Читать книгу Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman: Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / Surrogate and Wife / Lying in Your Arms - Barbara McMahon - Страница 13

UNAWARE of the turmoil, the baby happily babbled, reaching out once or twice as if to touch the rain. The air grew chilled, but Cristiano didn’t move. The child was well wrapped. He felt like the only warm spot in the world where he rested against Cristiano’s chest. That and where Mariella touched him.

The silence extended. Yet it wasn’t awkward. Instead, it was—almost healing. He took a breath, trying to let go the ache that plagued him with all the death and destruction.

“So how long were you and Stephano friends?” she asked.

Cristiano almost smiled. “I remember the first day I met him—it was at the training for firefighting. He came from Genoa, a man loving the sea. I came from here—hills and lakes. He was an only child, had a pretty wife and parents who doted on him. We both passionately loved soccer. We were paired up in training and the rest—”

He hadn’t thought about those days in all the months since Stephano had died. Now, telling Mariella, he let the memories wash through him. They’d had fun times. They’d fought fires in Rome. Been sent to man the lines in raging forest fires worldwide. Practiced paramedical routines to save lives. And spent a lot of time together in their off hours.

“He was always up for adventure.” Slowly Cristiano began to speak of his friend, remembering aloud the trips to the sea, the ski trip that had ended with both falling face first in the snow, and how quickly they’d progressed from that. The quiet times by a fire, sharing philosophies, plans for the future.

“His wife would probably like to hear from you,” Mariella said as Cristiano wound down after telling her many of the shared experiences. “You haven’t seen her since?”

He shook his head. “How can I face her when I lived and Stephano didn’t?”

“You didn’t kill him. The terrorists did. You and she have a shared love of the man—different, of course, but bonding nonetheless. I bet she misses you being around.”

“I would remind her of Stephano.”

“Maybe she wants to be reminded. Maybe she wants someone around who knew him, faults and all. Who can remember the happy times together. Celebrate his life, not ignore it.”

“You don’t understand.”

She shrugged. The baby was growing more and more squirmy.

“He’s probably hungry. I’ll take him,” she said, reaching for Dante.

He relinquished the child, feeling the cold air hit where the baby had been.

“What are you working on?” she asked, moving back to the workbench and looking at the wooden pieces.

Cristiano turned as well. The emotional toll started to overwhelm him. Needing a diversion, he crossed the small room and picked up one of the pieces that would be a chair leg. “A table and chair set for Dante.”

“Wow, you can do that? Did you do all those?” She looked at the pieces lined up against the wall.

“It’s been a long summer. I don’t just ignore housework,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“These are beautiful.” She stroked a finger across the smooth polished top of a small half pie table. The cabriolet legs were elegant. The rich cherry wood gleamed even in the defused lighting.

“Those legs were hard to do. I ruined more pieces than I wanted.” Temper had played a part, but he didn’t need to tell her that. Impatient with his recovery, feeling helpless, he’d taken it out on the wood.

“And this, what a beauty this is. Did you make it for someone?” The small console table had classic lines and a band of inlay lighter wood in the perimeter.

“Just made them to kill time while recuperating.”

“I’d buy this one if it’s for sale,” she said hesitantly.

“You can have it. No charge.” He wondered where she would put it. Could he visit her one day and see how she was using it? It made him think of a connection between them. For as long as she held onto the table, she’d be holding onto a part of him.

He turned back to the workbench.

“Go on and work if you wish. Looks like we’re going to be here a while with the rain. We won’t get in your way,” she said with a smile. “I can’t wait to see what Dante’s going to get. He’s one lucky boy, isn’t he?”

That damned optimism. Cristiano shook his head. How could she think that? The kid had no mother or father. No known relatives. He placed a terrible burden on the young woman now his mother. Yet Mariella seemed sincere in her comment.

Cristiano began working on the leg. At first he was conscious of Mariella watching him. But soon the pleasure he took in working with wood took over.

He was aware when she fed the baby, of the soft lullaby after he ate. Then when she put him down in the stroller for nap. She came back to stand beside him.

