Love & Gelato (40 page)

“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.”

“A dozen at least.” I took a deep breath. Now that I had Nutella coursing through my veins I felt invincible. “And just so you know, I meant what I said at Valentina's. You're the one I like. Maybe love.”

“Maybe love, huh? Well, that's good news. Because I maybe love you too.”

We grinned at each other and then a warm, spicy feeling dripped straight though my core, and I could tell Ren was feeling the same thing, because suddenly we were standing so close I could see every single one of his eyelashes.
Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

He squinted. “I think you have Nutella on your face.”

I groaned. “Ren, would you just kiss me alre—”

But I didn't finish because he dove on me and we kissed. Like really, really kissed. And it turns out I'd been waiting absolutely my entire life to be kissed by Lorenzo Ferrara in an American cemetery in the middle of Italy. You're just going to have to trust me on that one.

Finally we broke apart. We'd somehow ended up on the grass and we both rolled on our backs and lay there looking up at the stars with these big Christmas-morning smiles that should have been cheesy but really were just awesome.

“Can we please count that as our first official kiss?”

“First of many,” he said. “But if it's okay with you, I'm not going to forget that one in Rome, either. Before I so rudely interrupted it, that kiss was pretty much the best thing that had ever happened to me.”

“Me too,” I said.

He rolled to his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “So . . . there's been something I've been wanting to ask you.”

“What?”

He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to stay here in Italy? Permanently? Now that you have a boyfriend and all that?”

Boyfriend
. The stars winked ecstatically.

I propped myself up too. “I was actually kind of working on that earlier. Addie texted and told me that I could live with her family next year, and Howard and I spent a long time talking about it.”

“And?”

I took a deep breath. “And I'm staying, Lorenzo.”

He gasped. “Did you just roll your
R
? I swear you just rolled your
R
. Say it again.”

I smiled. “Lo-ren-zo. I'm half Italian, right? I should be able to roll my
R
. And come on. I tell you I'm staying in Florence and you get excited that I can say your name?”

“Never been so excited in my life.”

We grinned at each other. Then I leaned over and kissed him again. Because that was totally something we did now.

“So you're telling me that not only do you like, maybe
love
me, but you're staying here indefinitely?”

“That's what I said.”

“This is officially
la notte più bella della mia vita
.”

“I'm sure I would totally agree if I had any idea what that meant.”

“You'll be speaking Italian in no time.” He interlaced his fingers with mine. “So now that we won't be chasing your mom's ex-boyfriends around, what are we going to do?”

I shrugged. “Fall in love?”

“Way ahead of you.” He extended his index finger, lining it up against mine to make a little steeple. “Hey, I just thought of something.”

“What?”

“When we're together, we make one whole Italian.”

I smiled, looking down at our fingers and feeling my heart grow so fast and big I had to shut my eyes to keep it from bursting out.

He leaned in to me. “Hey, what's the matter? Are you crying?”

I shook my head, slowly opening my eyes and smiling at him again. “No, it's nothing.”

But it wasn't nothing. I didn't want to ruin the moment by explaining it to him, but suddenly it was like I had a zoomed-out view of this moment and I never, ever (ever) wanted it to end. I had Nutella on my face and my first real love sprawled out next to me and any minute the stars were going to sink back into the sky in preparation for a new day, and for the first time in a long time, I couldn't wait for what that day would bring.

And that was something.

Before
Love & Gelato
I had only a vague understanding of how many people it takes to make a book happen. Turns out it takes lots. Scads. Heaps. Oodles. So here's my best attempt at narrowing that number down.

My first thank you has to go to my parents, and especially my mom, Keri DiSera Evans, for giving me Italy. Those two years expanded my world exponentially and were pure magic. Thank you for never settling for the status quo. You're my hero.

Thank you to my inspirational dad, Richard Paul Evans, who not only led me to the cliff of Authorship, but shoved me over the edge. I can only dream about writing as many books or impacting as many lives as you have. Thank you for not letting me give up. (Thank you, thank you, thank you.) I am doing my best to repay you in hilarious grandchildren.

A special thank you to my son, Samuel Lawrence Welch. I got the news that
Love & Gelato
was going to be a real live book just minutes after you blew out the candle on your first birthday cake, and I still can't believe I get to live out both my dreams at once. Thank you for making sure I took time out to play cars and read silly books. And you're right—pencils should be used for drawing choo-choos, not writing endings. Those can wait. (Also, grown up Sam: Did you need a sign that you can accomplish your biggest, scariest dream? This is your sign. Go for it, Sammy Bean.)

Thank you to my lifelong friend/family member/fairy godmother, Laurie Liss. I've been so lucky to have you in my life and feel even luckier to have you as my agent. I simply couldn't love you more than I do. Thank you for believing in me.

Thank you, thank you to everyone at Simon Pulse, and in particular my brilliant editors Fiona Simpson and Nicole Ellul. This story could not have happened without you. Thank you for being enthusiastic about Lina and Ren, telling me what was and wasn't working (in the kindest way possible), and for helping me to find my voice. I honestly don't know how to thank you for helping me write a book I love. So just thank you.

Thank you to my friends at the American International School of Florence—in particular Ioiana Luncheon, the real live girl who grew up in the Florence American Cemetery. I've obviously thought a lot about you and your runs through the cemetery over the years. Thank you for your help with translating and getting all the facts straight. You were awesome. (Also, an apology to the current groundskeeper at the Florence American Cemetery. I was just the tiniest bit overexcited about my visit and really didn't mean to set off the alarms or ruin your family dinner. I pretty much want to die every time I think about it.)

Also, a heartfelt thank you to the fourteen-year-old boy who asked me on a date while I sat working on my novel in the Millcreek Library. I was having a tough writing day and you totally turned it around. Also, I forgive you for yelling, “She's
OOOLD
!” to your friends. I'm sure you didn't mean that.

And best for last, thank you to my husband, David Thomas Welch. You are immensely talented, kind, and strong, and I have relied on you so much. Thank you for believing I could do this even when I didn't. Thank you for all the extra carrying you did to allow me to fulfill my dream. Thank you for listening to every crazy direction this story could have gone and for allowing Lina and Ren to hang out in our home like they were real people. (They are, aren't they?) But most of all, thank you for choosing me. This December will mark thirteen years since I sat in your car and worked up the courage to say, “Um, hey. Do you maybe want to hang out for a little bit longer?” I'm so glad you said yes.