The Return.
The ferry hit the dock at Amalfi and Elena Bianchi told herself she wasn’t nervous.
She was.
Three years in Milan, one degree, zero patience left for small towns where everyone knew your business before you did. The suitcase wheels rattled over cobblestone. The salty air hit her face, and for half a second she remembered why she used to love it here.
The lemons.
The sea.
Nonna’s voice yelling from the balcony.
Then, she remembered why she left.
“Elena!”
Chiara’s voice cut through the crowd before Elena even saw her. Her best friend barreled in with open arms and the same messy bun she’d always had since they were twelve. “You’re actually home. I was starting to think Milan ate you.”
Elena let herself be hugged. “It tried to, I didn’t let it.”
Chiara pulled back, eyes scanning her like she used to when they were kids.
“You look tired. And thinner. And like you’re running away again.”
“I’m not running” Elena lied. “I’m visiting.”
“Sure” Chiara said. “That’s why you packed your whole life in one suitcase.”
Elena didn’t answer. She shifted the suitcase and looked past Chiara, up at the hill where Nonna’s house sat, with blue shutters and too many plants. Home. Problem.
“You didn’t tell me she was sick” Elena accused quietly.
“I didn’t know how” Chiara said. Softer now. “She made me promise not to. Said you’d come back out of guilt, not love.”
Elena swallowed. “I hate that she's right.”
“Then stay anyway” Chiara said, grabbing her suitcase handle.
“Come on. She’s making pasta. And before you ask, yes, she’s still yelling at everyone, cancer didn’t fix that.”
They walked up the hill. Elena kept her eyes on the ground. Less chance of running into someone who’d ask about Milan, about her father, about why she’d left without saying goodbye to half the town.
She failed at step seven.
A truck was blocking half the narrow street. Wood planks, tools, a ladder leaning against Nonna’s neighbor’s wall. And him.
Tall. Dark hair. Shirt stuck to his back from sweat. He was crouched on the ladder fixing something above the door and when he turned his head she remembered exactly why she’d avoided this street for three years.
Matteo Rossi.
Chiara’s cousin. Two years older than Elena. Scowled at everything. Especially her. Especially when they were sixteen and he caught her sneaking back into her home at 2am.
He didn’t smile now either.
“Chiara” he said. One word. Voice rough like he hadn’t used it all morning.
“Hey cuz” Chiara said, bright. “Look who’s back.”
Matteo’s eyes moved to Elena. Slow. Assessing. Same look he gave boats he thought would sink. “Elena Bianchi,” he said. No warmth. Just fact.
“Didn’t think Milan was done with you yet.”
“It's not” Elena said. She hated that her voice came out steady. “I’m just visiting.”
“Right!” he said, as he dropped a tool into his belt. The motion pulled his shirt tighter across his chest. Elena looked away fast. “Visiting. That’s what you called it last time too.”
That was unfair and as she opened her mouth to say so, Nonna’s voice came from above, loud enough to make both of them flinch.
“Matteo Rossi, if you drop another screw on my tomatoes I swear I’ll, Elena!”
The scowl vanished. Nonna was at the balcony, thin but still terrifying, face lighting up like Elena was eight again instead of twenty-four. “My girl! Come up here”
Elena’s throat closed. She nodded and started toward the door.
Matteo moved off the ladder to let her pass. Didn’t step back far enough. Their shoulders brushed. He smelled like sawdust and sea and something that made her think of summer nights she’d tried to forget.
“Watch your step” he said. Low. Only for her.
“I'm not blind” Elena said. Didn’t look at him.
“Sure” he responded. Same as before. “That’s why you almost tripped last time.”
She did trip last time. Just a little. Her hand shot out and caught his arm to steady herself. His muscles were hard under her palm. Warm. He didn’t move away. Didn’t pull her closer either. Just waited until she found her feet.
“Thanks” she'd muttered.
“Don’t mention it” he'd said. And his eyes did that thing they used to do when she they were much younger. Looked at her mouth for half a second too long before moving back up to her eyes.
Then he stepped back. Distance. Wall back up.
Elena went inside without another word. Chiara followed, but not before giving Matteo a look that said 'be nice or I’ll tell Nonna.'
Matteo just proceedes to pick up his drill.
Upstairs, Nonna hugged her until Elena’s ribs hurt. “You’re too thin” Nonna said, same as Chiara. “Do people not eat in the city?”
“I eat fine Nonna” Elena said into her shoulder. And meant it less than she wanted to.
They ate pasta. And talked about nothing important.
Chiara kept glancing at Elena like she was waiting for her to break. Elena kept her hands steady.
After lunch, Chiara dragged her back out. “Walk to the market with me. Nonna needs lemons.”
Elena agreed because saying no to Chiara was impossible. They passed Matteo again. He was on the roof now, hammer in hand, sweat cutting lines down his neck.
He didn’t look down. Not once.
Chiara leaned close. “He’s still mad at you you know.”
“I didn’t do anything” Elena said.
“You left” Chiara said simply. “Without saying goodbye to him. He was sixteen and thought you were friends. Then you just vanished.”
“We weren’t friends” Elena said too fast. “He hated me.”
“He watched you” Chiara said. “Every day. From that roof. I saw him.”
Elena didn’t answer. They bought the lemons. She carried the bag. It was heavy and her arms hurt by the time they got back.
Matteo was gone from the roof. His truck was still there though. And his tools spread across the street like he lived there.
“He’s fixing the whole row of houses” Chiara said. “Nonna hired him. Cheap, but good. He’s been here two weeks.”
“Great” Elena said.
“Yeah” Chiara said. “Great for you.”
Elena frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing” Chiara said. Too innocent.
“Just that you’re staying in the room right above his workshop. Nonna moved you there this morning. Said the other room had a leak.”