“Circle of life sort of thing, isn’t it?” she said.

“What is?”

“You fight fire and destruction, and now create things of beauty. A balance. Is that why you do it? To balance out?”

“No. I do it because I like it. My grandfather taught me.”

“And your father taught you to cook?”

“A bit. I do like good food prepared well.”

“I can boil eggs,” she said impishly.

He laughed. He couldn’t help it. She’d been to America and back. Was capable of taking on an infant. And couldn’t cook worth beans?

“So you and Dante will live happily ever after on boiled eggs.”

“I might have to expand my repertoire,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe you can give me some hints.” She frowned. “You don’t think that will be a problem in the future, do you? I mean, I can learn. And for now he’s just beginning to eat baby food, so no worries.”

“I’m sure that’s not a condition of growing up healthy. Though to enjoy eating, you do need to know more than how to boil eggs.” He shook his head. All the members of his family knew how to cook. Well, he wasn’t sure about the newly found half-brothers from America. But if they lived alone at any time, they would cook for themselves.

“So tell me what you’re doing now,” she said, pressing closer. She was a toucher. He hadn’t been touched since he left hospital. Until now. Every time Mariella came close, she reached out or bumped against him. He liked the human contact. The thought of pulling her into his arms grew stronger by the second.

He cleared his throat and began to explain, hoping talking would get his mind off what his body was craving—contact up close and personal with Mariella Holmes.

The worst of the storm seemed to be easing. The baby slept in the stroller. And Cristiano showed his work to an interested party. Mariella exclaimed over the craftsmanship and he felt the tightness ease. He might not be a hundred per cent yet, but he still had the ability to build something beautiful.

He glanced at his watch, surprised to see the morning had fled.

“I can give you a ride back. The worst of the rain seems over.”

“Beats pushing the stroller. Plus it’s decidedly colder after the rain.”

Once in the car, Cristiano looked at her. “Since we’re going out, what about lunch?” He surprised himself, then knew it was the right thing to do when she gave a happy nod.

“I would love that. I’m hungry. Do we have time to go to Monta Correnti? We could eat at your family’s restaurant.”

Cristiano hesitated. There was Pietro’s in the village. He’d much rather eat there. He hadn’t been to Rosa since long before the bomb. He felt a moment of panic. What if he had a flashback in the restaurant? What if he completely lost sight of reality and ended up beneath a table? His family would be horrified.

He knew he had to face his family at some time. The longer he delayed, the more suspicious his absence would become. His sister and father already complained they never saw him.

Yet, he wasn’t ready.

Would he ever be?

“Never mind. Forget it. Pietro’s is fine. Of course their sauce is not as good,” she said.

“Fine, we’ll go to Rosa.” With any luck, his sister would be too busy to stop to talk to him. Though lunch during the week wasn’t normally as crowded as dinners—or weekend crowds. With real luck, he’d act normal for the time it took to order and eat. Then get out of Monta Correnti and back to the safety of the cottage.

He drove through the intermittent rain testing his will power. He tried to gauge his feelings as they approached the town his family lived in. So far so good.

As they reached the outskirts of Monta Correnti she spoke for the first time since leaving the village.

“It’s really pretty, even in the rain. I can see why Ariana spoke so fondly of it. And the memories I think were happy even though the end of their affair brought pain.”

The closer he drove to the restaurant, the more the tension rose. It would be the first time he’d seen Isabella in months. The sporadic phone conversations didn’t count. She would have a hundred questions. He’d be trapped until lunch was over. Had he made a mistake coming here?

They parked the car and walked quickly through the rain. Cristiano held a large umbrella he kept stashed in his car. She carried the baby and they moved in step, close together, to avoid the drizzle. It wasn’t too late to turn back, he thought as they approached the door. He didn’t know how he’d explain the situation to Mariella if he broke down, but he’d come up with something.

Entering the restaurant, Mariella took a deep breath.

“If we could bottle this aroma and pipe it into other streets, people would flock here,” she said. “It makes my mouth water.”

Cristiano took a breath. To him it was home, as familiar as ever. The awkward stress grew until he felt it was almost tangible. He could taste the uncertainty and fear. One of the waiters came over. The two men greeted each other.

