Someone Like Lorenxo

1

Allison

“SHIT!” I SWEAR OUT LOUD in annoyance when the back tire on my bike gets punctured. Trust it to happen now, just as I reach the foot of the steep hill. Now, I would not only have the exertion of walking up but would have to haul the bike along too. Could this get any worse?

Immediately after speaking those words, the sky above me starts to turn gray and stormy. The large droplets of rain start hitting my skin, making me swear again. You’ve got to be kidding me. Anything else? My foot begins to tap on the concrete, as my jaw clenches and my gaze flicks upward. My hands fly up in the air, asking God if there is anything else he wants to throw at me before I get home.

My thin jacket will be no protection and soaked before I reach home. A sudden mood swing, and it becomes as dark as the sky over me as I grudgingly push my bike up the hill, hoping to get home before the heavy downpour comes in full force. The squishiness of my socks in my tennis shoes makes the most god-awful sound with every step up the hill I go.

At least when I get to the cottage, supper will be ready, and I can dry off quickly by the large burning log fire. These thoughts quicken my pace. After almost twenty years of climbing this hill, I’m used to it. However, my legs ache in protest. I spent most of the day on my feet at the bakery where I work in the tiny town of Rathendene. It’s a small island called Cushnagh, which is just off the Irish coast. Unfortunately for me, the rain comes down heavier, soaking my long dark hair, the dampness yet to come through my jacket. Trudging on, it will not be long until I reach home. Thank god.

As I approach the bend in the road which leads to gran’s cottage, my spirits lift a little, knowing it’s only a short distance to go. That’s when I notice the light in the neighboring cottage. It belongs to Harvey Maxwell, an American publicist who occasionally uses it in the summer. But right now, it’s the middle of winter, and normally didn’t have occupants, which is why I stop mid-stride.

When Harvey comes to stay or visit, usually he calls me or my grandmother to let us know. We have spare keys, and would air the place out for him, getting it ready for his arrival. Who would want to stay here willingly during the winter? All it does it rain and storm the entire season.

As I get closer, there is a red car in the driveway. It’s not Harvey’s car unless he bought a new one. Despite the rain and growing darkness, the door opens, and a figure appears. I bite my lip, and squint. Harvey is a plumpish middle-aged man with thinning gray hair. This man is younger and thinner, maybe in his mid-twenties, with short dark hair. Hurriedly, he opens the trunk of the car without noticing me. What’s in the trunk? My eyebrows raise.

When he turns and straightens up, that’s when he notices me standing at the other side of the gate. He halts.

“Yes? Something you want?” His abrupt tone conveys no friendliness.

“Oh, s-sorry,” I stammer in apology, recollecting myself. My cheeks burn. “It’s just I live in the cottage next to you, and know Harvey, the owner. We look after the place when he’s gone. Who are you?”

“Well, you need’t worry. I’m not some sort of squatter, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just a friend of his, he’s kindly letting me use it for a few weeks.” His eyes search around the area, almost as if he’s seeing if anyone else is watching.

“Oh, I see.” Relief fills me, as I push away the rain-soaked locks in order to see him better, noticing his scruffy appearance and a slight foreign accent. French or Italian, perhaps? I have never met him before, but he seems vaguely familiar. Where did I recognize him from?

“You say you live in the next one?” he asked, eyes darting over to my grandmother’s house.

I nod. Maybe I shouldn’t have just told a stranger that especially since I have no clue who he is. Idiot. He could be some serial killer, and besides me and my grandmother, there is no one else around. Haven’t you learned anything from watching all those horror movies?

“Okay, you must be Allison, then. He mentioned you.” His finger points toward me.

“He did?” I question, wondering if I should believe him or not. Why wouldn’t Harvey have called us before his arrival? And why would anyone come here during the winter without warning to heat the place up?

“Yeah, he told me if I need to know anything about the island, like the best fishing spots, to ask you.”

“Yes, well, I’ve lived here all my life, so I can give recommendations.”

His eyes briefly inspect me up and down speculatively before continuing. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind. For now, I’ll get out of this rain. You should too before you catch your death.”

“Of course, I better get going. My gran’s waiting for me. It’s nice meeting you, Mr. -?” I falter, waiting for him to fill in the blank. His name will be useful when I talk to Gran in a minute. I imagine we will call Harvey to confirm he’s supposed to be here. He’s acting weird, and could just be a squatter.

He seems to hesitate, as if not sure whether to reply, then finally, he says, “Lorenzo.”

Abruptly turning around, I hurry to the cottage. As I struggle through the front door with my bike, Mary Stewart, my grandmother, greets me in the hallway.

“Oh, look at you, Allison. You’re soaked right through. I told you to put on your heavier coat with the hood this morning.” Gran comes over, trying to help take my jacket off, and then grabs a towel to drape over me. “You’re going to end up getting sick, stupid girl.”

“I know, but it didn’t rain until I got halfway home.” She is always hounding me when I leave to put on a decent jacket, and to prepare for the weather, and sometimes I hate to admit it but she’s always right. Why don’t I just listen to her?

“Well, go up and get out of those wet things and get yourself dry. I’ll have some hot tea ready for you when you’re done.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting at the kitchen table eating supper, while Gran put on the kettle for tea. “Did you know there’s some friend of Harvey’s who just moved into the cottage? I saw him when I was coming past. It’s some fella with a red car. Said Harvey’s letting him stay there.”

Gran, with a slight look of intrigue in her eyes, says, “I’m surprised Harvey didn’t call. It’s been sitting empty for four months. It’s probably not in a fit state for someone to be in. You’re right through, it’s strange for anyone coming to stay here in the middle of the winter. It’ll be damp and cold in there. He must be a good fire going to dry that place out properly.”

“Yes, well, he didn’t exactly seem friendly. Though he said Harvey mentioned my name. That’s when I knew he must be telling the truth.”

