by Vivian Wood
My thoughts inevitably end up being tugged back to that kiss. That heart-racing, breathtaking kiss, bodies pressed together type of kiss. The type of kiss that makes me wonder about what Luca’s body is like underneath his leather jacket and dark jeans. Then I mentally scold myself for my brain’s perversity.
Really, though. I won’t let my mind remain forever in the gutter. Even though my brain keeps returning to dirty thoughts obsessively.
Before I know it, we are pulling up around the back of the huge gothic cathedral that I named when Luca asked me where to go. As I climb out of the Porsche, I see a homeless guy on the corner that is absolutely glaring at me.
My face flushes. This is maybe the first time in my life where I’ve been embarrassed for appearing rich. Of course, I’m not rich. Not at all.
But I can’t exactly explain that to the homeless man that is giving me the evil eye, can I? Nor can I do anything about the five or six homeless people we will undoubtedly encounter on our way into the church. We’re in the poorest part downtown, near where Luca dropped me off the other day.
This block is especially popular with that population because the church serves hot meals three times a week. Homelessness is just a fact of life in this part of town, though it makes my heart ache each time I encounter it.
As we head down the sidewalk, I look at Luca. He’s not concerned one bit with the homeless people we pass. Instead, he looks up at the cathedral’s spires.
“Pretty,” he muses.
I follow him around the front of the building. “If you like that, wait until you see the stained glass. Each window is breathtaking.”
Luca reaches the bottom of the church steps, waiting just a second for me to go ahead. “After you.”
As I head up the stairs, I’m conscious of his presence right behind me. I clear my throat, pointing to the first window made of stained glass. “Look. That one is Joan of Arc, receiving the word of God before she rides into battle. See, she’s kneeling there. While outside her tent is the waiting army, ready to be led to victory.”
Luca looks impressed. “You’re right, it is beautiful.”
“And old.” I smile at him, pausing for a second at the big oak doorway of the cathedral. “Ready?”
He just nods. I turn and go inside, hanging my coat up by all the others. Already from here I can hear the organ playing. The air smells like incense, probably leftover from a noon mass. Luca follows me when I head through the double doors into the nave, looking around.
To the left and right there are twenty long oak pews, shining dully in the dying light from the windows. Up ahead is the chancel and the sanctuary, with the organ and player to the right. This service is sparsely attended with only a few people sprinkled throughout the pews.
I sit in the same spot as normal, sliding into a seat in the third row. Luca is right beside me, a little frown on his face. If he is dissatisfied though, he doesn’t voice his concerns.
I thank God for that.
The organ music swells as I make myself comfortable in the hard wooden pew. I grab a hymnal from the back of the pew before me and point to another. Leaning over to Luca, I whisper. “You’ll need one of those, I expect.”
His lips curl upward an inch. “I’ll just look over yours.”
I almost roll my eyes, but I stop myself in time. The Lord doesn’t appreciate that kind of sarcastic expression in his church, I expect. “Fine.”
There is a change in the music, making me automatically sit more upright. Father Duncan sails down the aisle toward the altar, followed closely by his altar servers.
Once he ascends the short steps to the dais before us, he turns around and begins the service by crossing himself and greeting us. I’ve been watching Father Duncan perform masses for five years now; he wastes no time in changing the topic from the glory of God to asking us to bow our heads in prayer. He doesn’t rush exactly, but neither does he spend an extra second on anything he doesn’t have to. I’ve gotten used to that by now.
I notice that Luca isn’t bowing his head, so I elbow him in the ribs pretty hard. He glances at me and shakes his head, but he does lower his eyes. I’ll take what I can get, I guess.
The rest of the mass trips along at a fair clip. Father Duncan reads the first two pieces of Scripture, one each from the Old and New Testaments. Already out of the corner of my eye I can see Luca getting fidgety; one time in particular he shakes his knee so hard that it causes several people to look back to see what the racket is.
I stop his shaking with a hand on his knee, then blush and yank my hand away. When I look at Luca again, he grins at my hasty reaction.
Eventually we reach the homily, or the part where the priest talks a bit more casually. Father Duncan clears his throat.
“Today, I want to talk about forgiveness. To forgive is divine. Have you heard that phrase? I want to tell you a story that starts off poorly. It begins with a young girl whose entire family had been killed in a car crash.”
I tense up. I know Father Duncan can’t be telling my story. I know that.
Even so, I clench my fists in my skirt. The priest just continues on with his story.
“The family was driving home one night when they were killed by a distracted driver. There was no alcohol at play, nor malice. It’s like that sometimes. In this case, it was a text message. The driver looked down at her phone for a spilt second, and BAM! A violent collision. The driver who had been distracted walked away with bruises. The family, mother and father and little brother, all died instantly.”
My mom and dad’s faces are in my mind, pushing at my thoughts. That feeling of great grief still pushes at me, a sharp reminder of why I don’t let anyone get too close.
Their passing was so painful for me. I won’t be that vulnerable ever again.
“The young woman had a choice to make—“ Father Duncan cries. “To forgive the driver — or to hold her hatred tight like a fist.”
