Page 26 of Gelato at the Villa (Suitcase Sisters #2)

La vita è fatta così.

Life is like that.

Italian saying

Rosie bounded into the kitchen with a crate in her arms. “Mario gave us extra milk and butter because I told him he had friendly eyes, and I think he understood me. Does he understand English?”

“A little,” Amelia said.

“He doesn’t really have friendly eyes, though, does he? He squints like he doesn’t approve of what he sees.” She imitated his squint for our benefit.

“I think he has a soft spot for you,” Amelia said.

“It’s the red hair, isn’t it? Enzo started calling me ‘fragola.’ Isn’t that Italian for strawberry?”

“Yes, and the attraction is more than your hair, Rosie. It’s you. You’re very lovable, you know.”

Rosie brushed off Amelia’s compliment. “At least we got extra milk and butter as a result of my flattering comment to Mario. And my last gelato was free at Enzo’s.”

Claire and I exchanged “yes, please” glances at the mention of gelato.

“Tell us more about the gelateria,” I said.

“Enzo’s gelateria is less than two kilometers,” Amelia said. “Our village is tiny and parking is hard to find, but it’s worth it.”

“The limited parking is why I didn’t stop there on my way back,” Rosie said. “But I can tell you that Enzo’s gelato should not be missed.”

Amelia added, “He makes three flavors a week. If we don’t like the limited selection, we wait and go the next week.”

“Why don’t you take the Vespas?” Rosie suggested. “They are easier to park than the delivery van.”

“Would that be okay?” I asked Amelia.

“Of course. They are all yours,” Amelia said. “We are finished here, if you would like to go now.”

“We’re finished?” Claire’s disappointment was obvious. “Isn’t there something else we need to make for dinner?”

I knew she really must want to cook if she so willingly would give up a chance for gelato.

Amelia tilted her head. “What do you two have planned for the morning?”

Claire looked at me. “We have a list of things we would like to see in Florence, but we can do that in the afternoon, if you need help with anything tomorrow morning.”

“I host a dinner in Florence every Friday evening. Would you like to help me prepare for the dinner tomorrow morning and then join us around the table tomorrow night?”

“Yes! That would be amazing. Grace?”

“Of course.” I thought I should clarify my commitment. “I might skip the cooking part in the morning, though. Unless you really need help.”

“That’s why she has me,” Rosie said cheerfully.

I untied my apron, and since the agenda for tomorrow seemed to be all arranged, I didn’t waste another minute before asking, “Where do you keep the Vespas?”

“They will be outside by the front door in ten minutes,” Amelia said.

We got ready for our venture into town and found the Vespas right where Amelia said they would be. Claire was surprisingly nervous about turning the key and starting her Vespa after she had her helmet on. “How did you stay balanced?” she asked.

“I don’t know. You just lift your feet when you’re ready to go. Like with a bicycle.” I reviewed the start, stop, fast, and slow directions a second time and thought it was funny that I was the brave one giving instructions.

“Don’t be afraid,” I told Claire.

“Okay. I got it. I’m ready.” She took off with a smooth forward motion that was faster than it needed to be.

“The gate!” I called out. “Stop! Wait till the gate opens.”

The entrance gate must have been motion sensitive because the two metal panels were opening their arms as Claire approached. The problem was, they were doing so in slow motion and Claire was still at full speed.

“Claire, stop!” I started my Vespa and hurried toward her.

She must have gripped the lever on the right side instead of engaging the brake on the left because her scooter sped up with a sputter.

The gate had only produced a two-foot-wide opening.

As I held my breath, Claire squeezed—and I do mean squeezed—through the opening.

Her right shoulder tagged the ironwork, and a patch of her T-shirt tore off.

I stopped ten feet away from the gate and watched the swatch of Claire’s white T-shirt flutter like a flag of surrender from the old metalwork. She had figured out how to stop and was outside the enclosed villa, sitting precariously and examining her torn shirt.

As soon as the gate was open all the way, I puttered up to the piece of fabric and released it from the clutch of the metal. “I accept your surrender,” I said to the gate. “She didn’t mean to give you such a fright. Please don’t be nervous about opening when we come back.”

“Hallo! Are you trying to enter?” Rosie’s voice came over the intercom box at the front gate. I could barely hear her, so I pulled closer.