“We haven’t seen you in a long time,” the waiter said.

“It has been a while. Is my sister or father in today?”

“No. They are both at some meeting they had to attend.”

“We’ll sit in the back, if there’s room,” Cristiano said, letting the relief wash through him. One worry avoided. Now he just had to remain normal until the meal ended.

“Quiet today. Rain keeping people away, I think,” the waiter said, leading them back to one of the small tables near the rear wall.

The wooden paneling gave the restaurant a cozy feel, contributing to quiet enjoyment, mixed with anticipation of the meal to come. When the waiter brought the high chair, Mariella strapped Dante in and handed him his plastic keys.

She opened the menu and scanned the offerings. Everything looked delicious. Choosing only one item wasn’t easy.

Once they had ordered she leaned back and looked at Cristiano. “Do you know everyone here?”

Cristiano glanced around and shrugged. “I know most of the wait staff and I bet most of the people in the kitchen. My father has owned this place since before I was born.”

“Sorry you’re missing him today.”

Cristiano pushed a glass toward the right a fraction of an inch. “It’s just as well.”

“Why?” she prodded.

He glanced up. “No reason.”

She narrowed her gaze but didn’t push the issue.

Breaking a bread stick, she handed half to Dante and began nibbling on the other half. She studied the decor. “When we ate here before we sat on the terrace. It’s lovely. I really liked that. Too bad for the rain.”

Just then there was a commotion by the door. Cristiano looked over and frowned.

Mariella turned around to see.

A woman in her early sixties was arguing with one of the waiters. She turned as if in a huff and then spotted Cristiano.

“Oh-oh,” he said softly even as he began to rise as she stormed over.

“Cristiano.” She reached him and kissed both cheeks. “I thought you were injured and recuperating.” She ran her gaze from head to toe. “You seem fine to me. You were always such a good-looking boy.”

“Aunt Lisa. I am fine.”

“Hmm. So I see. Where is your father? What meeting is he attending?”

“I don’t know. I expected him to be here.”

She looked at Mariella. “How do you do? I’m Lisa Firenzi, Cristiano’s aunt.”

“Mariella Holmes.”

“Holmes? Are you from around here?”

Mariella shook her head. “Rome originally. Most recently, New York.”

“Ah, there they have fine restaurants that are appreciated by everyone.” She looked around a bit and shook her head. “Cozy. Who wants cozy? Tell your father I want to talk to him. Or your sister. Perhaps Isabella would be easier.”

Cristiano smiled slightly. “I’ll make sure they know.”

She gave a wave and headed back outside.

“Wow, a whirlwind,” Mariella said.

“She actually owns the restaurant next door. Even though she’s my father’s sister, they have barely spoken to each other in years. I wonder what she wants.”

“Maybe she appreciates the family she has. I wish I had family somewhere, besides Dante, of course.”

“He’s lucky to have you. Many people would not consider the child your responsibility. It’s such an awesome one.”

“Don’t you want children?” she asked. “I mean after you marry and all.”

He did not want to go there. On the surface, he looked normal. Only he knew what turmoil lurked inside his mind. He could not subject anyone to that. Fearful of what the flashbacks could lead to, he had to make sure no one came in harm’s way. How could he enter any kind of intimate relationship with a woman if he could go off the rails without warning?

In fact, it was a risk to be away from the isolation of the cottage for this long.

Not that he’d had a problem since the night of the fire. Twice he’d thought he was coming close, but one look at Mariella and he’d staved off the threatening flashbacks.

For a moment he hoped he was recovering. Maybe he would be able to go back to work before long. It was still too early to say with complete confidence, but he might touch base with his commander in the next week or so.

“Maybe, if I marry,” he replied.

“I’m so surprised you didn’t go into this business. A ready-made family affair that you could take over when your father retires,” Mariella said a short time later when savoring the first bite of her rigatoni. The sauce had a piquant flavor that she relished.

“It’s my sister’s thing. My brother and I couldn’t wait to leave. It always felt too settled here, I guess you’d say.”

