Page 69 of Wish I Were Here
But maybe Sal was right when he talked about opportunities. Maybe this identity crisis is an opportunity, and I just need to grab it. Now that I’ve found my mom, maybe I have the chance for a relationship with a parent who understands my need for stability, a career, success. Who understandsme. A tiny thrill runs through me.
“I’m really glad that this all seems to be working out the way you wanted it to,” Luca’s voice cuts in. “I just—” He hesitates like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if he should.
“What is it?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I hope you’ll be cautious tomorrow.”
I laugh, reaching over to feign checking his forehead for a fever. “Are you feeling okay, Elbow? After leading me astray with breaking and entering and mail theft and threats of dismemberment,you’rethe one lecturingmeabout being cautious?”
Luca chuckles, pulling my hand from his face. But instead of letting go, he tugs me closer. “I guess you’re rubbing off on me, Catherine Moonstone Lipton.” His smile fades, and his dark eyes search mine.
My gaze drops to the kaleidoscope of color covering his forearms. And then I reach out to do the thing I’ve been wanting to since I first spotted those delicate lines disappearing beneath the folds of his uniform. I trace a finger along a sparrow’s outstretched wing, over his bicep to a cluster of butterflies, and then to the soft petals of a trumpet vine curling around his shoulder.
Luca raises his hand to my cheek, and his lips find mine. I lean in to press against him, opening my mouth and sliding my tongue against his. His hand snakes around my waist, pulling me closer as he tips back against the arm of the couch. I fall on top of him, our legs tangling together.
My gaze drifts toward the neckline of his shirt. The hint of something blue peeks out from near his collarbone. A bird? A flower? Suddenly, I have to know. I have to explore every inch of the colorful canvas that is this charming, infuriating, irresistible man. I tug his shirt over his head, and my breath catches at the sight of the most beautifulartwork I’ve ever seen: those delicate illustrations, his hard chest, and those strong arms reaching for me.
And then it hits me with the same intensity as the first day I met him, right here in this apartment, when I threw myself into his embrace. That feeling that I’ve solved the most impossible equation, that the numbers have finally added up, that I am exactly who and where I am supposed to be.
When I arrive at the community center the next morning, Mrs. Goodwin is on the stage at the far end of the gymnasium, ordering people around through a microphone. “I want the chairs lined up over here.” She waves her hand in one direction. “Tables over there.” Another wave. “And be sure to leave a wide aisle for the wheelchairs.”
I’m here to meet Dad and show him the space for the fundraiser performances. He texted last night to let me know that in addition to agreeing to do a juggling routine, he’s reached out to his friends and secured Ginger’s burlesque troupe, a group of belly dancers, and possibly an aerial act if the ceiling in the gym is high enough.
As I gaze around the room that hosted the exercise class yesterday and that today is slowly transforming into a cross between a high school prom and a theater production, I realize that half the community is here to pitch in. In addition to Mrs. Goodwin at the microphone, I spot the book club members gluing together felt triangles onto ribbons to make bunting, several of Uncle Vito’s security men on ladders fiddling with the lighting, Ginny’s son Angelo stacking chairs, and dozens of other people I’ve passed in the hallways of theDeGreco or recognize from the shops around the neighborhood. I even see Sal sitting quietly on a bench in the corner, drinking a cup of coffee. I give him a wave, and he smiles in return.
And then I notice Dad is in on the action, wearing a pair of work gloves and pitching in with everyone else. He’s chatting with the person opposite him as they slide the tables into perfect rows—leaving enough room for wheelchairs—and I can tell by the way he waves his hands that he’s telling the story about the time at the Ren Faire when he was juggling fire on a float in the river, set the whole structure aflame, and had to swim to shore in thirty pounds of chain mail, armor, and a helmet.
The guy moving the other end of the table is laughing so hard he has to stop walking and lean on it for support. Though I can’t see his face, I recognize the expanse of lean muscles through his fitted T-shirt. And the tattoos. Of course, the tattoos.
My body heats as I remember pressing my lips to the bird on his shoulder last night. I never expected to be so attracted to a man with tattoos. My last boyfriend, a mathematician I met in my analytic number theory seminar in graduate school, used to wear khakis and a pressed Oxford shirt to class every day. But then again, I never expected to find someone I felt safe enough with to let go of all my careful control the way I did with Luca last night. Or someone who could make me laugh at the same time.
A thrill goes through me at the sight of him—the little lines that crinkle around his eyes when he laughs, the lock of dark hair sliding down his tan forehead. He’s so familiar,but this feeling is brand-new. Thrilling. Like I’m jumping from the fire escape to the rooftop, and at any moment, I could fall.
I make my way in Luca’s direction, and when Dad spots me, he comes over to give me a hug. “Kitty Cat! What an absolute delight.” Though I saw him yesterday, he still greets me like it’s been years. I guess it’s always been this way, like seeing me is the best part of his day. Sometimes when I was a kid, I’d open the front door after school to find a handmadeWELCOME HOMEsign, a stack of cupcakes, or Dad unicycling around the living room waiting for me.
Though I’ve struggled with our relationship, he’s still my dad, and I know he loves me. But even if half the time he’s in his own world, how could he keep such huge secrets from me? I shake my head, pushing it out of my mind, because maybe I’ll finally get those answers from Melanie tonight. Instead, I focus on Luca, who rounds the table to join us.
“Hey,” he says, not quite touching me, but standing close enough that I feel the warmth of his body. He gives me a sideways smile, his gaze lingering on mine for a moment. If I lean in, I can smell his citrusy scent. That same scent was on my pillow when I woke up this morning, but Luca was already gone. He left a note, though, using the pad on my desk where I keep my lists.
Off to deal with the broken elevator.
Luca sure knows how to charm me.
I pull my attention back to the present when Dad gives Luca a good-natured slap on the back. “I was happy to run into this guy again.”
Luca smiles. “Andy was just telling me about some of the perils of his job.”
Iknewhe was sharing the story about the fire juggling and chain mail. It’s one of Dad’s favorites, now that he’s not at the bottom of a lake. “We may want to skip the fire throwing at the fundraiser,” I suggest. “Since they’re trying tosavethe building, not burn it to the ground.”
“I’ll stick to juggling balls and the unicycle,” Dad promises with a laugh.
“Speaking of that…” I gesture up at the stage, where Mrs. Goodwin is still at it with the microphone. “Do you think this space will work out for your friends’ performances?”
Dad gazes around the gymnasium. “The stage will be fine for the dancers and my juggling tricks.”
“What about the aerial act?”
“Luca’s uncle over there was just helping me figure out how we could hang the silks from the beams on the ceiling.” He hitches his chin at Uncle Vito. “Nice guy.”
