Page 55 of My Lemon Grove Summer
He looks at me and bites his bottom lip.
‘Maybe we could ask Luca for some tips,’ he suggests.
‘I think it’s a great idea. I’d love to be involved. The more people that come to the town, the more people come to my restaurant.’
‘Exactly!’ I laugh as we work in the lemon grove, picking fruits by hand and placing them in wooden crates.
‘And Lennie came up with this idea? The street party?’ he asks, reaching up to a high branch, his shirt lifting to give me another peek at his olive-skinned stomach. I look away quickly.
‘Lennie is great at ideas,’ I say.
‘And is that one of the things you like about Lennie?’ Luca asks.
‘He keeps me grounded. Settled. So I don’t act impulsively,’ I say, reminding myself firmly that Lennie is central to my world.
‘Like when you knocked the head off my father’s statue?’
I try not to laugh, but fail, and Luca laughs too.
‘That was very wrong. I’m sorry about that.’
‘I wish I’d had the balls to do it myself. He and the statue deserved it.’ We fall into silence. ‘I’m sorry about my father, Zelda.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘I should have stood up to him years ago. Shouldn’t have let myself be guilted into staying here just so he could feel safe surrounded by family. But all the time he’s ill, it’s hard. I don’t want to bring on his heart condition. He’s getting older.’
‘We all are,’ I say.
‘True.’
‘You have to think about yourself too, Luca.’
‘I know. But you’re right, something has to change. At least now you’re here, something has changed. I’m not being hassled into marrying my own cousin!’
‘And talking of weddings, how’s my dress coming on? Can I see the designs?’
He smiles and shakes his head. ‘Not yet.’ He smiles, and my stomach flips over. ‘Now, about this street party. How can I help?’
‘Don’t suppose you could teach us how to barbecue, could you?’
‘Are you going back to the farmhouse?’ asks Luca when we have finished our shift in the lemon grove.
‘To Giuseppe, to tell him we’re going ahead with the street party idea, and to give him this.’ I show Luca a bottle of the home-made limoncello. He nods, interested.
‘I’ll give you a lift,’ he says, reaching up and handing me an open-faced helmet.
‘What, on your . . . on that?’ I point to the moped.
‘Of course. How else?’
And suddenly I am living my own Roman holiday as I take the helmet with a smile. What harm can it do? It’s just a lift! I tell myself. Just a lift, wrapped around the body of the man who sends me into excited stomach flips every time I see him. But maybe this is the way to cure myself of these silly thoughts.
‘Yes, a lift, thank you. I’d like that.’
Luca tells Rocca to stay and guard the lemon grove, then we both climb aboard the green and white moped.
I make the decision to try and hold onto the bike rather than Luca, but as he sets off down the road, swerving round potholes, I throw my arms around him for dear life, my body pressed up against his, and it does nothing to throw cold water over my overactive hormones but instead fuels the fire in my stomach.