“So you two chose the opposite extreme. You with your job, he with his races. Why do you both put your lives on the line like that? At least your actions are for some greater good, but just to challenge the laws of physics and risk death in car races seems a bit reckless.”

“Ah, but there is that awesome feeling when he succeeds. Can’t be measured.”

“Is that how you feel about fighting fires?”

“It is always a challenge. No two fires are exactly the same.”

“Scary.”

He shrugged. He wouldn’t admit it, but he had felt fear a few times. Overcoming it to come out on top was another kind of high. One that he could not achieve with the aftermath of the bombing.

“Enough about me and my family. Tell me about New York.”

“It’s so vibrant. I worked as an usher at theaters to get in to see the shows for free. Spent many rainy or snowy afternoons roaming the museums. I majored in marketing at university. I was not the only non-American in my classes. There were also students from the UK and Japan.”

“You would have more chance of a high-paying job if you didn’t have the baby.”

“My entire life would be different if I didn’t have Dante. I was set to partner with a fellow student in New York in a marketing firm.”

“Must have been tough to give that up,” Cristiano said.

“The reality turns out to be different from my dreams. I love Dante. I am gaining a bit of confidence. It’s not forever. When he’s in school, I can try something else, use the education I have. There are a lot of single moms out there. They all manage.”

“And single fathers, but it still works better if there are two.”

She fell silent. A moment later she looked up.

“I’ll see if Signora Bertatali can watch Dante when we take a run up to Rome.”

He’d take her to the cemetery, then swing by the station and talk to the commander. Check on his own apartment, which had stood empty these last months. He had held onto it with the intent of returning if he could lick the PTSD. And he’d go to see Stephano’s widow.

He’d like to see where Mariella and Dante lived, too. He’d take her there to get her clothes. Then they could have dinner on the way back. For the first time in a long while, he felt the stirring of anticipation.

“We’ll leave early.”

She grinned at him. “How early is early?”

“Seven?”

“Fine. Are you going by the ministry to talk about the award?” she asked.

He’d forgotten about that. He shook his head. “No.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”

“People died in that bombing. Good people. Men who tried to rescue others. I was luckier than most, I got out alive. But there were many more who didn’t.”

“You saved seven people. Including two children.” She reached out to touch his arm. “It must have been terrifying as well as horrific. So many people lost their lives.”

Including Stephano. Cristiano began to feel the stirrings of a panic attack. His vision was growing dark around the edges. His heart began pounding in remembered fear.

Her hand slipped into his and he gripped it, focused on her silvery eyes. And that dusting of freckles across her nose. What would it be like to kiss each and every one? She looked like happiness personified. He knew she’d had some hard knocks herself, but they didn’t get her down. For a moment he envied her. He’d give anything to turn the clock back. To be the man he once was.

The moment passed. Another. The restaurant came back into focus—people enjoying the good food, the laughter and conversation conveying their pleasure. He drew a deep breath.

“Did you want dessert?” he asked, withdrawing his hand. Mariella was like a lifeline. Was that the clue? Not lock himself away but be with her all the time?

He’d give almost anything to do just that.

They decided against dessert. Soon they headed back to the car, glad the rain had stopped—if only temporarily. The dark clouds showed the storm had not completely passed.

She remained sitting in the car when Cristiano stopped in front of the Bertatalis’ home. Dante was asleep in his car seat, the stroller folded in the trunk.

“It’s been a nice day despite the rain. Thank you for lunch,” she said.

“My pleasure.”

“Your family’s restaurant is so nice. I really like it. You’re lucky to be a part of that, even if you don’t work there.”

That might change. If he couldn’t return to firefighting, what would he do? Join his sister in the restaurant?

No public job. If he got that bad, he would never be able to be certain he wouldn’t have another flashback. He gripped his hands on the steering wheel. Better he’d been killed in the bombing instead of injured. No one would ever have known about the reactions he couldn’t control.

He would do his best to make sure no one ever found out.

“Thanks again,” she said, opening the door.

