Read Online To Tuscany with Love by Gail Mencini - Free Book Online Page A

occasion—dress gloves, not the knobby knit mittens Meghan used to warm her hands against the blustery winter cold.
    The rhythmic hum, punctuated by steady thumps, that came from the rear of the store suddenly stopped. Only the whir of an oscillating fan cut the silence.
    “ Buon giorno .” A thin man in his sixties stood beside the sewing machine in the back of the room. Thick, straight, steel-gray hair covered his head. He pulled his bifocals off, cradling the lenses in his palm. He grinned at Lee. “You are back, American.”
    “ Buon giorno. ” Lee moved with purpose to the older man. He clasped the man’s right hand in both of his own. “I brought a friend. She likes leather and fashion.”
    Meghan’s face erupted in a smile. She took her turn clasping the man’s rough hand in both of hers. She bobbed her head to each side of his face as she gave him a double kiss. “Your work,” she said, glancing back at the hanging jackets, not sure if he would understand her words, “is beautiful.”
    “Grazie, grazie.”
    “Prego.” She smiled, then broke eye contact, afraid he’d speak Italian to her. She patted the sewing machine, identical to her grandmother’s. Black, with a cord running from the wheel on the right to the foot platform below, the machine was powered by the pumping action of the operator’s feet. Her fingertips traced a line along the smooth surface of the top. “Could we watch you work?”
    Laughter erupted from deep within the man’s chest. “Of course.”
    The afternoon flew by. Ideas for new designs bombarded her head. Shadows covered the street when Lee and Meghan stepped out into the cool air.
    Meghan threw herself at Lee and kissed him square on the lips. “That shop was great.”
    Lee placed one hand under Meghan’s long hair, sliding it up her spine to the back of her neck. “So was the kiss.” His mouth found hers.
    Her skin tingled all over. His left thumb traced a pattern up and down her right side, his hand finally lingering at her bra line. Shivers raced from his touch and extended to parts of her body that his hand was nowhere near. Lee nibbled on her lower lip. “Umm, this beats the middle finger of Galileo’s right hand all to hell.”
    Acting like young Italians who take their love to the street, Meghan and Lee explored each other’s faces, ears, and necks in the cool alley street. Time melted away.
    The sound of beating drums, reminding Meghan of those in Chicago’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade, came from the nearby street, the Borgo Santa Croce.
    Lee grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the noise. A crowd sat in the bleachers and circled the piazza. Cheers and clapping erupted when men wearing yellow and red tunics and black bloomers inset with yellow and red silk reached the sand field. Rows of marchers followed the drummers. They carried either blue and green flags or red and white flags–all embellished with designs of animals and symbols.
    Meghan’s fingers ran through the back of Lee’s frizzy curls. “Now what?”
    Lee slipped his arms around her waist. “It’s the Calcio Storico. It’s about to start.” He bent his head, nibbling the side of her neck. He took a break from his playground to peer into her eyes. “It’s today’s event.”
    “Oh.” Meghan frowned. “The event we’re all supposed to watch together. Think the rest of the group is here?”
    Lee’s eyes sparkled. “We could watch five or ten minutes—maybe from over there, in the shadow of the awning—and then split. We can go to my room.”
    She thought about his roommate. “What about Rune?”
    “He and Stillman are going to get stoned.” Lee winked. “Besides, we have a signal when we don’t want to be disturbed. We drape a towel over the doorknob. It means, ‘I’ve got a girl inside, so don’t come in.’”
    Meghan peered at his face. “Have you used that signal this summer?”
    “No.” Lee blinked and his face was as solemn as if he were in church. “There’s