“I can imagine he wont to stay long. There’s not much going on here in the summer, never mind the winter. He’ll get bored easily and be packing his bags after a few days to head back to the hustle and bustle of the mainland.”

“More than likely,” I agree with a small sigh. But I am still curious about the new arrival and the reason he is taking residence in the cottage. Living in such a small space, where hardly anything happens, makes little events like this pique my interest. Nobody ever visits during the winter, so there must be a reason he’s here.

The next morning, I ride past Harvey’s on my bike. The red car is still in the driveway, but the curtains are drawn. He’s probably still asleep. It’s early, barely seven. It’s only now getting light outside, but the sky is cloudy. Gran insists I wear my coat with the hood today.

When I reach the bakery, Teresa already has the doors open.

“Morning, dear. Hope you didn’t get too soaked on your way home last night. Turned into a terrible downpour.”

“Well, I did, but only because my stupid tire got a puncture.” Thinking back to yesterday, the puncture isn’t what I want to tell her about. She will be interested to know there’s someone new in town. After all, she’s been single for a couple of years and always looking for a new hot boyfriend. Yeah, she says she doesn’t have time to date, but I know that’s a lie.

“Oh crap. Well, it looks good as new now.” She smiles, looking outside at the bike rack she put in for me when I started here.

“I have some new gossip for you. Some fella named Lorenzo moved into Harvey’s cottage last night.”

“Oh?” Teresa’s eyes widen and she grabs my arm; after all, new gossip is scarce on this small island. “What’s he like?”

“Younger. Scruffy, to be honest. I made an idiot of myself because he caught me gawking at him.” So, maybe I leave out the fact he’s actually kind of cute in a brooding sort of way.

“Something mysterious about his sudden arrival?” She asks.

“I don’t know, but time will tell.”

The bakery is always busiest in the mornings with the locals coming in to get their bread and pastries, there isn’t much time for me to think about last night’s events. I glanced through the shop window and see the familiar red car pulling up to the narrow curb. Straining my neck to get a better look, it’s Lorenzo. He is wearing a long dark overcoat and a cap. The odd thing, he’s also rocking sunglasses when it’s overcast. Weird.

As he opens the door and then enters, he removes them.

“That’s him,” I hiss at Teresa, yanking my head in his direction.

She gives the new customer more than her usual scrutiny and smiles as she steps forward to serve him. “Can I help you?”

This is quite hilarious to watch. Once she starts batting her eyelashes I know she’s going to start flirting with him. Let’s see how long it takes for her to notice how awkward and possibly rude he is. I give it less than three minutes.

“Yeah, I need some bread. Wholemeal preferably,” he replies in a businesslike tone as his blue eyes peer at the different loaves of bread set out behind the counter. He seems to recognize me. “Oh, hey. See you’ve dried out. Nasty downpour you got stuck in yesterday.”

I smile since he seems friendlier today. His eyes are bloodshot and weary. It looks like he hasn’t slept well in weeks.

“Yes, thankfully, the rain has stayed off today so far. Have you settled in okay? I hope it wasn’t too cold or damp.”

“It wasn’t.”

He’s very abrupt and to the point with his answers with me. Lorenzo turns back to Teresa who is wrapping up his bread.

“Is that all you want?” Teresa asks.

“For now, yes.” He lifts the bread, seeming uneasy with all the questions and wants to go.

Teresa, being a nosy woman, wants to find out all she can while the chance is here. “So, you’re staying in the Maxwell cottage? He’s a nice man, always very polite. You must be a good friend if he’s letting you use his place. Pity you visited in the middle of winter. It’s much nicer in the summer.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t come for the weather. Privacy is the only thing I’m interested in.”

“Well then, you came to the right place,” Teresa replies, handing him the change. “Apart from her and Mary, you’re pretty isolated. Not another soul around.”

“Just the way I want it,” he tells her, giving her another of his quick smiles. “Have a nice day, ladies. I’ve got a few more places to go.”

We watch him leave. “Hm, doesn’t give much away, does he? I think I know what he needs.”

“Oh, what’s that?” I ask with interest.

“A good woman to look after him,” Teresa replies, making her laugh.

Chapter 2

Allison

AS THE WEEK WENT BY, the new arrival has caused quite a stir in the small island community. Any attempt for the locals to get into a conversation with the new visitor is sometimes rudely cut off. It is now a well-known fact he’s not the friendliest person, and he prefers to keep his own company with a bottle of alcohol.

I, personally, make a point to not encounter him again, despite my curiosity. Which is why the rumors spread about him actually being someone famous and well known seems to have more credence with me. I am not the only one who thought he seems familiar. It seems to be a bit of a mystery. It has been almost a week since his arrival when I inadvertently found the answers. Bored, with nothing to do, I glance through magazines. I have no real interest in celebrities, but as I idly browse through the pages, a particular face jumps out at me, making me peer at it more closely and read the writing below. It’s him, our new neighbor. His name is Lorenzo Moratti. It seems he’s famous, a celebrity chef whose restaurant has previously appeared in some reality type program on television that isn’t available on our island.

From the written article next to the picture, the only other information I could gather is he’s known for being rude and arrogant to both his staff and the celebrity guests who paid a fortune to come and eat at his place. I could relate to the article. It explains a lot.

The reason the celebrity magazine is interested in him is because there are rumors about his marriage to his pretty blonde soap opera star Holly being in trouble, and a split seems imminent. Now the magazine claims it as their exclusive new bit of celebrity breakup gossip. I look at the front; it’s almost six months old. At least I could understand why Lorenzo seems familiar. I search through the pile of old magazines in the kitchen drawer, wanting to see if there is anything more about him.