“I’ll get the stroller.” Cristiano got out and retrieved the stroller from the trunk while Mariella took Dante, car seat and all, from the car.

The nightmare woke him again. Cristiano came awake amidst terror. He clenched his hands into fists and fought the tattered memory that wouldn’t let go. Flinging off the blanket, he rose and went to the window. Breathing hard, he pushed open the window and drank in the cold night air. Gradually he calmed. He hadn’t had a nightmare in days. He’d thought, maybe—was he forever doomed to relive the bombing?

He flung on some clothes and went to the kitchen for some coffee. No going back to sleep after that. He glanced around as he waited for the water to boil, feeling frustrated and angry. Noticing the laptop still on the table, he forced himself to remember Mariella using it. He could picture her blonde hair falling forward when she leaned closer to the screen. Her fingers had flown across the keys. Just thinking about her lowered his anxiety level. He almost smiled, wishing he could see her right now.

Of course starting any relationship with a woman he could scare to death if they slept together and he awoke in the throes of a nightmare would be foolish beyond belief. The kettle whistled and he turned to make the coffee. Still, the thought tantalized. She brought sanity into his life, made him hope for more than he had in a long time. He liked being with her. Wanted to know every speck of information about her life, her hopes, her dreams, now that she had a child to raise.

He wanted her in his life. Dared he risk such a chance?

Once he filled his cup, he prowled around the cottage. He considered going to the workshop and continuing with his project, but felt too edgy. Draining the cup, he grabbed the keys to the motorcycle. He’d ride through the remainder of the night and hope to find peace come dawn.

The roads were lonely, scarcely used even in the summer. No traffic. Few residences scattered miles apart. The world seemed different at night. No people. No animals he could see. Just the strip of asphalt illuminated by the headlight, the rest shadows whipping by, undefined vague splotches of black melding together as he increased the speed of the bike.

He made the circuit he’d completed many times before. Slowing as he approached the village, he looked toward the Bertatalis’ cottages. The last time he’d done that one had been on fire. No sign of flames tonight. But the cottage Mariella was staying in was lit up; light spilled from every window.

He turned into the lane that led to the cottages. Stopping by hers, he considered his next step. Knock on the door to see if all was well? Would that scare her? A knock in the middle of the night? What if she’d merely fallen asleep with the lights on?

He glanced toward the east. A slight lightening of the darkness. Dawn was not that far away.

He heard the baby cry.

Quickly he went to the door and knocked.

A tearful Mariella and wailing baby opened the door.

“Cristiano, what are you doing here?”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping inside.

“He’s been crying most of the night. I can’t get him to stop. I’ve checked everything, given him warm milk, but he doesn’t even want the bottle. I don’t know what to do.” With that she burst into tears.

“Here, give me the baby,” he said, preferring dealing with a crying child than a woman’s tears.

She complied and then wiped her cheeks. “I’ll be right back.” She fled.

The baby continued to cry and Cristiano juggled him, remembering another baby who had cried. The smoke and cement particles floating in the thick air had only exacerbated his distress. He would never take fresh air for granted again.

He bounced the baby gently. Watching Dante, he took a breath, testing the limits. Nothing but a warm cottage and a crying baby.

“Hey, little man, none of that. You’ve kept your mamma up all night by the looks of it,” he said easily.

The baby scrunched up his face and looked ready to let fly again.

“Now, now, what’s wrong?”

Cristiano rested him against his chest, upright so his head was by his own. Slowly he rubbed the baby’s head with his cheek.

Dante hiccuped and then stopped crying, swaying back enough to look at Cristiano. His face was wet with tears, his eyes red. But he looked at Cristiano as if examining a wondrous thing.

“That’s better. Give your mother a break. People normally sleep at night.”

Mariella entered, having washed her face and pulled on a sweatshirt over her nightgown.

“What are you doing up so late at night? People normally sleep. And how did you get him to stop? He’s been crying since before midnight!” Mariella peered at the baby. He still looked as if he’d start crying any second, but so far he was distracted by Cristiano.

“I woke early, took a ride.”

“It’s freezing outside.”

He shrugged. Nothing colder than the way he felt after the nightmares.

