Page 50 of Better Than Gelato (Ciao Bella #1)

Chapter Thirty-Four

T he breeze in Sorrento, Italy smells like olive oil and the sea. It’s been three years since I left this country. Sometimes it feels like more. Today, with a deep inhale, it feels like less.

The resort I’m staying at opens to the public next month, and I’ve spent the last four days photographing it from every angle, along with the charming seaside town of Sorrento.

I unscrew the lens on my camera, carefully stow it in my camera bag and then tilt my head to each side, working out the kinks in my neck and shoulders. Tonight, at the hotel, I’ll go back through the week’s work and make my edits. But I already know my boss Eloise will be pleased.

Henry’s packing up his notebooks and recorder. We don’t have to file the story until tomorrow, so Henry will spend the evening getting drunk on the company’s dime. He’s a big guy, mid-forties, heading for his third divorce. This is my fourth assignment with him.

“Care to join me for a drink?” he says, gesturing in the direction of the hotel bar.

“No thanks,” I say. “I’ve got plans.”

The hotel calls me a cab, and I give the driver the address for the restaurant. Waiting out front is my Italian bestie, Paolo.

He looks good. He always did.

“Finally, my Julietta Dolcetta has arrived.”

I kiss his cheeks, and he pulls me in for a hug. Then he holds me at arm’s length.

“Three years and you look just the same.” He tilts his head. “Not the same. Better I think.”

“You’re as charming as ever,” I tell him.

We get a table, and Paolo orders for both of us.

“Tell me about work,” he says. “You’re still at Conde Nast Traveler ?”

“Yes.”

“And they love your photos so much they give you the best assignments in Italy.”

“I’m pretty sure I only got this one because having someone who speaks Italian means they don’t have to pay a translator. This is my first international assignment.”

“The first of many, I’m sure.”

“My boss did mention some assignments in South America, so fingers crossed I get put on one of those.”

Our food comes, and the first bite has me closing my eyes in bliss.

“You’ve missed this,” Paolo says. “I need to start sending you lasagna care packages.”

“You do,” I agree.

“Where are you living these days?” he asks. “Still San Diego?”

“For now. But I’m thinking about a move. Southern California’s getting crowded, and I can work from anywhere. I think I’m ready for a change.” I take a long drink of water.

“Tell me about Valentina,” I say. “I was hoping she would be here.”

“She wanted to come,” Paolo says. “But she can’t travel. Doctor’s orders.” He pulls out his phone and brings up a photo of Valentina. She looks as lovely as ever. And has a full, round belly.

I look at Paolo, and he’s grinning like a fool.

“She’s pregnant!”

“Six months.”

I give him a smack on the shoulder. “And you didn’t tell me!”

“We only found out three months ago. It wasn’t exactly planned. And her pregnancy’s been rocky. For a while we weren’t sure…anyway, she’s doing a lot better now.”

“Wow.” I can’t stop smiling. “You’re going to be a dad. Are you ready for that?”

Paolo gives me a look. “I’m Paolo. I’m ready for anything.”

“You nervous?”

“Terrified.”

“When’s she due?”

“October. Which is when we were going to have the wedding, until we found out about the baby. Valentina doesn’t want to get married nine months pregnant. We’ll do a ceremony next year.”

“Marrying a Northerner,” I say. “How does your mother feel about that?”

“She was furious until she found out she was getting a grandson.”

“It’s a boy?”

“It’s a boy. We’re naming him Diego.”

My heart stutters. “It’s a good name,” I say.

“He was a good guy,” Paolo says. We sit quietly for a moment. There’s sadness, but it’s not unwelcome.

“How about you?” Paolo says finally. “Marriage on the horizon?”

I laugh and shake my head.

“I liked Orange Dreamy Dream.” Paolo says.

“His name was Kyle,” I remind him. “And yeah, he was nice.”

“Wasn’t there someone last fall? With a super preppy name?”

“Brent. That fizzled out before spring. It was fine, I was graduating anyway. And now I’m so busy with work, I haven’t been dating much.”

“Such a shame for a sweet thing like you.”

“I’m perfectly happy on my own for now.”

Paolo gives me an appraising look. “I can see that. You look happy.”

Dinner passes too quickly, and before I know it, Paolo’s driving me back to my hotel.

“I talked to Jake a few weeks ago,” Paolo says in a too-casual tone.

“Mm,” I say, noncommittal.

“He’s doing well.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I’ve got his number if you’d like it.” Paolo has offered me Jake’s phone number on various occasions over the past three years. And like every other time, I decline.

I invite him to come visit me in California, like I have several times. And like every other time, he declines. He makes me promise to come to the wedding.

“I wouldn’t miss it for all the pasta in Italy,” I tell him.