In the end, I found one more article on him that is a little more recent. It’s advertising the latest series of his reality cooking show. It’s a more in-depth article with a larger picture of him sprawled across the page dressed in a suit and posing with the infamous scowl titled, “The Smoldering Sexy Chef’s Back. Rude and Brooding on Our Screens.” Reading through it, they wrote the article in a way which isn’t appealing. A small introduction paragraph reveals he first found his way to fame when his father Antonio, also a chef, married and settled in London. He agreed to film a three-part documentary about him in his kitchen, where his then eighteen-year-old son worked alongside his father. It seemed it caught a lot of female attention with his brooding Italian looks, and the rest was history.

He found fame in his own right from that documentary which led him to later have his own show. Once he started opening his own restaurants, customers were pouring in from his and his father’s reputations. It was obvious the fame and success of the high life also brought its problems, as it seemed he was now estranged from his family, and his marriage was in trouble. He seemed to take it all in stride.

Going to bed, I gained a lot more insight to Lorenzo and the person he is. Even though it’s interesting, it still didn’t change the way I think about him. It explains the reason for his strange moods. His personal life seems to be falling apart.

The sound of my phone ringing wakes me. Glancing at my clock, it’s just after six a.m. Who on earth could phone so early?

As I answer it, Teresa sounds flustered. “I’m sorry for ringing you at this hour, but an emergency has come up. My brother had a heart attack.”

“Oh no, he going to be alright?” My hand flies to my mouth, and I shoot up off the bed to begin pacing the room.

“Well, they think so, but it’s hard to tell. Planning ongoing to Dublin myself to find out, and I was wondering if you would look after the bakery for me.”

“Of course, I will,” Allison replies.

“I’m going to book myself on the afternoon ferry to the mainland, so you can come over and get the keys and open the bakery when you’re ready.”

“No problem. I hope your brother’s okay.”

The worry in Teresa’s voice is clear. I am hoping it isn’t too serious, knowing it will devastate Teresa if anything happens to him. She isn’t only my employer, but a good friend.

I get ready for the day and pick up the keys to the bakery and the house. I’ll be responsible for her dog Jake while Teresa is out of town too. The work day goes by fast like always because of the number of the locals. They keep me busy.

After closing the bakery for the evening, I head to Teresa’s house to get Jake, a black lab whose tail begins to wag, and breathes heavy as I walk in.

“Well, boy, it looks like you must stay with me for a while, till your owner comes back. I’ll take good care of you.”

After eating, I take him for a walk on the way to my cottage. It is a stormy evening, with strong winds. It didn’t bother me too much; I am used to wild weather, and sometimes even enjoy it. Besides, I’m wearing a thick coat, scarf, and gloves. I take him down by the fields; the view is always spectacular. The high waves are dashing against the large rocks by the beach. I didn’t expect anyone else to be out at this time of night, so when Jake barks, I jump and grab my chest. Jake runs toward the rocks and my eyes follow him spotting the figure who stops, when they see Jake bounding toward them. I am straight behind him, “Wait!”

I try to call him to heel. It’s harder than I think, with the high winds and the sound of the waves almost drowning out my voice. As I get closer, much to my horror, the figure is Lorenzo. He is unsteadily backing away from the oncoming barking dog, but he stumbles and trips over a small rock, falling on his backside. I lunge forward and grab the leash attached to Jake. The dog continues to bark, so I tug sharply on his collar, telling him to be quiet, before addressing Lorenzo, who is still sprawled on the sand, glaring at us. “I’m so sorry. You okay?”

“No!” He snaps and his fist clenches. “That bloody dog should be put down if you can’t keep him under control.”

“He wouldn’t have hurt you. He doesn’t like strangers, but he got a bit overexcited.”

Lorenzo is still clinging to a half-finished bottle of whiskey in his right hand as he now struggles back to his feet.

“Well, you don’t seem to be hurt,” she remarks in relief.

“No thanks to you and your damned thing!” Lorenzo screams, making a move toward Jake, which makes him bark again.

“There’s no need for that. I have him under control. He won’t hurt you.”

“That dog’s wild and deserves a good boot up the backside. If you can’t give it to him, I will!” He glares back.

I can smell the alcohol on his breath, and the fact he seems to have problems steadying himself tells me he is more than a little drunk.

“You won’t lay a hand on the dog,” I inform him. “With the state you’re in, you probably would have fallen over without his help. Don’t blame it all on him; maybe you should just get back to the cottage and try to sober up.”

“Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that? You should worry more about your damn dog and keep it under control instead of having a go at me.” He starts to come closer, invading my space.

I step back, and Jake notices my reluctance. “At least I’m sober and can stand on my two feet,” I inform him primly.

His blue eyes narrow, piercing right through me, but my brown eyes hold his steady, knowing I have the upper hand. He will not intimidate me, big celebrity chef or not.

He backs down with what little dignity he has left. “I can manage myself. So, you and your crazy dog can just clear off now.”

He takes another swig from his bottle and turns back to walk in the other direction. I would have happily left him to it, but my sense of concern for this rude man’s welfare makes me continue watching him. He staggers toward the large jagged rocks, seeming totally unaware of the further danger he is putting himself in. If one of those large waves washes up, it would take him with it.

Do I really want to get involved? No, but if I leave and something happens to him, I’d never be able to forgive myself. So instead, I’ll stay and try to get him to go home.

“Stupid idiot,” I mutter. Raising my voice, hoping he hears me, I say, “I don’t think you should go that way unless you’re planning on being carried out to sea and feeding the fish with your dead carcass.”

He stops and glances back at me. “Maybe that’s just what I plan on doing!” There is a bleakness in his eyes, alarming me, making me forget my annoyance toward him.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Why the hell do you care anyway?” he returns. “It’s none of your business what I do, so clear off.”

He keeps walking and stumbles again, making the already jittery me now swear out loud. I hastily release the leash, leaving Jake where he is, to go after Lorenzo and grab him before something worse happens. “Look, you really don’t want to do this.”