“Well, I’m glad you did. Do you think he’ll feel like going to sleep?” she asked hopefully, worried eyes studying the baby.

“I don’t know, but you look like you could keel over without a problem.”

She nodded and brushed her hand lightly over Dante’s head. “I am so tired. But if he can’t sleep, neither can I. I think he’s teething. It’s what the baby books say for this age. He won’t eat, won’t sleep, I don’t know what else to do.”

“Take a nap. I’ll watch this little guy.”

She looked at him.

The hope brimming in her eyes made Cristiano laugh.

“Really?” she said.

He nodded.

She reached up and pulled his head down for a fleeting kiss. “Thanks. I’m so tired I can hardly stand on my feet. Call me if you need anything.” With that she turned and went to the bedroom.

Cristiano watched, feeling the soft press of her lips against his. The lurch in his heart had surprised him. Without wanting it, without knowing it, Mariella had captured his heart. He’d give anything to have her kiss him every day. To share the tasks of caring for the baby, of seeing her sleepy and ready for bed. Desire shot through him and he shook his head. He had a cranky baby in his arms, she was dead tired, and all he could think about was her in that bed, alone. How her blonde hair would be spread across the pillow, soft and silky. Her skin would be warm and smooth.

He turned away from the door and his thoughts and he looked at Dante.

“Your mother weaves a spell on men, watch out,” he said.

The baby looked as if he was dazed, his head weaving back and forth.

“Okay, let’s get comfortable.”

He put Dante down on the sofa to shrug out of his jacket. He hadn’t even dropped it on the chair before the baby started crying again.

“Hey, none of that. Your mom needs sleep.” Cristiano scooped him up and walked him around the small living room. The child was light and warm. Cuddling him gave Cristiano a sense of peace he hadn’t had in a long time. He remembered the infant he’d saved. How was he doing these days? Would he ever have even the faintest remembrance of that awful day? He hoped Dante never had anything more difficult to face than teething.

A few minutes later Dante’s head fell against his shoulder. Looking at him, Cristiano realized the baby had finally fallen asleep.

He sat on the sofa, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. Rubbing his back slowly, he let the peace of the cottage take hold. If he could bottle this and take it with him, any time a flashback threatened he’d be instantly cured.

Slowly dawn arrived. The baby slept; Cristiano relished the feel of him in his arms. But his thoughts winged to Mariella. He knew she was sleeping, but he wished she’d wake up and come talk with him. They could discuss options to make Dante’s teething easier on all concerned. He wish he knew what the future held.

Even more than that, he wished he’d kissed her back when she’d kissed him.

The sun was well up when Mariella came back into the living room. She’d had several hours of much-needed sleep. Stopping in the doorway, she smiled at the sight. Cristiano was sprawled on the sofa, holding Dante. Both were fast asleep. Even in sleep, his arms cradled her son, keeping him safe.

She stared a long time, longings and wishes surging forward. He was a marvelous man. Strong, sincere and capable. Plus sexy to boot. The beginning beard gave him a rakish look. The muscular chest made the baby seem all the smaller—yet well protected and loved.

She went into the adjacent kitchen and quietly prepared coffee. While it brewed, she looked into the refrigerator for breakfast. She’d feed her savior of last night and send him on his way. She didn’t want to impose on his time. He’d already helped more than she should have any reason to expect.

Hopefully Dante would sleep most of the day and she could get another nap.

She heard the baby fussing before she finished boiling the eggs she planned for breakfast. She knew she was no cook, but they could have eggs and toast. And coffee. She excelled in coffee.

“Something smells good,” Cristiano said when he walked into the kitchen carrying Dante.

“Coffee. And I boiled us each an egg.”

He laughed and, as naturally as if they did it all the time, he stepped closer, leaned in and kissed her sweetly on the mouth. Mariella savored the touch, too quickly ended.

“I like boiled eggs,” he said a moment later.

Flustered Mariella could only stammer, “And toast. I can do toast.”

“A feast indeed.”

