It Happened in Tuscany by Gail Mencini

Author:Gail Mencini [Mencini, Gail]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Capriole Group
Published: 2020-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

52

Joe took Sophie and Will back to their hotel. He offered to drive them to the markets farthest from the Grande Piazza after they had rested. “We can stop for a coffee afterward,” he said.

“I’m pooped, Miss Sophie. I’m not hungry.” Will smiled. “Must be all those pastries I ate today. You can go with Joe now.”

Sophie was desperate for any clue that might lead to Francesca and agreed to Will’s suggestion.

Joe whistled beside her in the car. He glanced over at Sophie. “How come your boyfriend didn’t come along to Italy?”

Sophie felt the heat creep over her face. She pushed aside her embarrassment and spoke with false confidence. “I’m single.”

She astonished herself. Her words sounded confident. Strong. Independent. Much better than “I don’t have a boyfriend because he dumped me.”

Joe’s eyes took a slow assessment of her body. “Are you gay?”

“No.” Sophie lifted her chin. “I like men, but I’m single.”

She saw the market ahead. “That’s it. You’ll interpret, right?”

“Of course.” He motioned for Sophie to walk in first and then sauntered in behind her.

“Buongiorno,” said the man standing in front of the glass displays.

Joe’s hands flew in front of him as he spoke in quick words to the merchant.

The shopkeeper was in his forties and wore snug indigo jeans. His white T-shirt clung to him like a second skin, and black chest hair curled over the shirt’s V-neck.

Cured meats rested in one arm of the refrigerated glass cases, and prepared sandwiches on ciabatta bread, salads, and pastries sat in the other.

Narrow shelves in front of the sandwiches held fresh fruits and vegetables of vibrant hues. Sophie marveled how the produce—grape clusters with tiny round orbs, red Roma and cherry tomatoes, long yellow-green pepperoncini, and glossy, deep purple eggplants—was arranged with the eye of an artist.

Joe waved his hand in Sophie’s direction while asking questions of the shopkeeper.

The merchant directed his short responses to Joe, but his eyes remained locked on Sophie.

Joe picked up three eggplants.

The storekeeper scowled at Joe.

Joe responded by juggling the eggplants.

The seller threw up his arms and cursed.

Joe caught the fruit with soft hands and eased them back into their tray.

The retailer shooed Joe and Sophie out into the street with booming Italian words and a jabbing finger.

That attempt for information was a bust.

Joe hadn’t mentioned Francesca’s name to the merchant, and Sophie had no chance to show the photograph. The shopkeeper made it clear that no one should touch the produce, let alone juggle the vegetables.

Tears dampened Sophie’s eyes. She inhaled a deep, slow breath, and steadied her emotions.

She excused herself from Joe and made the excuse that she wanted to shop for a purse on the way back to the hotel. He motored away.

Good riddance.

She wanted to go—alone—to the other market on the outskirts of the city, as it was not far from where she stood.

She berated herself for trusting Joe, a shyster who took advantage of fellow Americans needing help in a foreign country.

Sophie’s stop in the next store also failed. The current owners bought it five years before and didn’t know the store’s history.

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