I try to reason with him, only knowing a little bit of the stuff he’s going through from the magazines I found. If I want him to listen then I need to be friendlier instead of snarky. Get him to reason with me.

The tremor in my voice has me forcing myself to sound friendlier. “You’re all mucked up from falling. Why don’t we get you back to the cottage and cleaned up?” I attempt to pull him away from the rocky beach and the dangerous waves that could easily sweep us both away.

“I don’t wanna go back to the cottage,” he replies, still resisting, trying to free himself of my hold. In the end, it is Jake who helps to change his mind. The dog comes forward, barking at him again, thinking Lorenzo is attacking me and wanting to protect me. He bounds around his feet but stays a safe distance from his threatening kicks, and in doing so, forces him to walk back toward the beach and away from the rocks.

“Bloody mad dog!” Lorenzo screams again, his free hand swinging toward the dog, but misses and causes him to fall again.

I might have found it amusing if we were not in such a perilous situation. Right now, I’m just relieved we are both safely away from the rocks. Now if only I can get him safely to the cottage. I have had more than enough drama for one night.

Chapter 3

Allison

IT IS ONLY A FIFTEEN-MINUTE WALK from the beach to the cottage, but it feels like much longer as I accompany Lorenzo, who is still unsteady on his feet.

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to see me all the way back. I can manage. I won’t try anything stupid, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he says, attempting to show some sort of control after the little incident down at the beach.

“Glad to hear that. Seeing as I’m going this way to get home, I might as well keep you company, just to make sure,” I point out. He makes no reply, but as we walk along, his blue eyes continue to dart sideways, glancing in my direction as if he still resents my presence. When we finally reach the cottage, he discovers the key is still inside. This only justifies my decision to see him home.

“We have a spare key. Wait here and I’ll go fetch it,” I command.

I leave Lorenzo leaning against the trunk of the car, only interested in finishing what is left in his bottle.

When I get back to the cottage, relief comes when my grandmother is still away. It saves time and explanations as I hurry over to the hook where the spare keys are hanging beside the hallway door. Snatching them, I turn to leave again. Approaching Harvey’s cottage, he isn’t standing where I left him. Oh lord, where did he go? My steps quicken, and I try not to panic as I open the gate to the cottage, but then I hear Jake let out a small gruff bark. Looking down, Lorenzo is hunkering on the ground beside the dog, preoccupied with letting Jake lap up the last little droplets from his whiskey bottle as he holds it upside down for him. I sag in relief, glad he didn’t wander off again. “Okay, got the keys. Let’s get you inside.”

“Yeah, whatever, I was just getting acquainted with your dog while I was waiting. I think we’re friends now,” he replies in a slurred tone while Jake licks his hand, making him laugh and pat the dog on the head, “See? He likes me.”

“I’m glad to see you two are bonding,” I reply, trying to hide my amusement as I help him up on his feet again. His earlier mood seems to have vanished, and thankfully, he seems a little friendlier. It appears Jake softened him up after all.

“Now we better get you into the cottage; it’s freezing out here!” Putting the key into the lock and walking into the cottage, I take a very sharp breath. The place is a mess. Empty beer tins and bottles lay everywhere with scattered newspapers and clothes all over the floor, sofa, and chairs. Dirty plates are on the table and on the floor. My fingers go to cover my plug my nose. The stench is like a locker room after a high school football game.

I shiver, and can see my own breath. Has he not lit a fire since being here? What the hell is wrong with this guy? He’s going to freeze to death. I look over toward the fire and notice the residue from an unsuccessful attempt.

“Oh, great,” I murmur in dismay. Is that how he’s been living here all week?

“I need another drink,” he says, moving toward the kitchen and throwing his empty bottle on the sofa.

“Oh no, you don’t. I think you’re drunk enough tonight, unless it’s some strong black coffee you’ll be wanting.”

“What are you? My mother?” he demands resentfully, breaking free from my hold. His blue eyes lazily survey me before he adds, “Akschully, now when I look at you closer, you remind me of her, only younger and prettier.”

His smile is tightly taunting in his attempt to discomfort me; obviously this is a new tactic. Despite realizing it’s probably the drink making him talk this way, my cheeks warm up, but the strong smell of whiskey on his breath makes me back away.

“I think you should sit yourself down before you fall over again, and I will go make you coffee.”

“Trying to give me orders, eh?” He almost seems amused now. “Well, I’m not good at taking orders. If you must know, I prefer giving them.” He means to sound intimidating, but it is hard to sound convincing when drunk. Instead, it makes him seem pathetic.

“Yes, I imagine you do,” I reply dryly, “but you’re not in your restaurant, and I’m not one of your employees, so don’t even think about it.”

He seems taken aback by my reply, so I take advantage of it and push him into the nearby chair. It takes little effort because of his state.

“Hey!” he protests.

“Don’t move, or I’ll sick the dog on you again!” I warn.

“You’re not like my mother at all. You are a little tyrant,” he calls after me with half-hearted irritation as I disappear into the kitchen.

“It takes one to know one,” I quip back, suddenly recalling what I read in the magazine about him, and wondering why anyone would be frightened or intimidated by this man. He isn’t scary once you stand up to him. Although, he is drunk as a skunk, which didn’t help his case. He gives up trying to get the better of me, too weary to care anymore, and slumps back in the chair and closes his eyes.

Ten minutes later, I return with coffee. “Here, take this, it might help make you feel better,” I say.

“I would still prefer whiskey,” he told me, “but seeing you went to the bother of making it, I’d better drink it.”

“Yes, that would make me happy.”

He takes a gulp and grimaces at the strong, bitter taste, then unsteadily puts the cup down, spilling most of it on the floor. “Well, I took a drink. I hope you’re satisfied. I’m tired, so do you intend to undress me and tuck me into bed as well?”

His taunting tone is back again, and a challenging glint appears in his blue eyes as he looks up at me.

