Paris Is Always a Good Idea - Jenn McKinlay Page 0,111
business take over the first floor. When I had checked their website, I’d seen Marcellino DeCapio listed as the owner of the vineyard. This didn’t surprise me at all. He’d had a rare gift for working with the grapevines that covered the hills behind the castle. Mr. DeNicola had often said that Marcellino could sweet-talk the vines into producing more grapes than ever before. It hadn’t been hollow praise. I had marveled at Marcellino’s natural affinity for the winery business.
The vineyard had a gift shop and offered tours, which I’d led during my time there. The castle was a popular stopping place for tourists, and as I walked past the tour buses parked in the small lot, I almost felt as if I should be donning my Castello di Luce staff shirt and gearing up to give a tour of the grounds, the castle, and the vineyard.
Instead of following the other tourists into the castle courtyard, I went around the side of the building, where there used to be a rose garden belonging to Mrs. DeNicola. As soon as I stepped through the archway, the scent of the roses lured me in. The garden was still there, and while most of the rosebushes had yet to bloom, the overachieving Don Juan rose, a climber, was bursting with fragrant burgundy blossoms.
I left my bag by a stone bench and strolled through the garden, past the fountain in the center and out the opposite arch, which supported a heavily loaded lavender wisteria vine. I paused to look out across the rolling green hills, thrilled to see the red poppies just starting to bloom amid the lines and lines of grapevines, which had just begun to leaf. It was, as the Italians would say, una bella giornata, a beautiful day.
I soaked in the beauty of the landscape as the scent of the sweet air filled my lungs. I closed my eyes and tilted my face, letting the warm sun shine down upon me while a gentle breeze teased my hair. The memories of this place during that magical April and May, when the mornings were busy with tourists and the afternoons were spent sitting on the handlebars of Marcellino’s bicycle while we rode into the village for gelato, were so thick and rich again, it felt as if I were stepping back in time.
“Chelsea?” A man called my name. “Chelsea Martin?”
chapter twenty-two
I OPENED MY eyes. The sun was bright, and I blinked past the red haze, trying to bring into focus the man striding toward me. He was walking the narrow dirt path, coming up from the small grove of silvery-green olive trees, where I could see several workers scattered amid the orchard, pruning the branches.
The man was wearing a wide-brimmed brown canvas hat, which put his features in shadow, but I would have known that stride anywhere. Marcellino!
I wanted to shout. I wanted to say something, anything, but all I could do was nod—vigorously. That was all it took. Marcellino broke into a run. His hat flew off his head, and the sun lit up the copper strands in his dark hair. His smile was as big as the sky, and his eyes—oh, how had I forgotten those beautiful eyes—were shining as he sprinted toward me.
I couldn’t wait for him to reach me. I started running, too, dashing across the uneven ground to get to him. It was like something out of a movie, a love story. My heart swelled. Everything around him faded into the background: the cypress trees standing in a tall line shielding the precious vines, the swallows and house martins twittering as they fluttered past with twigs in their beaks, off to build their nests, and the people touring the vineyard, completely unaware of the epic moment that was unfolding before them.
I felt a lighthearted laugh build up in my chest. Was this what I’d been looking for? This place and these feelings? I wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe it so much that I didn’t stop or slow down; instead, as soon as I was close enough, I launched myself at him.
Marcellino was tall and muscled from his long days of working in the vineyard, and he scooped me out of the air as if I were no heavier than a bouquet of wildflowers. He took my momentum into his body and spun me around, holding me up high. Then he slowed and hugged me close.