“A goddess among women,” he said in Italian.
The lady placed a hand to her chest.
Emma’s brow furrowed. “What did you just say?”
“I said yes.”
“I have about six words under my Italian language belt that don’t describe food, and yes is one of them.” Her hands perched on her hips.
“I said the equivalent of yes,” Gio defended himself.
Rolling her eyes, Emma closed the door.
When she emerged, she was fully dressed. A crying shame, that.
Her eyes went to the suitcase at his side. “What is that?”
“A necessary item if you want to use more than paper bags to get all your new clothes home.” Gio then swiveled the white suitcase around so she could see her name and address covering one entire side. “Safety measures.”
She laughed. “That’s too funny. Sadly needed, but funny. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Once they left the store, Gio placed the bags Emma was accumulating in the suitcase and moved on to the next store.
“This can’t be fun for you,” she said.
“On the contrary, I’m having a great time.” Bathing suits help.
“Yeah, sure.”
For the next hour they went to three more stores, two of which took some time. It was then that they decided to start working their way back to the villa.
They decided on having a midday meal instead of stopping for lunch and then again for dinner.
Two hours closer to the villa, they stopped, found a restaurant with outside dining, and took their time.
“Wine?” Gio asked as soon as they sat down.
“Not for me. You can, if you want, and I’ll drive the rest of the way.”
He put that idea aside. “After last night, I’ll pass.”
Emma disappeared behind her menu. “It was fun, though. I’m a bit competitive.”
Gio scoffed. “I couldn’t tell.”
“Ha. You’re exactly the same.”
“I like to win, when I’m matched. Otherwise, it’s unsportsmanlike.”
The waiter came, took their order, and disappeared again.
“Tell me, Emma . . . what do you hope to gain by traversing Tuscany when you already have a vast knowledge of wine making?” A question Gio had been pondering ever since she told him who she was.
“Who says no to Italy?” she asked.
“You have a point.”
She grinned. “My mother gave me a big check for my birthday . . . and after she learned what my father had done, she insisted that Nicole and I spend it on a lavish holiday. I didn’t need to be told twice.”
“That’s crazy. We were both gifted this trip.”
“Oh, that’s right. You said something about just turning thirty.”
He nodded. “On the twelfth.”
“You’re kidding.”
Gio shook his head. “Why?”
“We have the same birthday.”
“Get out.”
Emma pulled her driver’s license from her purse and handed it to him.
“What are the chances of that?” he asked.
“Three hundred and sixty-five to one.”
He handed her back her license. “No. It’s much greater than that. Two people from the same part of the world, meet in a different part of the world, who both had birthday gifts that put them in the same place at the same time. Some might call that a sign.” He knew she was listening.
“What kind of sign?”
“That we were meant to meet.” He leaned forward, stared into her eyes.
She paused. “You’re suggesting romantically.”
“I didn’t say that . . . but now that you mention it.” He liked that her mind went there right along with his.
“Did you forget about the part where you’re looking for ‘the one’ and I’m not looking at all?”
Gio couldn’t help it. He looked at her lips and wondered briefly how she would taste. “Minor crossroads, bella,” he said.
She shook her head. “You’re one hell of a flirt.”
“Says the woman who asked me if her butt looked good in her pants.”
She giggled. “Touché.”
“It’s okay. I’m a patient man.” He wasn’t, actually . . . but the white lie sounded good to his ears.
“Is that your way of saying you’re going to wear down my defenses?” Emma asked.
“I’m sure as hell going to try.”
Her cheeks lit up, her smile didn’t falter. “Men never talk to me like you do.”
“I’m not like other men.”
“And if I tell you that you’re wasting your time?” she asked.
“It’s my time to waste.”
She blinked several times. “It was the bathing suit, wasn’t it?”
It was his turn to laugh. “A vision that will come up every time I close my eyes.”
“I wasn’t looking for a compliment.”
“Yes, you were. But no, cara, the swimsuit, while a bonus, is not what is prompting me to try.” She intrigued him on every level.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Duly noted.”
It was his time to waste.
Who said things like that?
And what was up with the bella and cara? What did cara mean, anyway? She’d look it up once she was alone.
They’d finished their meal and found two more women’s clothing stores in the town where they’d stopped.
The clouds that had threatened most of the day opened up while she was picking out the last of what she thought she’d need for the trip. Her credit card bill would not be pretty when she returned home.
On the other hand, she had some nice things that would forever remind her of this trip.
With her purchases bundled into a bag and held close to her body, she and Gio looked out at the rain that was coming in sideways.
“I can find an umbrella,” he suggested.
“I don’t think it will make much of a difference.”
People outside were scrambling for shelter.
“We can make a run for it.”
“Or wait it out.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a clap of thunder rumbled through the shop.
Emma opened the weather app on her phone and showed Gio. “Until two in the morning?”
“We came from that direction, right?” Gio pointed to the left.
“Yeah.”
Gio reached for the door. “Ready?”
Emma pulled the sweater she’d purchased earlier in the day closer to her body. “Might as well.”
Outside, the temperature had dropped a good ten degrees.
The rain hitting her face didn’t help.
Gio grasped her elbow and they both half jogged down the narrow street to the intersection.
“I think we’re that way,” Gio said.
The problem with Italian streets was that they all looked the same. And since they were in an unfamiliar town, even if it was small in comparison to Florence or Rome, it was still a catacomb with winding streets with cars parked all along the sides.
They turned down the block, got to the next one, and both stopped. “Did we go down the wrong one?” she asked.