“I think I’ve done quite enough for you tonight,” I reply firmly.

“Spoilsport,” he returns teasingly.

“I have to get back now, anyway. My gran will be returning.”

“That’s right; run away while you can. Leave me here on my own again; goodness knows what I’ll do to myself.”

“You will not do something stupid again.”

He seems amused by my concern. “I’m teasing. It’s my perverted sense of humor.”

“Shouldn’t be surprised.”

He rubs a hand over his face, looking very weary. “It’s fine, you can go home. I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?” I’m not convinced.

“Yes, just go. Don’t forget to take your damn dog with you.”

Despite still having concern for him, I know it will be best if I leave. “Okay, I’ll drop by in the morning and check on you.”

“Whatever, good night!” He waves me off dismissively, closing his eyes again.

I call Jake to my side as I open the door. My concern isn’t gone, but he needs to get rest. It’s not like I’m going to stay the night and keep an eye on him.

“Do try to get some sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with a faint mocking smile.

Chapter 4

Lorenzo

I AM IN THE PLACE I like best, a dreamless sleep, unaware of anything going on around me. Blissfully not feeling anything or having to think about what lays ahead for the rest of the day. As much as I would have preferred to stay that way, it is not meant to be. I notice noises in the distance, not loud noises, but it seeps into my consciousness. I force my reluctant eyes to open. It is just getting light outside, and the sounds are not in my imagination but very real, and they seem to come from the next room. My last memory of the night is falling into the unmade bed and going to sleep.

I am still fully clothed, though they are in a bit of a state. Now, I recall rocks and waves when I find the bottom of my jeans stiff and covered in grains of sand. This makes me wonder, what did I do the night before? I sit up, recollecting the bits and pieces, but the sounds of someone distracted me moving about in the next room. This makes me get up and investigate. Who the hell would be here?

Opening the bedroom door, he notices a fire blazing in the grate, and whoever it is cleared a lot of my stuff up from the sofa and floor. Allison comes out from the kitchen and stops.

“Oh, you’re awake. Did I disturb you? I was trying to be quiet until I kicked over your stupid empty bottles lying on the floor.” She looks a little vexed with herself.

The sound of her soft Irish brogue brings back some memories of the night before, yet I am nearly a hundred percent sure I sent Allison home before falling asleep.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I let myself in with the spare key to check up on you. The bakery’s closed today, so I thought about tidying the place up and getting a fire going.”

I found myself just staring at her, wondering how anyone could be so bright and chipper first thing in the morning. It should be against the damn law. Ugh, I wince, my hand grazing my forehead. I drank way too much last night that is clear.

“Sorry I woke you up. You really needed to sleep after last night. I hoped to have this all done and clean before you woke up. Did I bother you?” she queries cautiously, taking a breath.

I open my mouth, and at first no words will come out. What am I feeling besides being too hungover to register any real emotion? “No. It’s just—Well, you didn’t have to do all this.” She is in here cleaning up after me like a maid, and she doesn't even know me. What the hell is going on? DId she normally do this stuff for Harvey too? Or is she worried about me after last night and really just wanted to check up on me?

“Well, the place needs a good clean. You couldn’t possibly go on living in this state of disgusting. And you supposedly being such a big-time celebrity chef.” She shoots me a look of reproach while continuing, “I thought you would’ve understood about cleanliness. After all, I’m sure your kitchen would never be this bad.”

Once more, I found myself unable to reply to her chastisement, and instead am leaning against the doorway for support after being knocked off my feet. I stand there and watch her gather the dirty dishes.

“So, you’ve figured out who I am? So much for Harvey’s theory about this place being so isolated. No one would ever know who I was. I guess the whole island knows by now,” I finish bitterly.

Allison stops what she’s doing to face me, looking slightly offended. “Well, if you’re implying I would go around gossiping about you, you’re quite wrong. Actually, I only found out by the merest chance, in an old magazine. Otherwise, I never would have known. I don’t go around tattling. Although I don’t know how you expect to remain anonymous when you seem to have your face plastered all over the magazines.”

I straighten up now, realizing, with a mixture of irritation and grudging admiration, that she is doing it again. This little Irish woman is putting me in my place with ease, as if she has known me all my life. She seems to think it is perfectly alright for her to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. No one but my family ever dares to speak to me with such overfamiliarity, like the way she’s doing now. Is she gutsy or naïve? Either way, it catches my attention. “So, what exactly was it you read about me?”

“Nothing much,” she shrugged, unable to look me in the eye. “It was just talking about your new TV series starting again.”

“That must have been a few months back.”

“Yes, it was. Like I said, it was an old magazine.” Hastily changing the subject, her brown eyes suddenly fill with mild concern. “Look, why don’t you go back to bed. I promise I’ll try to be quieter as I tidy up.”

“Do I look that bad?” My eyes glance down at my clothes and realize I do. I can’t believe I went to sleep in these clothes and now I’ll have to wash the bed sheets and blankets to get the damn sand out.

“Well, to be honest, you seem a little rough around the edges still, and after the state you were in last night,” she starts.

“You’re sounding like my mother again,” he warns.

This time she laughs. “Sorry.”

My eyes continue to steadily survey her, dressed in her blue top and jeans, a rather curvy girl. Not the thoughts I should pursue right now, and I mentally give myself a little shake to rid myself of them.

“Look, I’m alright,” I say to reassure her, deciding I have no intentions of returning to bed while she snoops through my things. As well intentioned as she might be, I’m not comfortable with that.

“Let me go get cleaned up and changed, and I’ll give you a hand.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll manage.” She flicks her wrist for me to leave the kitchen like she owns the place.

“Oh, I’m sure you can. But as you rightly pointed out, I wouldn’t let my kitchen look this way. So, it’s only fitting I help you clean it up,” I insist in a firm voice. This time I’m determined not to let her get the best of me.

