossed through the visitors’ parking lot. Right or left? I guess it didn’t matter. I just needed to get away from the cemetery for a while. Left. No, right.

The road that ran past the memorial was only two lanes, and I stuck to the strip of grass along the side, picking up my pace until I was almost at a sprint. I could usually outrun disturbing thoughts, but this one was pretty hard to shake. Why don’t I look anything like Howard?

It was probably just one of those things—I mean, lots of people look nothing like their parents. Addie was the token blonde of her family, and there was this guy I’d grown up with who was taller than both his parents by the sixth grade. But still. Shouldn’t Howard and I look at least a little bit alike?

I kept my eyes glued to the ground. You’ll adjust in no time. He’s really a nice man. That from my grandmother, who as far as I knew had never even met Howard. At least not in person.

An enormous blue bus went whooshing past, sending a blast of hot air into my face, and when I looked up, I gasped. What the . . . ? Was I running through a scene from an Olive Garden menu? It was so idyllic. The road was lined with trees and curved gently past rustic-looking houses and buildings painted in soft, buttery colors. Patchwork hills stretched out into the distance and there were honest-to-goodness vineyards behind half the houses. So this was the Italy people were always talking about. No wonder people were always losing their minds over it.

Another vehicle came roaring up behind me, honking loudly and jolting me from my Italian moment. I sprang away from the road and turned to look back. It was a small red car that looked like it was really, really trying to come across as more expensive than it was and as it neared me it slowed down. The driver and his passenger both had dark hair and were in their early twenties. When we made eye contact, the driver grinned and started honking again.

“Calm down. It’s not like I’m in your way,” I said under my breath. The driver slammed on his brakes, like he’d somehow managed to hear me, then came to a stop right in the middle of the road. Another guy, maybe a year or two older, rolled down the window of the backseat, a big grin on his face.

“Ciao, bella! Cosa fai stasera?”

I shook my head and started running again, but the driver just pulled ahead a few yards, coming to a stop on my side of the road.

Great. After four years of running I knew all about this breed of guy. I don’t know who told them that “out running alone” was code for “please pick me up,” but I’d learned that telling them you weren’t interested wasn’t enough. They just thought you were playing hard to get.

I crossed to the other side of the road and turned toward the cemetery, taking a second to tighten my shoelaces. Then I inhaled deeply, hearing an imaginary starting pistol in my mind. Go!

There was a shout of surprise from the car. “Dove vai?”

I didn’t even look back. If properly motivated I could pretty much outrun anyone—even Italian men in cheap red cars. I’d scale a fence if I had to.

By the time I got back to the cemetery the guys had passed me twice more and then given up, and I’m pretty sure even my eyelids were sweating. Howard and Sonia were standing with their backs to the gate, but they both turned quickly when they heard me. Probably because I sounded like an asthmatic werewolf.

“You weren’t gone long. Are you okay?” Howard asked.

“I . . . got . . . chased.”

“By who?”

“A car . . . full of guys.”

“They were probably just smitten,” Sonia said.

“Wait a minute. A car full of guys chased you? What did they look like?” His jaw tightened and he looked toward the road like he was considering charging out there with a baseball bat or something.

It kind of made up for the She’s so quiet comment.

I shook my head, finally catching my breath. “It wasn’t really a big deal. I’ll just stay inside the cemetery next time.”

“Or you could run behind the cemetery,” Sonia said. “There’s a gate that leads out behind the grounds. Those hills would probably give you a great workout, and it’s beautiful back there. And there’d be no cars to chase you.”

Howard still had steam curling out of his nostrils, so I changed the subject. “Where are the Jorgansens?”

Sonia grinned. “There was a bit of a . . . conflict. They opted for the self-guided tour.” She pointed across the cemetery to where Gloria was marching Hank past a row of headstones. “Your dad was just telling me he wants to take you into Florence for dinner tonight.”

Howard nodded, his face finally decompressing. “I was thinking we could walk around the Duomo and then get some pizza.”

Was I supposed to know what that was? I shifted from one foot to the other. If I said yes, I’d be agreeing to what was sure to be an awkward dinner alone with Howard. But if I said no, I’d probably be stuck here in the exact same scenario. At least this way I’d get to see the city. And the Duomo. Whatever that was. “All right.”