Chris smiled under my kiss. Pulling away he said, “I figured you couldn’t have imagined all that, so I did some research to find this place. Turns out you didn’t dream that day up with your father after all. It just wasn’t in Italy like you thought. Instead, it was in Niles, Illinois.”
This wonderful man went to such lengths to help me relive a stolen memory in my life. My father had been gone for thirty-three years, but the moment I saw the tower, thoughts of my daddy holding my hand as we stood on the balcony of that beautiful tower flooded my head.
Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I whispered, “Thank you so much. This means so much to me.”
He curled his arm around my waist, turning to look the majestic building. “You’re so welcome. I’d hoped it would.” Chris said softly, clutching me by my waist. “I checked with the city. We can’t go in. The building has been shut down for years, but we can still enjoy dinner.”
I looked around the empty parking lots nearby. We’d managed to drive out of Chicago and end up in a small village town. The site of the leaning tower reminded me of the downtown square back home. Trees were planted and fountains were built, but people were lacking. It was a quaint little area. “Dinner?” I asked, wondering where all the restaurants were.
Chris slid his fingers down my arm and clasped my hand. “Yep,” he said as he led me to a tiny table set for two near the fountain in the square with a perfect view of the beautiful tower. A red checkered tablecloth with a vase full of roses adorned the table. Sliding the chair out for me, Chris motioned me to sit down. “Mia bella signora,” he said, with a gentleman’s bow. “My beautiful lady.”
“Wow,” I whispered. “You did all this for me?”
“And then some,” he said with a smile.
A man carrying a tray approached our table. “Buona sera. Good evening,” he greeted us.
“Buona sera,” Chris responded.
“Vino?” the waiter asked as he placed a wine glass in front of me, pouring a few ounces.
I swirled the glass and tasted it. Just sweet enough, but not too sweet. “Perfect. Thank you,” I said.
The waiter then poured some wine for Chris and disappeared behind the building.
I looked at Chris who flashed that adorable half grin that I couldn’t get enough of. “This is wonderful, Chris. I just can’t believe you remembered my story from all those years ago.”
Chris’s expression grew serious. “It was the moment I saw you as a person. Not just as a counselor doing her job, but an honest to God person, with life experiences and feelings, and hurt and pain.” He paused, seemingly remembering the significance of that moment for him. “It was the moment that changed everything in my eyes.”
I looked up at the tower, remembering the moment my dad and I sat on the sidewalk enjoying an ice cream cone after our climb to the top. It was one of the happiest days of my life… or dreams, as my mother insisted. Sitting here with Chris, I realized after all these years, that day with my father really did happen. Thanks to Chris, I’d just learned that my most precious memory with my dad hadn’t been merely a grieving child’s dream after all. I could almost hear the sounds and smell the scents from that day, a moment etched into my memory forever.
Tears slipped from my eyes as Chris held my hand across the table.
“I love you, Salem,” he said, eyes brooding with intensity.
My heart was bursting. “I love you too, Chris.”
Just then, three young men walked toward our table.
I recognized the three faces from a recent interview on my favorite early morning news show. Il Volo. The famous Italian pop trio with the voices of opera singers. They immediately began to sing one of their more popular songs, “Màs Que Amor.”
I snapped my eyes back to Chris, surprised. “Il Volo? How did you…?”
“I’ve got connections.” Chris said with a wink.
I couldn’t translate the words, but the song was absolutely breathtaking.
“Wanna dance?” Chris asked.
“Of course,” I told him as he pulled me from my chair.
Grasping my waist, he pulled me close. I could feel the heat of his breath in hair as we gently swayed back and forth. The cool, crisp scent of his cologne wafted in the air. Leaning my head into his chest, I paced my breathing with the beat of his heart. I melted into him, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. Listening to the three Italian voices croon with their spine-tingling operatic voices, I found myself smiling against Chris’s chest.
As the song came to an end, I lifted my head to look at Chris. He stared down at me with those deep, soulful eyes with which I had easily fallen so hopelessly in love. Leaning down, his lips found mine, soft at first then increasingly more eager. The softness of his lips caused my heart to pound and my stomach to clench. I loved this man more and more every day. I never knew that kind of love before him.