Page 20 of Gelato at the Villa (Suitcase Sisters #2)
I almost added that her skills were born of interest and necessity since she’d grown up on canned spaghetti and microwave popcorn, but I didn’t think she would appreciate me sharing that detail about her childhood.
I also decided that my story could be equally embarrassing.
I never had to learn to cook because my mom had a personal chef who cooked for us.
When I married Nathan, he enjoyed making dinner, so I gladly let him take over in the kitchen while I became the dishwasher.
“Do you have a plan for where you’re going after Venice?” Claire asked Lexie.
“Not really. I’m meeting friends in Positano in a week. Until then, I’m a vagabond. My meandering starts here and ends here in five weeks. What happens in the middle is a mystery.”
“That’s a brave way to travel,” Claire said. “I don’t think I would do well wandering around Italy without some sort of schedule.”
“Well, not all who wander are lost, you know.”
“Tolkien,” Claire said, recognizing the quote from one of his books.
“Yes! Are you a fan?”
“We’re readers.” Claire included me in her statement.
She told Lexie about the Libreria Acqua Alta as well as which gelateria we liked best and how much we enjoyed our gondola ride.
By the time we arrived at St. Mark’s Square, I dared to say that Claire had helped Lexie formulate a sightseeing plan for Venice, and Lexie didn’t seem to mind a bit.
The square seemed transformed from the midday encounter we had experienced the day before. All the restaurants that lined the vast inner courtyard area were now open for business. Crisp white tablecloths were in place and nearly every seat was taken.
The mood in the plaza had shifted. We were no longer viewing the daytime schools-of-fish tourists moving as one across the wide area. In the waning daylight, the view was of sections in front of each restaurant where visitors were sitting, eating, drinking, and talking calmly across the tables.
Even the sky seemed subdued. It had taken on a rich shade of indigo that covered the space like a canopy. The sun was hidden behind the three-story buildings, making the amber lights in the alcoves and restaurants feel like home fires welcoming weary travelers to come closer.
The restaurant directly across from us seemed to have the most outdoor tables set up, and an army of servers moved among them in a well-choreographed evening dance.
Diners were being treated to beautiful music performed by a six-piece orchestra.
As we stood in our own little unlikely hive taking it all in, several people rose from their chairs and stepped into the open area of the square, where they danced to the waltz.
“Who wants to dance with me?” Lexie asked.
The Norwegian man accepted her invitation, and his wife gave him a playful look of shock.
The two of them waltzed away. I had never seen anything like it.
Two strangers dancing, laughing, and going through the steps impressively, as if they did this every evening.
Lexie and her partner made it look easy.
The mountain climber held out his hand to the jilted spouse, and they joined the escapade.
I thought of my wedding and how my dad and I had laughed and cried during the father-daughter dance.
He tried so hard not to step on my feet.
Nathan was such a good sport for our first dance.
We mostly swayed and smiled while looking into each other’s eyes.
We’d tucked in a few more dances that evening when the music was less formal. I wasn’t sure if I’d danced since then.
Claire nudged me. “Come on.”
We had to be the silliest couple on the great dance floor. Claire, naturally, wanted to take the lead, but she was learning the steps as we went. My years of dance lessons kicked in, and if I’d had a different partner, I think I might have done pretty well.
The waltz concluded, and Lexie offered a cute curtsy to her partner. Claire and I mimicked her gesture and nearly bumped our heads in the process.
“Not our best skill,” she said with a laugh. “But kudos to us for trying.”
Our quirky entourage continued our stroll to the end of St. Mark’s Square with our spirits high.
Claire sidled up next to me when we reached the lagoon and pointed at a gondola returning to the docking area in front of us.
From the bow, a small brass lantern swayed gently and shed a romantic, gilded light over the couple cuddled up on the cushioned seat.
“I miss Jared,” she said.
“Me too.” I quickly corrected my sentiment. “I mean Nathan. I miss my husband too.”
The rippled lagoon water had taken on an inky hue, and the waning sun caught one last reflection of herself in the brine.
As the others chatted, I watched a large cloud moving through the violet sky like a grand dame headed to a prestigious Venetian event.
Her petticoats curved up as she skimmed the horizon, revealing the pinks, oranges, and pale yellows sewn along her hem.
She seemed content to float wherever the evening breeze took her.
Maybe humans aren’t the only ones who wander. Maybe none of us are ever really lost.