“Alright,” Allison finally relents, “if you’re sure you’re up to it, but I’ll put the kettle on and make us some coffee. That might help you feel better.”

“Okay, I’m sure you know what’s best for me.” I can’t resist finishing in gentle mockery before returning to the bedroom.

As I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, Allison has a good point. A beard has appeared after I let myself go these past couple of weeks, not caring about my personal appearance for once. I really didn’t want to think about that much right now, or I will reach for a bottle of whiskey. Plus, my little next-door neighbor does not approve and would most likely have something to say about it.

Thinking about Allison, I smile. She is turning out to be a character. My initial assumption has clearly been wrong. She is not a quiet, unobtrusive little thing. She shatters those illusions. In this short period, he has discovered she can be bossy and as opinionated as me, but somehow she did it in an unassuming, caring way, which makes it sweet and very hard for me to get mad. Her company is refreshing. Who would have thought I would find someone like her here, on this small island of all places? I perk up enough to pick up a razor and start shaving to get rid of the scruffy hair and make myself a more presentable in hope of her approval. Perhaps then, she will realize I’m not a pathetic lost cause who constantly needs her help and sympathy.

After showing and shaving, a refreshing feeling comes over me with a tangly clean smell of the shower gel being much better than the stale smell of alcohol, which I did reek of earlier. After rummaging through the pile of clothes in the room, I found a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

I discover Allison finished making coffee. “Looks like I timed that nicely,” I remark, making her look around at me as I approach her.

“Um, yes. I guess so,” she replies as she stares, seeming unable to take her eyes off me.

“So, which one’s mine?” I inquire, referring to the cups of coffee she holds in each hand.

“Huh?” Allison blinks as if she didn’t understand.

“The coffee.” I slow down as if speaking to a child. “Which one is mine?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. This one.” She holds the cup out, and waits for me to take it.

I take the cup, but she is still staring at me oddly.

“Why are ya staring? Something wrong?”

“Oh, no. You look different. Younger.”

I chuckle in amusement, then take a sip of coffee. “So how old do I look exactly?”

“Well, in your early twenties or around that.”

“Really?” I continue to look slightly amused. “Well, I guess that’s not bad for a guy like myself, who has just turned twenty-eight a few months back.”

“Never!” she exclaims, her brown eyes widen. “I would never have thought you were over twenty-five.”

Flattery. Nice. I quickly change the subject. “And you?”

“Twenty-one next month.”

“Twenty-one makes you an official adult. I remember my twenty-first. It was a wild and crazy night,” I reminisce with a certain fondness. She is younger than I thought. Heck, she is just now able to drink legally.

“Well, I doubt mine will be too wild. There aren’t too many wild and crazy things to do on the island.”

“No, I guess not. Wouldn’t you like to live on the mainland? I can’t imagine there’s much of a social life here, especially for young people.”

“Well, I couldn’t leave right now. I must look after my gran; her health’s not the best. She had a stroke a while back, so she needs me here.”

“It has its attractions,” I reply, letting my gaze rest on her intently.

“Well, enough with the idle chitchat,” she puts down her cup on the counter, “I’m going to get started washing the dishes you left lying about.”

She didn’t seem comfortable with my last remark.

I ease the tension growing around us, having no wish to alienate her. “So, where’s that big black mutt of yours?”

“If you mean Jake, he’s still snoozing by the fire where I left him. He’s not mine, but Teresa’s from the bakery.”

“Oh yes, I remember her. She was the lady who liked to ask a lot of questions,” I recall dryly. That makes her smile, and now her brown eyes glance up at me with a little more warmth.

“Yes, that’s her, but right now, she’s on the mainland because her brother’s ill and needs a heart operation. I’m looking after Jake and the bakery for her until she’s back.”

I turn and rest my butt against the draining board as I take a plate from her and start to dry it. “So, you’re taking care of your grandmother, looking after your employers’ dog, and running the bakery for her while she’s away. And you still squeezed in time to help me. What are you, Supergirl?”

I find myself wanting to know more about her, but not in a romantic way. She’s different than the girls in London, and her banter toward me is refreshing. She obviously didn’t care about boundaries.

Allison chuckles. “Hardly that. They brought me up to believe God puts us on this world to help each other and make it a better place. We should make the most of it for the short time we’re here because we can do little once we’re dead.”

“An interesting philosophy,” I reply, my lips twisting into a small, thoughtful smile. “Maybe if I followed it, I wouldn’t be in the mess.” Oh god, I'd need to call Harvey later to get an update and see how things are going with my solicitor. This damn divorce needs to get finalized and fast. I can't way to cut ties with Holly once and for all. She's ruining my damn life with her lies and Harvey's doing his best to try and keep things under wraps as my publicist, but the things the tabloids are saying, are just plain devious. It all her. She's spreading lies and getting paid for every story. How else is she going to pay for all the stuff her baby is going to need. She's as ruthless as they come, and even more so now, I can't imagine why I ever agreed to marry her in the first place.

Allison turns to look at me speculatively. “I’m sure whatever it is, it’ll sort itself out in the end.”

I don’t reply. As far as I can see, she leads a pretty simplistic life that in someway I suddenly envy. She could never understand the complexities of my lifestyle, which is a million miles away from hers. She is still studying me with a hint of concern, then hesitates before speaking.

“Last night, when you were drunk, you made me believe you wanted to end it all. You were not seriously considering it, were you?”

Ending it? No, I don't think so. Alcohol has become my stress reliever, and for the past few months, it's only gotten worse. Did she think I was going to try to jump in last night? Oh gosh, I gave her the completely wrong idea about me. “I don’t know. Not proud of my actions last night. Always thought myself to be a strong person, a survivor, but my head has been so screwed up lately. It’s hard to say what might have happened if you hadn’t come along.”

“Well, glad I came when I did. What happened down at the beach, no one will ever know about it. It never happened.”

