face. “Allora,” I say loudly. “So it goes, you are welcome to join us. We eat breakfast at nine, lunch at three, and dinner at eight. I’m quite strict with these times when we are at home, just so I can get into the right, how you say, headspace? My work requires a lot of patience and a lot of focus. I need the structure. Perhaps you are the same.”
“I need something,” she says quietly. “I would love to eat you.” She stumbles over her words and blushes. “Eat with you,” she fills in quickly. She clears her throat awkwardly, fidgeting in her seat. “The schedule might help me. Though I may ask for your help with the espresso machine. I tried to work it but I gave up pretty quickly.”
“That won’t be a problem. And I’m sure you know that you are free to use the bar as well. I take it that’s part of the bargain when you’re a writer.”
Grace’s cheeks flush a darker peach which makes her glow.
Hmmm. Now why do I have the urge to make her blush more often?
I clear my throat, not willing to let myself be distracted. “So, what do you say? You’ll stay?”
“I’d be honored to,” she says. “Thank you. Grazie.”
“Grazie,” I say, correcting her flat pronunciation. “Not so much a zee at the end, but a zee-a.”
“Grazie,” she says, now overdoing it.
“Grazie!” Vanni yells.
I chuckle. “Don’t worry, Ms. Harper. By the end of it, you’ll be fluent, whether you like it or not.”
“I could give you Italian lessons,” Vanni says eagerly. “What’s the point of knowing both languages so flawlessly if I can’t share them?”
“I might take you up on that,” Grace says to him, smiling. Her smile makes her look younger and impossibly pretty, like a living doll. “Perhaps I can teach you some writing skills in exchange.”
Vanni waves her away. “Please, I am already so good.”
I shake my head, never not blown away by my son’s confidence, even in things he doesn’t do well. With his love of science and his logical, analytical brain, writing and anything creative has fallen to the wayside with him. But he’ll never admit it.
Grace laughs at that, her laughter reminding me of birdsong in the spring.
A peculiar feeling tightens in my chest, a warning of some kind.
Of what, I don’t know.
But I hope I’m making the right choice in letting her stay here.
Five
Grace
Even with all the commotion of the morning, lunchtime rolls around fairly quickly. After I was given the go-ahead to stay, I went to my room to get out of the way. Though Claudio seemed genuine in his invitation, I also know that Jana must have argued with him to change his mind. I know she wouldn’t back down if she could help it, and me leaving here would look like a failure to her and damage her pride. And the thing I’m still afraid of is that Jana might want to distance herself from me, just because she’s embarrassed over the supposed mix-up. She’s so volatile, who knows what will set her off? I once heard she refused to take on John Grisham as a client because he called her Janet. Of course that could all be hearsay.
So, just in case, I decide to keep to myself for a while and stay out of the Italian’s hair. I sit in the velvet armchair in the corner of the bedroom and take out my plotting journal, trying to force my brain to focus on the task at hand.
I have the first few chapters done and a detailed two-page outline of what happens in the story. But even with that as a guide, none of it seems to fit. It’s like the story I thought of all those months ago, the story Jana sold to the publisher, isn’t the story I feel pulled to write anymore.
I sigh and look over the outline, wondering how much I can change before it turns into a book they didn’t agree on buying.
Here is the gist of what I have so far:
There’s a woman, Annabelle, who is grieving the death of her estranged mother. She decides to travel to the Shetland Islands to learn more about her since her mother grew up there and was very secretive about her past life. Once there, she discovers a few secrets, including a half-sister she never knew, and she has a romance with a burly fisherman who gets her to open up. At the end, the burly fisherman disappears