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“Not at all. Come home. Marry me. I can live with your resentment.” It was said in jest, but I felt the sadness in his tone. The longing. I hated myself at that moment for becoming his headache, his heartache. For dragging him into my mess, for making him a target.
“I’m sorry, Cedric. Please just know that.”
“We’ll get through this.”
I pulled the lever on the side of my seat as I looked at the dimly lit line of shops in front of me. At night, Barga was peaceful. There wasn’t a car or soul around. I rolled down my window slightly and let in some of the air. It was a cool summer night, and the mountain breeze drifted through the car and put me at ease. Though my circumstances were anything but, I felt strangely relaxed.
“Taylor?”
“I’m okay. I think I might even manage some sleep.”
“Tell me his name, Taylor.”
“No. Cedric, just let me handle it.”
“I fucking hate this!”
“So you’ve repeated.” I smiled.
“I want a check in every hour you’re awake.”
“I’ll do my best.”
A tap on my driver’s side window woke me, and I shot up in my seat, my body aching from where I solidly slept. I was doing a shit job of keeping my guard up.
“Scuzie, non volevo spaventarti.” Sorry, I did not mean to frighten you. An older man, who looked to be in his late sixties, smiled at me through the window. I turned the key and let it down fully. He had kind brown eyes and faded olive skin. His hair was solid white and combed back neatly. Underneath an apron, he wore a T-shirt and black slacks.
“Pardon?”
He smiled with recognition. “You are American. I was asking if you were okay. I see you alone here.”
I wiped my hand down my face to free it of sleep debris. “Oh, yes. I’m fine.”
I glanced at the old beat up pickup truck parked next to me. The tailgate was down, and there were several canvas bags piled on top of it.
“I got in a few hours ago, and I got a little lost, so I decided to wait here until morning.”
“Good morning.”
I glanced at the clock on the dash. I’d only been asleep for a few hours.
I looked back to him in question.
He shrugged, his palms open. “Well, it is morning for me. You are here to vacation in Barga?”
My stomach knotted at the word and the way he spoke it. “Something like that.”
“Oh, well, I feed you breakfast as a welcome. I am Donato.” He placed his hand on his chest in proud declaration. The man was slightly frail in frame due to his age. And there was nothing threatening in his posture. My stomach had been empty for days, and I had ignored the rumble that reminded me as much.
“I’m Taylor.” I bit my lip as he stared down at me. “I don’t want to impose, but would it be possible for me to use your restroom?”
“Of course.” His thick accent was charming and upbeat. “Come.” He moved to the truck and gripped two heavy bags of flour before he headed toward the door of the bakery.
My excitement spiked. “This is your bakery?”
“Yes. I opened it fifty years ago.”
“Wow,” I said as I grabbed two of the bags from the truck bed and followed him.