“Thank you,” I reply with a grateful smile, knowing in my mind she will keep her word.

Allison is proving to be someone I must be able to trust here. God knows I need someone, but not sure if she is the right person. She's my neighbor, and clearly beautiful. I don't need to get my feelings in a bunch over some new girl when I can't even get out of the fucked up relationship I'm currently in. No, I'll just make sure it doesn't come to that, and just enjoy having someone around that doesn't treat me like everyone in London.

Even after she found out about my celebrity status, it isn't like she's treating me any different. Still her same snarky self, and that says something. Allison is different.

Chapter 5

Lorenzo

THE FOLLOWING MORNING when I get up, the first thing I find are the clothes she washed and ironed, piled neatly on the arm of the chair.

I'll have to ask her to stop doing this stuff for me. As an adult, I can do my own laundry and dishes. No need for her to come over here and waste her time doing this stuff for me, instead of doing something for herself. From what I gather, she doesn't get much free time between working, helping her friends, and taking care of her grandma. But that just goes to show what kind of person she is, which is rare. I couldn't find anyone like this back in London.

Things are different there, more surrounded around your status or how much your net worth is, rather than the kind of person you are. Sad, but true.

Cushnagh is proving to be the perfect spot for me to be right now. As long as the tabloid stories don't reach here, I think I'll be alright until all this crap blows over with Holly.

After making coffee, I hear a car door shut. While investigating, I find a man piling logs from his truck into the garden.

“What are you doing?”

“Allison asked me to drop some off for your fire.”

Why is she so kind? I mean, after being a complete ass to her, she is still trying to help me. Believe me, I’m grateful because I have had no luck starting one on my own. I meddle around the house, put the clothes away, and watch some bad television. This prompted me to go into town and thank her.

“Hey, I wanted to thank you.”

“Oh?” She eyes me.

“Well, I decided I need to repay you back for all you’ve done for me,” I inform.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I was just doing what anyone else would do around here, being a good neighbor.”

“Both of us know it was a little more than that.” I correct her with deliberation.

She looks a little awkward at this acknowledgement, unable to meet my blue eyes. “Anyway, it’s just a small way to thank you, by inviting you to your local pub around the corner so I can buy you a drink. I refuse to take no for an answer, because if you don’t go, I’ll go drinking on my own. Now you wouldn’t want to be responsible for that, would you?” I eye her.

Allison cocks her head to the side, narrowing her brown eyes suspiciously. “That sounds like emotional blackmail to me.”

“You’re more than likely right,” I agree, wondering if she will take the bait.

Trying to sound annoyed but with a hint of a smile, she says, “That’s not exactly fair. You’re playing dirty now.”

“Who cares as long as it works,” I return with a shrug, my blue eyes almost challenging her to argue.

“Okay, but only one drink. I gotta get back or my gran might worry.”

“Fine by me, one drink,” I reply with a smile of satisfaction.

Inside, the pub’s filled with local fishermen and Allison seems to know most of them as they wave to her as she walks in. They watch her inquisitively as she sits down with me. Not all the locals have seen me yet, and from the looks I'm getting, some of them don't like outsiders. If Allison grew up here, then maybe they are just being protective of her and wondering who this strange man is with her in the pub.

“What can I get you?” I ask.

“Small lager.”

“Okay.” Interesting, that’s a sensible, modest approach to my offer. I expect nothing else.

I work my way over to the bar where a young man comes over to take my order, his expression far from friendly. “What can I get you?”

“Two lagers please.”

“Right,” the barman replies curtly and moves off again, not hiding the hostility in his hazel eyes as he did so. As he was pouring the drinks, he says, “So, I see you have gotten friendly with Allison.”

“Yes, well, she’s my neighbor, and been very helpful. I thought I would repay her by buying her a drink. There a problem?” I didn’t want to get in a tussle with any of the locals and draw more attention to myself.

“No, not really. She’s a good friend of mine. I look out for her, if you know what I mean,” the young man replies, setting down the lagers, leaning down on the bar.

“Yes, I think I do,” I reply, trying to hide my smile, relaxing with some amusement. The young man is just being a typical macho male, getting all territorial, and obviously sees me as a threat. “I’m sure she appreciates you looking out for her,” I slyly remark before walking back to Allison.

I didn't know she is seeing someone, and if thats the case, then I'd back off. We are just friends but no need to cause any drama while here. This is supposed to be someplace for me to stay away from the media, not add more fuel to the fire.

“Everything alright?” she darts her eyes over to Mickey, making me realize she noticed some tension. “What was Mickey saying?”

“Ah, so that’s his name. He didn’t bother introducing himself. Is he your boyfriend or something? He’s awfully overprotective. I better not mess with you, or he’ll sort me out.”

“Did he say that?” Allison looks horrified.

“Well, not in those exact words, but implied.”

“Well, he has no right to say anything to you. It’s none of his damn business what I get up to, and I certainly don’t need him looking out for me.”

“So, there’s nothing going on between you two?” I ask idly, taking a sip.

“Well, maybe in his mind. We did date a few years back, but I wasn’t interested in pursuing the relationship. I’ve known him too long from when we were kids, and I can only think of him as a friend. I made it clear to him it couldn’t be anything else.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to think that way,” I muse, glancing around at Mickey who is watching us. So he's the man who wishes he could be with her. It makes sense. It only makes sense that if Allison were seeing someone, she would have mentioned him by now. So now that I'm here with her, Mickey sees me as a threat to what he wants, and thinks intimidating me is going to work. Newsflash, I'm not naive or stupid. I don't get into bidding wars over women.

“He’s gonna have to get over that. Besides, it’s more because he’s short of other females around here, and he thinks I’m the only catch available. He thinks I should settle for him, but I won’t. I shouldn’t settle, right?”

