Page 18 of Gelato at the Villa (Suitcase Sisters #2)

Claire kept strolling through the museum, but I had to pause and try to capture my thoughts.

Peering through the top of one of the glass cases, I studied an intricate lace cross.

And added another note, dictating softly into my phone.

“Hints of God’s story are everywhere. I love that at the heart of Venice, embedded in the tiles in the basilica, is the first story.

The truest story. His story. Beginning with creation because God is the Creator.

We are made in His image, and we are made to create beauty. ”

I put my phone back in my pouch and stood for a moment, not focusing on anything. I’d never expected to have such a string of insights or such an emotion-stirring experience on Burano, and in a museum of all places. At that moment, the Lord felt very near.

“Did you see these dresses?” Claire asked as I slowly moved across the floor to where she stood by a wedding gown display.

“I can see how lace fed the fancies of the wealthy society of Venice back in the day. Look at these lace gloves. Can you imagine having these on when you reach for the handle of your teacup? You would automatically sit up straight and take only tiny sips.”

“Stunning.” That was the only word I could think of to encompass everything I was thinking and feeling.

The quieting of my heart stayed with me as we left the museum and strolled to a restaurant we had passed on our way to the green house.

Our pace that day was the opposite of our quick and sometimes frantic strides the day before.

Today we sauntered our way across a short bridge and paused to appreciate the way the full sun caused the brightly colored houses to make curvy, equally colorful reflections on the water.

We entered the restaurant and discovered we were the first to arrive for lunch. The waiters wore crisp white shirts with black bow ties. They spoke English, and one of them told us that even though we were early, we were welcome.

He brought us tall bottles of acqua minerale and included an enthusiastic speech about how this brand was the best water and the only water we should ever drink again.

The reason was because it came from that region.

We nodded our appreciation. He waited until we had long drinks and nodded again in agreement with his pitch.

“Very good,” Claire said generously. To me, it tasted like warm water.

“Molto bene,” he echoed, giving his indication of how her praise for the water should be pronounced in his restaurant.

“Molto bene,” we repeated with smiles.

After he walked away with our orders, Claire whispered, “If he’s that enthusiastic about the water, I can’t wait to see what he has to say about the main course.”

More diners entered, and our waiter soon became too busy to give us special attention.

Our three-course meals were delivered, and the pasta I’d selected was the best I had eaten so far.

The menu listed it as pappardelle scampi e ricotta affumicata.

The wide, thin noodles were covered with plump shrimp and smoked ricotta cheese.

Claire went for spaghetti with clams, but after tasting mine, she agreed that this time I had made the better choice.

“You’ve been pretty quiet all day. Are you okay?” she asked.

I nodded. “Just thinking a lot.”

“What about?”

“The stories we’ve heard and all the art.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping you weren’t worried that you had upset someone.” Claire paused. “May I tell you something? Because I have some ideas on why you feel so concerned about what people think of you.”

“Okay.” I leaned back, giving her a chin-dipped, unblinking look. Claire told me once that the chin dip was my Princess Diana look, and when I took that position she knew I was willing to be vulnerable.

I wasn’t sure I was ready, though. I struggled enough when I imagined that others were irritated with me. To be told the specifics by my closest friend was not my idea of a good time.

“I have two thoughts,” Claire said. “First, I think your concern about how you come across to other people is something you picked up from your mom.”

“True.”

“That’s not to bash your mom,” Claire quickly added.

“You know I love her. She has a certain high-class way of doing everything, and you learned that from her. It’s not a bad thing.

It’s just that you and Nathan don’t live like that or move in those circles.

But you’re out of your routine here, and I think you’re reverting to how you had to be when you traveled with your mom. ”

“I agree. I thought the same thing earlier.”

“Okay, well, good. The second influence is your job. I’ve watched you become skittish over the past year, ever since you took on more than you should with your boss. He’s a perfectionist and too demanding. It doesn’t seem like he appreciates your extra efforts because he’s critical of everything.”

“He is.” I put the last bite of pasta in my mouth so I wouldn’t say anything negative about my boss.

I’d told Claire on the plane that I’d prayed a lot about it and didn’t feel released yet from working for him.

She said it wasn’t a spiritual issue. I didn’t try to tell her that for me, everything was a mishmash of spiritual, physical, mental, and emotional. I didn’t separate them.

“One last observation.” Claire began counting on her fingers.

“You’re afraid of making mistakes. You’re afraid of what people think of you.

You’re afraid of heights. Or at least, you were afraid of heights.

” She paused and pushed back her bangs. “Grace, I think that just like you faced your fear of heights, you can also overcome being self-conscious. All you have to do is find a way to stop being afraid.”

Claire’s statement felt like a tiny electrical shock. A small truth zinger. She was right. Fear was at the core of it all. This was a solvable problem. I went to the top of the campanile, didn’t I? I could conquer fear.

“Thank you,” I said.

Claire tilted her head. “You don’t have to thank me. I didn’t offer a solution because I don’t have any advice on how to conquer fear.”

“But you named the root of the problem. I agree. It’s fear. Isn’t identifying the source the next step in solving a problem, after admitting that something in your life isn’t right?”

“I think so.”

“That’s why I appreciate you telling me,” I said.

Our server came to our table and presented us with a small plate of little round cookies as a complimentary dessert. One of them was in the shape of a backward S and the other three were shaped like an O .

“Made here. Only here. In Burano.” He seemed to be revving up for another lesson on local delicacies. “You must try. Bussola buranello. Bussola is a compass, you see?” He pointed at the O-shaped cookie. “What do you think?”

“Mmm.” Claire offered him her best closed-eyes food-appreciation expression and said, “Buttery but with a nice lemon twist. I love it. Do you sell them here?”

“No, not here. At the bakery. I will show you.”

Claire added the location on her phone, and we slowly enjoyed the satisfying dessert before splitting the bill.

With a round of friendly ciaos from our waiter, we were off on another sauntering expedition.

Even though the streets were more crowded than when we first arrived, I appreciated the sense of ease I felt on this colorful island.

I was glad that of all the remote islands we could have visited, we had chosen to come here.

The bakery was easy to find and already filled with visitors. The cookies must have been more popular than we realized because we had to wait our turn and ended up buying more bags than we needed. It started with Claire holding one of the bags and saying, “They’re small. We better take two.”

“I think we should take a bag back to Paulina,” I said. “And it would be nice to have enough for another afternoon snack in our room. Actually, based on the way we devoured the cherry tomatoes and apricots yesterday, we should take two bags.”

Claire decided she wanted to take a bag home for Jared and Brooke, which meant I better take one for Nathan and Emma.

It got to be kind of silly. In the end, we left the island with ten bags of cookies between us. The first one was open before we even reached our vaporetto.