Oh God, please forgive me. I can’t listen to the priest any more. I can’t forgive the driver of the car that killed my parents, even though he wasn’t drunk. Even though he died from his injuries, I still live with hate and anger.
Tears are in my eyes. I can’t breathe. I shoot to my feet.
I have to get out of here now.
Luca looks at me, his brows descending. “What do you need?”
I shake my head, the tears blurring my vision, and start to push past him.
“You may think that the young girl could not forgive the driver who had killed her family—” Father Duncan pauses, probably noting my tearful departure. He clears his throat and continues. “After all, the young girl was orphaned by someone looking at a text message. How does anyone begin to forgive that?”
Launching myself out of my pew like a shot, I barrel down the aisle, heading for the back of the cathedral. I’m still clinging to my hymnal as I run through the wide double doors, looking for somewhere private.
I turn right, stumbling into a coat closet. My heart squeezes painfully. My grief is still very much at the forefront of my mind. It’s messy and raw and not for public consumption.
Luca is right behind me as I push back into the coats, sobbing. “Cate…”
He sounds like he doesn’t quite know what to do with me. I push my face into my hands, blocking his face out from my view.
“Can you please leave?” I ask, strangled. God, let him just go, not witness my total loss of control. I squeeze my eyes shut.
There is a second of hesitation. Then he just says, “No. I can’t.”
I feel his big hand on my back, rubbing gently in circles. I struggle to control my tears, but the more I struggle, the more forcefully they come. I feel naked right now, crying while I’m pressed among the coats, unable to help myself.
Luca is the last person that I want to see me like this, so weak and unprotected. Without my armor up, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to exist.
“It’s okay,” I hear him murmur. His hand keeps rubbing m
y back reassuringly. “It’ll be okay.”
Eventually my bawling quiets to a sniffle. I am able to pull myself upright, wiping at my eyes. Turning to face Luca seems dreadful.
Is he going to laugh at me? I swear, if he so much as smirks in my direction, I’m going to lose it.
But when I wipe my face and move away from the coats, Luca surprises me. He looks at me, entirely somber, and clears his throat.
“I’m sorry.” He lifts a shoulder.
My brows rise. “For what? You didn’t do anything.”
His mouth pulls down. “I’m just sorry.” He hesitates, then shrugs again. “I wish I could’ve made you feel better, that’s all I mean.”
I look up at him, my heart starting to pound. He stands there, brooding and dark, thinking thoughts of me that are nicer than I could have imagined.
For some reason, my only response is to hug him. I burrow my face against his warm chest for just a moment, catching a whiff of his scent again. But then I pull away, my cheeks already beginning to heat. From the look on his face, we are both embarrassed by a moment I could only describe as very human.
“We should go,” I say, straightening my skirt.
“Yup.” His answer is quick and precise.
“Lead the way.” As I watch him turn and push out of the coat closet though, I start to wonder.
How many more human moments could Luca possibly have in him?
And what if it is far more than I thought?
14
Luca
I’ve figured out that Cate has a certain system for avoiding spending time at my house. Maybe it was learned at her grandmother’s, I don’t know. But it generally involves dashing out of the house as soon as she wakes up and returning when she’s ready to go to sleep.
Time to shake her up a little. After she broke down crying at the cathedral, she’s sort of avoided me except for at work. She even snapped at me a couple of times when she was waitressing.
All of which made me curious about seeing her somewhere new, someplace that I’m the only person she knows.
Will that make her less prickly?
I hear her footsteps now. Before Cate even gets downstairs, I’m waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase, a motorcycle helmet behind my back. To my surprise, she’s not wearing her nun outfit. Instead she’s wearing her black work dress with a pair of pink leggings.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
She brushes her dark hair out of her face, looking at me suspiciously. “To the grocery store. I’m hungry. Why?”
I show her the helmet. “If you can wait a few minutes, I think I can take you somewhere to eat that you’ll like.”
Cate’s eyes narrow. “Oh, Luca. I don’t know…”
“Hey, I went to mass. Fair is fair.” Holding the helmet out to her, I smirk. “Come on. I can almost guarantee that you won’t hate it.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s not much of a guarantee.”
She does take the helmet from me though, adjusting her shoulder bag. I wink at her, which makes her cheeks flush.
“Right this way, princess.”
I stride toward the front door. She follows me, grumbling about her nickname. I open the front door and then usher her down the stairs to my bike. In a flash, I am climbing on it, patting the seat behind me.
As I pull on my helmet, she clambers onto the seat behind me. She gives me almost half a foot of clearance, sitting on the very back of my bike. I can’t speak, so I just yank her forward, until she’s snug against my back.
I can feel her tension as I start the motorcycle. She’s mad that I picked an activity that not only seems dangerous to her, but means that she has to have physical contact with me the whole time.
Yup. She’s just going to have to figure out how to deal with it. Smiling just a bit, I gun the engine. Then I reach behind me and pull both of her hands to my waist. She’s probably muttering a lot more now.
I take off, in no hurry as I test her reserve on the side streets. At first her posture is stiff against me as we get on the interstate and cruise by a lot of slow-moving cars.
