It looks less like a museum in here and more like a workshop, curtains drawn over most of the glass windows, clay stains on them. There are small slabs of marble and stone scattered around, as well as a lot of equipment, such as calipers, rulers, chisels, saws, goggles, gloves, and the like.
“So this is where the magic happens,” I say, loud enough to be heard over the music. Last thing I want is for him to turn around and find me staring at him like a creeper. And I am a creeper, because he’s been giving me a great view of his ass in his paint splattered jeans. The man knows how to fill them out.
Claudio turns around, but instead of looking embarrassed (I would be mortified if someone had caught me dancing and singing), he gives me an apologetic smile. “I am so sorry,” he says. “Is the music disturbing you?”
“Not at all,” I tell him. “Actually, I came down here to take you up on that bike ride.”
He gazes at me for a moment, the smile turning soft, a wicked curve to the corner. He’s got the most expressive lips, conveying so much emotion with the smallest movement. Don’t mind me. I could wax poetic about those lips all day.
Save it for your book.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says after a moment, a very long moment in which he just smiles and stares at me and makes my stomach do that fluttery thing again. “I think it would be good for you. Have you been to Lucca?”
“I haven’t been anywhere in Italy,” I tell him. Except for Rome, but that’s not even worth mentioning.
“Well then,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go.”
“I don’t want to interrupt anything,” I tell him, nodding at the table.
“Oh,” he says, and then steps aside to show me a lump of red clay. “I wasn’t doing much. As you can see, my muse hasn’t visited me today. When that happens, I put on music. Do you like INXS?”
I shrug. “I haven’t really listened to them much. I’m not a fan of the saxophone.” His expression crumples and I quickly add, “I do love ‘Never Tear Us Apart.’ I think it’s an amazing song.”
“You know they are coming to Lucca in two weeks,” he says.
“Really? Who is the singer this time?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Does it matter? They can never replace Michael Hutchence. But I may get tickets today when we go into town. Would you like to go with Vanni and I? It’s for the Lucca Summer Festival. They have concerts on the weekends in June and July, big names.”
“Aye. That sounds like fun.”
“Aye,” he repeats in a mock Scottish accent, which sounds funny when combined with an Italian one.
“You making fun of my accent?”
“Never,” he says, his sable eyes gleaming. He steps toward me and stops, looking me over. “I like your outfit, by the way. Very cool.”
I glance down at the dress and high-top sneakers combo. It doesn’t really go together, but I’ll have to take his word for it if he thinks I look cool. I mean, he’s the one who looks cool with his paint-splattered jeans and thin grey t-shirt with a faded yellow logo on it. I can’t tell if it’s purposely distressed and threadbare as is the fashion sometimes, or if he’s had it forever. Either way, it shows off his upper body perfectly, clinging to every taut curve. The man sure knows how to dress for maximum impact.
“Thanks,” I tell him, blushing.
He studies me for a moment, eyes resting on my cheeks, which makes the burning intensify. Then he looks away and strides past me out of the studio.
Okay. That was a strange little moment.
I follow him into the dining room, and he tells me he’ll meet me out front. He runs up the stairs shouting for Vanni, and I step out the main door to the gravel lot in the front. His vintage Ferrari is still parked there, gleaming in the sunshine. It’s gorgeous and I find myself secretly hoping he’ll take me for a ride in it one day.
Yeah, that will help. The two of you cruising around in a hot car is one step away from turning you into a lovesick teenager.
Hmmmm. Probably not a good idea.
“Here,” Claudio says from behind me, bringing out two bikes from the corner of the house. “I have a bike for you. I hope it will be okay.”
I head over, my shoes crunching on the gravel, and Vanni appears behind Claudio, holding on to the handles of his own bike. Vanni’s bike is a cruiser which is a lot more my speed, but I guess I’ll have to make do with the bigger bike that Claudio thrusts toward me.
“You can manage?” Claudio asks.
I nod, my smile tight.
“Do I really have to wear my helmet?” Vanni complains, holding it in his hands.
“Yes, you know you do,” Claudio says, placing his palm on top of his son’s head. “Your genius brain needs all the protection it can get, si?”
Vanni doesn’t buy it. “Gio doesn’t have to wear one.”
“How do you know? Can you see Gio right now?”
It takes me a moment to realize they’re talking about Vanni’s alter-ego in another dimension.
“I just know these things. I feel them,” Vanni says. But he reluctantly slides the helmet on and sighs. “This is the darkest timeline.”
We get on our bikes. Mine is a little shaky on the gravel, enough that I can’t get my leg around it.
“You sure you’re okay?” Claudio asks me, brows together in concern.
I give him a dismissive wave. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ll get on where it’s flat.”
I walk my bike down the driveway to the smoother pavement of the road, trying to hide the shame. I don’t know the last time I went bike riding, but I’m obviously not very comfortable with it anymore. I hope the old adage “it’s like riding a bike” is true.
Once the bike is on the flat road, it’s much easier to swing my leg around and get on. Though the bike wobbles a bit as I try to peddle through and there’s a terrifying moment where I’m sure I’m about to eat shit, I manage to keep myself upright.
“Maybe she should wear the helmet,” Vanni calls out, happily biking ahead of me.
“I’m fine,” I say again, louder.
With my legs slowly pumping I glide past Claudio and give him a shaky smile. “See. Like riding a bike.”
Claudio pulls his aviator sunglasses down over his eyes and smirks. “You’re going the wrong way.”
Right.
Somehow I manage to do a wide circle on the road, wobbling here and there, and then we’re all riding off in the right direction.
The weather is so beautiful, a continuation of that perfect summer day, that I can’t help but beam as I ride, taking my place between Claudio and Vanni as we head down the country road, passing by rolling hills of tawny grass and grapevines, dotted with towering cypress, sprawling farms, and quaint villas.
I catch Claudio looking over his shoulder at me, and my first instinct is to stop smiling, because I feel like a kid. But he looks amused by me, so I decide to keep smiling instead. The grin he gives me back matches my own.
It’s disarming enough that I turn my eyes down to the road in front of me. If I keep staring at Claudio, I’m going to fall in a spectacular fashion.
Why does that feel like a metaphor for something?