* * *

The landing into JFK is rough. There’s an early season thunderstorm and hundreds of flights have been canceled. Ours is among them. It’s only 10 a.m., but the earliest they can get us back to LA is tomorrow morning. Henry calls the office, and they arrange rooms at the airport Marriott.

Henry hands me my key and goes to sleep off the rest of his hangover. I try to nap, but I’m too antsy. After an hour, I give up.

I check my phone. There’s a text from Eloise, she’s delighted with the sneak peek of the photos I sent her. There’s a text from Paolo checking to make sure I made it home safely.

Flight to LAX got canceled. Stuck in NYC. Won’t be home till tomorrow.

He replies a minute later.

You’re stuck in NYC all day?

He sends Jake’s contact info “just in case.”

I don’t bother responding.

I grab my camera and catch a cab for Central Park. The rain has stopped, but the sky is a thundering mass of purple and gray. I wander around taking pictures, and I can’t help remembering the last time I was here with Jake.

Spending last week in Italy has made old memories feel fresh. And maybe it’s all those memories, or being here in this park, or the fact that I’m jet-lagged and sleep deprived, but before I know what I’m doing, I pull out my phone, check Paolo’s text and dial Jake’s number.

This is totally normal , I tell myself. Paolo’s an old friend. Jake’s an old friend. It’s normal to catch up with old friends. Of course, Paolo and I chat once a month, and I haven't spoken to Jake in close to three years…

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey. Jake. It’s um…”

“Juliet!” That one word, spoken by this voice, has me closing my eyes against the rush of memories.

“Yeah, it’s Juliet.”

“Wow. How are you?”

“Good. Yeah. I know this is kind of random. I just got back from Italy. I had a nice dinner with Paolo, and he gave me your number, and then my flight out of JFK got canceled, and I just thought…I’d give you a call.”

“You’re in the city right now?” His voice sounds surprised.

“Central Park.”

“When do you fly out? Are you free for dinner?”

“Um, yeah. I don’t fly out until tomorrow morning.”

Jake suggests 5 p.m. and says he’ll text me the address of a restaurant he knows. I hang up and bury my phone deep into my bag, wondering what in the world I’ve just done.

* * *

Jake’s standing outside the restaurant when my cab pulls up, and for a quick second, I consider telling the driver to keep driving. But I don’t.

I had no good clothing options for an impromptu meet-up with an ex-boyfriend, so I did some Manhattan shopping. This dress cost double what I’d usually pay, but the woman in the shop wasn’t lying when she said I looked fantastic. I take a breath and climb out.

Jake’s smiles when he sees me and it sets my heart racing. The dimples are out in full force, and his eyes sparkle like stars. I catch my breath.

“ Ciao, bella! ” he says and gives me a kiss on each cheek.

“Ciao, bello ,” I say.

We stand there a moment, not awkward exactly, but unsure.

“You look incredible,” he says.

“Thank you. You look well.”

Inside, a hostess leads us to a table for two in the corner. The restaurant is dimly lit and quiet. The chairs feel like real leather.

Jake wants to hear all about my trip. I tell him about my work and my dinner with Paolo.

“They’re expecting?” he says, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open. It’s an expression I remember.

“Yep. A little boy they’re calling Diego.”

He smiles sadly. “That’s wonderful news.”

Our food comes, and I have a sudden flashback to a hundred meals I’ve eaten with Jake.

“So, you’re working for Conde Nast Traveler . Living your dream. I always knew you would.”

I smile. “Tell me about med school. This is your last year, right?”

We spend the next two hours eating and catching up. Everything about Jake is exactly how I remember, how I tried not to remember. The animated way he talks about patients and procedures makes me smile. He’s doing well. He’s happy.

We order tiramisu for dessert and coffee after that. He asks about my parents and how they’re enjoying retirement. I ask what Naomi’s up to. When the waiter walks by for the third time, Jake pays our bill.

“Thank you for a lovely dinner,” I say. “This was nice.”

“Yeah, it was.”

We stand on the sidewalk, traffic and pedestrians buzzing around us.

“Well…thank you,” I say again.

“Would you like to walk?” Jake asks.

I hesitate for a second then nod. We head away from downtown, through Battery Park and along the Hudson.

It’s the walking that brings everything back. This is our natural state. We don’t hold hands, but occasionally our arms brush and it sends sparks shooting through me. I’d somehow forgotten about this chemistry, the kind that makes my thoughts blur.

We talk a little, mostly just sharing each other’s company. Each step seems to erase the time apart.

“I want to apologize for how things ended between us,” Jake says.

I was really hoping we wouldn’t have this conversation.

“No need for apologies. It all worked out.”