But then, bit by bit, I can feel her begin to soften against me. Not relax, exactly. Just quit being so resistant to me and the G-forces pressing against us both.
It’s a pretty drive out to the little place that I want to eat. We get off the interstate for a little two-lane highway, driving out along the northernmost coast, running into the Pacific Ocean.
Out here, it looks a little marshy, alternating with beachy areas. It’s a little cold as we motor along the coast; I didn’t think of bringing anything heavier than my leather jacket, but I’m pretty sure that Cate starts trembling against me pretty quickly. It is winter, after all.
Damn, I should have brought extra layers to keep her warm.
Luckily we only have a few more minutes to go before I pull off the highway, slowing as I maneuver the bike down a little commercial strip. The ocean is to our right, the view somewhat blocked by a few two story buildings. To our left are a row of two and three story buildings, most looking a little worse for the wear.
When I pull the motorcycle into a spot at the last building on the right, Cate jumps off the bike before I’ve even turned the engine off. Pulling her helmet off, she immediately complains.
“It is so cold!” she declares as I pull my helmet off. She hugs herself, shivering. She frowns at me. “You should’ve warned me that it would be freezing!”
I roll my eyes a little bit. “Sorry. Come on.” I nod to the restaurant we parked next to. “Let’s go warm up. I think the restaurant has a fireplace.”
Cate needs to hear no more. She’s off like a bullet, heading for the front door of the restaurant. I have to pick up the pace or be left behind.
Making it to the doorway several seconds after Cate, I follow her inside. She looks around with wide eyes. It looks like a cabin, but it has one giant plate glass window facing the water. There is in fact a fire crackling on our left, leaving the rest of the restaurant space for little red and white checkered cloth tables. It’s not really prime eating time, so there is only one table occupied at the moment.
“Whoa. It’s huge,” Cate says. “Oh, look at the view!”
She shivers. A blonde woman approaches us with a smile. “Welcome to Antonio’s. Two?”
“Please.” I give the waitress a smile. Watching Cate shiver, I nod at a table near the fireplace. “Do you mind if we sit there?”
The waitress gestures and Cate looks at me gratefully. We are seated, the waitress dropping two menus and disappearing to get water. The chairs we’re put in are uncomfortable for someone as big as I am, but I don’t complain.
After all, I chose this place. And Cate agreed to come…
“Do you eat anchovies?” I ask as Cate opens her menu.
She eyes me over the top. “Yes… I mean, there is almost nothing that I won’t eat.”
“How about prosciutto?”
She closes her menu. “Yep.”
“You should let me order.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “You’ll have to trust me on that one, though.”
I watch her study me for several long moments before she finally shrugs. “All right.”
It’s hard not to tease her. “Are you sure?”
She pulls a face. “No, not remotely.”
I laugh. “All we can do is see how it turns out, I guess.”
The waitress comes back with a couple glasses of water. “Do you know what you would like?”
“Yeah. A big Caesar salad and a large pizza with prosciutto, funghi, and ricotta.” I look at Cate, then smile. “And a glass of your house red for my friend here. She needs to relax.”
Cate shoots me a look but she doesn’t argue. She just thanks the waitress and hands over her menu. When the wine is put in front of her, she takes a sip. She’s still shaking a little as she puts the glass back down.
“Are you really still cold?” I ask.
“You are a jerk, you know that?”
Cate glares at me. “And yes, I’m still cold.”
I unzip my jacket, shrugging out of it. “Here. And you should move your chair closer to this side. The fire is so warm I’m about to start sweating.”
She looks a little offended. “No.”
“Take the jacket,” I say sternly. “And move. Don’t be stupid.”
“No,” she says, pouting.
I start to stand up, which makes her jump a little. “Take it.”
“Fine!” she whispers, giving me her best death glare. She’s still shivering, which reinforces to me that I am right.
Retaking my seat, I watch her put on my jacket. There is something primal in that, watching her wearing something that is mine. I smirk. “Now move. Don’t make me get up again.”
“You are so bossy!” Cate complains. She does move her chair around our little table though. When she sits back down, she purses her lips. “Where do you get that from?”
My grin fades. “I don’t know,” I lie. But Cate seems to see through that.
“You forget, I’m best friends with your sister.” Her lips lift at the corners. “And from her description, your dad is pretty domineering as well.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well. He and I are nothing alike, okay?”
“Touchy, touchy.” She seems pleased to have found something that bothers me. After the waitress drops the Caesar salad and two side plates, she digs in. “Just because I’m starving and ready to eat does not mean the subject of your father has been forgotten.”
Scowling at her, I help myself to a little salad. She makes a sound as she takes the first bite. She looks up at me, her eyes wide as she chews and swallows. I nibble on a piece of romaine, savoring the umami bomb that goes off in my mouth. Anchovy, egg, and cream, cut with a heavy dose of lemon.
It’s so good that it makes my mouth water.
“Oh my gosh,” she says. “This dressing is just amazing.” She takes another forkful, mmming at the flavor.
“Just wait till you try the pizza,” I advise. “This place does very few things, but it does them perfectly.”