“Rosie, it’s Grace. Claire and I are on our way out.”

“Right, then. Okay. Ta! Oh, wait. I’m supposed to say ciao now to all our guests. Well, not ciao now, as in ciao now brown cow. Just ciao. So ciao! Oh, and when you return, kindly press the button and one of us will buzz you in.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you. Ciao, Rosie.”

She was still talking as I rode over to my risk-taking companion. Claire was too far from the entrance to hear Rosie’s voice over the intercom and asked me, “Who were you talking to?”

I laughed. “I’ll tell you that when you tell me where you learned your daredevil skills. Here. The gate was waving this white flag.” I handed her the piece of T-shirt.

“I forgot which side was stop and which was go,” Claire said. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it figured out now. Ready?”

“I hope so.”

She tucked the swatch into her pocket and started her Vespa again.

Claire surprised me by motioning that I should go first, as if I were now the designated trailblazer.

This was a switch. I wasn’t used to having that role, but I kind of liked it.

I had a little bit of experience on the Vespa, and Amelia’s directions were simple.

Turn right out of the villa, go about two kilometers, and we’d be in the village.

The afternoon was warm, which made the breeze feel even better.

I loved the gorgeous countryside. Some old trees formed a canopy over us at one patch along the way.

The sunlight broke through like golden arrows.

I cautiously glanced over my shoulder twice and saw that Claire was having no problem zipping along behind me.

We arrived in the village and slid the Vespas into a narrow space in front of a tiny shop with a weathered sign that said “Enzo.” What we noticed first, though, was a vintage cutout of a gelato scoop on top of a pointed cone.

“Buongiorno, principessa!” An older man who we assumed was the famous Enzo was seated on an uncomfortable-looking straight-backed chair by the door of the gelateria.

A small dog was curled up at his feet, sleeping.

The black-and-white dog looked up when he heard the greeting, then returned his head to the uneven walkway after assessing us and possibly assuming that we hadn’t come with treats for him.

“Buongiorno.” Claire pointed in the direction we had just come. “We’re friends of Gio and Amelia. They said this is the place to come for gelato.”

His face lit up. He stood slowly and shuffled into his shop, talking in Italian the whole time. He used his hands excessively, and at one point I was concerned he might topple over due to his limp and how he was using his hands and arms to talk instead of to balance himself.

In the corner was a small chest freezer. He let us peek inside to see the flavors and held up his thumb and first two fingers, indicating the three choices as he said their names.

Claire surprised me by saying, “Tutti, prego.”

“Tutti?” Enzo repeated.

“Sì,” Claire said, holding up three fingers the same way Enzo had.

I wasn’t sure exactly how she knew what to say. Enzo seemed to understand because he leaned toward her with a precarious tilt, and with more words and hand motions he planted a kiss on her cheek.

“What did you tell him?” I whispered.

“I ordered a scoop of all three. Do you want the same?”

“Sure. I don’t know if I need the kiss that seems to come with it, though.”

Enzo kept talking and went to a cupboard, where he pulled out a canvas bag. He limped back to the freezer, lifted out each of the metal containers of gelato one by one, and placed them one on top of another inside the canvas bag without putting any sort of lid on them.

With a wildly happy grin, he handed the purchase to Claire and waited for payment.

“Oh!” Claire looked at me.

We tried to explain what we really wanted but ended up combining our euros and paying him. I’m not sure we gave him enough, but it was all we’d brought with us. He was elated, so we figured it was all good.

A new challenge was now before us. How were we going to transport our purchase back to the villa?

We tried putting the bag in front of me on the narrow seat after I was in place.

That was a bad idea. We tried looping the bag over the handles, but it was heavy and the metal containers slipped sideways rather than staying stacked up as a single unit.

We attempted balancing the bag on the floor panel with the intent that one of us would drive with our ankles pressed against the freezing sides to keep it in place.

As we tried out that option, I noticed that Enzo and four other people had stopped to watch us try to solve our problem. I’m sure we were entertaining.

Another, older-style Vespa was parked across the narrow cobblestone road.

It had a rack on the back behind the seat.

A young man came out of one of the buildings and stopped.

His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore a white shirt that had the first five buttons unbuttoned.

The sleeves were folded up, and from the perspective of a mother of a preteen, I thought his jeans were too tight.