Читать книгу The Man from Tuscany - Catherine Spencer - Страница 2

The menu at the bistro had overwhelmed me. Too much to choose from, and the plate of linguini covered with herb sauce wasn’t what I thought I’d asked for.

“No, grazie, ” I told the waiter, searching my little phrase book.

“ Per favore, signorina, may I help?”

I looked up and there he was: tall, dark, handsome and able to speak English. “Yes, please!” I replied fervently. “All I want is a light meal, but not a salad. Just something small.”

“I understand perfectly.” He engaged the waiter in discussion, and with nothing better to do, I simply stared at my gallant rescuer. He was perhaps five feet ten or eleven, with a slim but powerful build, thick black hair that gleamed under the sun and a face that left me dry-mouthed and reaching for my glass of acqua minerale….

“And the next thing, he asked if he could join you,” my granddaughter said dryly.

“Actually, I asked him.”

“So how long before you decided you were in love with him?”

“About five minutes.”

“Oh, come on, Gran! You don’t mean that.”

“I do. It really was love at first sight, for both of us. Fate’s way of letting us know we were meant to be.”