“Thank you for letting me sleep,” she said, stepping away, feeling overwhelmed with the sensations spinning out of control. She wanted to put Dante in his crib and grab Cristiano with both hands. But she had responsibilities.

“Let me take him and feed him,” she said.

“I can hold him while you get things ready. But I would take a cup of coffee.”

“Done.”

They worked together as if they’d done so before. Soon Dante was nursing on his bottle, but still fussy. Mariella encouraged him to eat, conscious of Cristiano only a few feet away. She wished she’d taken more care in dressing, had put on some makeup.

“I wish he could tell me for sure if he’s teething. Babies start getting teeth at six months and he’s almost that old already,” she said as she teased his lips with the nipple. Dante chewed on it for a moment, then sucked some more, then looked as if he would cry.

“Ask Signora Bertatali what she did for her children—she had three,” Cristiano suggested.

“Good idea.”

When Dante fell asleep, Mariella smiled and kissed him gently. “Let’s hope he stays asleep at least long enough for us to eat,” she whispered, rising. “I’ll put him in the crib.”

Cristiano had started the toast when she returned. She quickly put the eggs into cups and set the table she used for dining.

“Best boiled eggs I ever had,” Cristiano said.

She laughed. “Sorry, I’m just not a cook. I ate out mostly in New York—everyone seems to, or order in. My mother cooked at home, but I never wanted much to learn. I bet you’re a great cook.”

“Could be said by some. Not my father, but those not in the restaurant business think I can make some fine dishes,” he agreed. Gazing into her eyes, he smiled.

Mariella felt her heart turn over, then begin to race.

“I could cook dinner for us tonight if you like,” he said softly.

“I’d love that,” she replied, still caught in the gaze of his dark eyes.

They finished breakfast and, by the time Dante woke again, white fluffy clouds dotted the sky. The chance of rain remained high, but for the short term it looked pleasant outside. Mariella fed and bathed Dante while Cristiano sat nearby to watch. They spoke of myriad things, from her favorite restaurants in New York, to his vacations skiing in the Swiss Alps.

“Come back to my place,” he said when the baby was dressed for the day and had smeared oatmeal cereal everywhere.

Mariella merely laughed as she cleaned him up again, looking over at Cristiano. “To do what?”

“You can help me make the table and chairs.”

“I know nothing about making furniture.”

“Sanding doesn’t take a lot of previous experience. Come on, it’ll get you out of the house. But I can’t bring you two on my motorcycle. You’d have to drive yourself.”

“Or we can walk there. Dante loves the stroller.”

“So I’ll see you soon.”

She smiled and nodded, glancing out the window again. “We’ll be there soon. But if it looks like rain, we’ll have to scoot for home. Maybe I can use your computer again. I want to check the status of the one I ordered. If it’s already shipped it might be in Rome when we go up.”

Cristiano waited until she had Dante bundled up and in the stroller. He took off on the motorcycle while she began to push the stroller up to the cottage. It was noticeably cooler than it had been. Tomorrow they’d zip into Rome. She’d do what she needed and he’d do what he needed and then she’d return to the lake to finish her vacation. She looked forward to spending the day with him without the baby. With just the two of them, and a carefree day, who knew what might happen?

When she reached the cottage, Dante was asleep. Poor thing, he was probably exhausted from being up all night. She went straight to the workshop in back. As she walked closer she could hear the raspy sound of sandpaper against wood. He had already started.

Parking the carriage just inside the doorway, she stepped further into the workshop. Better for Dante to be near the fresh air than one laden with sawdust. If it began to rain, he would be sheltered and she could get to him quickly.

Cristiano glanced up.

Taking a breath, she relished the scent of furniture oil and fresh-cut wood. “I love the way it smells in here.”

“Me, too. Are we set for tomorrow?”

“I checked with Signora Bertatali and she said she’d be delighted to watch Dante. I’m looking forward to our drive. She also said it did sound like Dante is teething. She said to give him something cold to chew on, like a cold damp rag or a rubber toy that’s been in the freezer.”

He nodded, beckoning her over to watch as he continued with the sanding. She stepped closer and peered at the smooth piece that would become a leg.