Page 68 of My Lemon Grove Summer
‘You’re as bad as Giuseppe,’ I laugh. I’m nearly forty. I think my chances of having a family really are over, especially as Lennie and I haven’t even got going on practising and probably never will. Our relationship is based on other qualities.
We eat, chat and enjoy, and when we’ve finished, Luca stands and says, ‘Who’s for gelato?’
‘Luca has brought some of his lemon ice cream,’ Valerie beams.
‘Me, me!’ everyone says, waving frantic hands in the air. It’s like a family Sunday lunch, the sort I always wished I’d had.
‘I’ll help,’ I say as Luca climbs off the bench he’s sitting on, next to Tabitha. As I follow him to the kitchen, I notice that both Tabitha and Valerie are watching him. Barry and Lennie are busy topping up people’s glasses with wine from a barrel that was left on the doorstep by the nearest vineyard owner, and teasing each other about who picked the most verdello.
Luca pulls the ice cream from the freezer as I grab bowls and spoons. None of them match – a bit like us in the house, I think with a smile. Then he picks up one of the bottles of verdello I’ve made for the wedding.
‘May I?’ he asks, holding it out to me. ‘I think we should celebrate your order and your new business.’ His eyes sparkle with excitement, and I can’t help feeling it too.
‘Sure.’ I smile broadly. ‘We need to celebrate the future.’
‘Yes, the future.’
‘What about you, Luca, what will you do now?’
He shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure yet.’ Then he laughs. ‘I’m weighing up my options, I suppose.’
‘What about the restaurant?’
He shrugs. ‘Until more people come to the town, there just isn’t enough business to keep it going, no matter how much my father would like that.’
‘And what about your cousin, the one your father wants you to marry?’
‘My second cousin,’ he corrects. ‘And I’d rather wait for love to finally find me than settle for a marriage of convenience,’ he says, and I feel myself suddenly bristle. Is that what he thinks Lennie and me are?
‘I love Lennie,’ I blurt out.
‘I know,’ he says, and smiles gently. ‘But are you in love with him?’
I open my mouth to reply, but for once, tellingly, the quick-as-a-flash answer isn’t there.
‘That’s not the point,’ I say eventually. Suddenly I remember what Lennie told me back at that terrible fortieth birthday party. ‘Love can be like food. It can develop and grow over time, like the flavours of a slow-cooked meal.’
‘True.’ He nods. ‘Something to be savoured and enjoyed.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And you still don’t believe in love at first sight?’ he asks quietly and almost tentatively.
‘I think,’ I swallow, ‘that it could be easy to mistake it. Like a tempting snack when you’re hungry; whereas the slow-cooked meal will hopefully stay with you for a long time.’
He nods. ‘I agree. My mother was unhappy with my father. She went for the tasty snack. He was English, working here. My father found out. He was the last to know. It’s why he hates the town so much. He feels he was betrayed by them all.’
‘Is that why he can’t stand outsiders coming in?’
‘Sadly, history has a way of repeating itself,’ he says, looking down and then up between the curtains of his wavy hair. ‘Carina, my cousin, who runs the shop . . .’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘What about her?’
He sighs. ‘She too fell for a visitor to the town. An Englishman. But he left and didn’t come back.’
I take a sharp breath. ‘Sophia’s father?’
He nods.