Oh, that's right. She probably doesn't know about Holly and if she did, then I'd be the last person she would be posing this dilemma too. “Don’t ask me. I’m a screwup where relationships are concerned; that’s why I’m in the middle of a messy divorce, so I can’t give you any advice.”

Her expression of irritation changes, “I’m sorry. It must be hard for you right now. Is that why you needed to come here and get away from it all?”

“Something like that. But let’s not pull down the mood by discussing it, especially if you want me to stick to only having one drink,” I reply, taking a deep gulp. She can probably tell it’s a sore subject. “Let’s talk about you. I want to know more about my little Irish guardian angel.”

Her cheeks flood with heat. “I’m hardly that.”

“Yes, you are. After all, I believe you saved me from myself in one of my darker moments; isn’t that what guardian angels do?” I point out.

“I imagine anyone would have done the same in those circumstances.”

She didn’t seem to handle compliments very well, becoming all reserved again. She is obviously far too sensible to be swayed by some celebrity chef who breezed into her life.

“Forgive me if you think I’m being too forward. I guess it’s just the Italian in me. We’re known for being flirty.”

“What is it you want to know about me? There’s not much to tell.”

Let's get into it. There's always something to tell. Someone raised her to be this way, and I want to know more about that. “Well, I know you live with your grandmother, but what about your parents? Do they live on the mainland?”

“It’s kind of strange story, and a long one,” Allison explains, “I never knew who my father was.”

She didn’t sound sad or ashamed, but speaks in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I’ll start from the beginning, so it’ll be easier to understand. My mother was an only child. My grandparents encouraged her to go to University on the mainland and get a good education. She returned her first year pregnant. There were suspicions it was a married man. Anyway, when they got over the shock and the disappointment, it was best for her to finish school after she had me. So, they kept me here.”

Wow, I can’t wait to meet her grandmother. They must have really loved having a child to raise while their young daughter goes off to college. It explains a lot about Allison though and the way she carries herself. “Some parents might not be so forgiving, but I guess with her being their only child, it would have been hard not to.”

“To make a long story short, my mother went back to school and worked hard getting her degree. She wanted to prove to herself and my grandparents that she could make up for her mistake. She ended up landing a teaching job in America. My grandparents agreed to keep me until she settled. But it never quite worked out that way.” She finishes with a small sigh.

“Why, what happened?” I really hope she doesn’t say what I think she is going to. Although, as it seems, I won’t ever meet her mom anyway.

“Well, she went to America, and they didn’t hear from her for a few years. Then she called and said she was getting married, but he didn’t know about me. The only reason she called was to explain that she would not be getting me.”

“She just fucking abandoned you?” I raise my voice so much it catches the attention of others. My head lowers, realizing the scene I’m causing and letting her continue.

“Yes, my grandparents weren’t happy. We haven’t heard from her since.” She takes another drink of her lager, and looks around the room.

“She never tried to contact you, not once?” I ask in disbelief. What kind of mother does that? Abandons their child, and runs out with another man. I mean every worse, leaves her without contact because she didn’t have the balls to tell the man she is marrying about her child. The fury inside my gut is rising and my fist clench.

“She was a stranger to me. I have very vague memories, but that’s it. My grandparents raised me. They suffered more from her estrangement than I did. In fact, my gran thinks that killed my grandfather in the end.”

It probably did. Nothing can be worse than raising a child and realizing that you might have done something wrong. Their own daughter abandons her child, and never looks back. I can imagine that will have some strange on an older man, especially if in any kind of bad health.

She drinks down the last of her lager before looking across to me. “So that’s the whole tale of my beginnings, though I can’t complain. Now, I must get back.”

I stand up from the table. “Of course. I’ll drive you.”

As we leave the pub, I can’t help but notice Mickey standing behind the bar counter, watching us with eagle eyes. Why is he so concerned about my relationship with Allison? Maybe he should be more focused on trying to make one with her, huh?

After I drop her off at home, I return to town, suddenly finding a lot to ponder over after listening to Allison’s story in the pub about her mother. It makes me think about my relationship with my parents, which is not the greatest. In fact, in some ways, it uncannily reflects Allison’s mother’s estrangement with her parents, and it hits a raw nerve.

My parents didn’t abandon me, that’s not what I mean, but we have been sort of estranged. Or at least where my father’s concerned.

We have barely spoken over the last few years. Ever since I hit puberty, things have been volatile. We are too much alike, so we clash sharing the same egotistical temperament, which makes it hard to admit when we’re in the wrong. Despite that, I have a certain respect for him. He taught me everything I know, which makes me the chef I am today. I owe him that much but didn’t want to live in his shadow.

When I was eighteen, I got a taste for it. A television company took an interest in my dad’s restaurant where the rich and famous liked to dine. They wanted to do a fly on the wall documentary, lasting over three weeks. They would watch behind the scenes in the kitchen. Although the documentary focused primary on my father, I also started getting attention, especially from the female viewers. So, in a small space of time, I became a minor celebrity myself and loved every moment.

It had been the start of my pursuit of fame, something my father disapproved of. Enzio was not happy I seemed more concerned with being in the limelight and catching the attention of the cameras. My womanizing and staggering out of nightclubs with other celebrities was the wrong way to go. Enzio wanted me to concentrate on my skills and building a reputation of being a good chef. Back then, I thought he was jealous and resentful, that me, his eldest son, was now making a name and becoming better known and more popular than him.

Looking back on it now, I could see how immature that had been. When my father tried to warn me of getting carried away and living a celebrity lifestyle, I dismissed it, thinking my father didn’t understand. Of course, I did the opposite of what my father advised. It led to clashes, and we ended up barely speaking. Enzio didn’t approve when I married Holly. She was fame-hungry and only agreed to marry for media interest. He refused to attend the wedding, but I kind of expected that. We received a huge fee for selling the rights to the pictures of our wedding.

Now, two years later, I was the one with bitter regrets about my marriage as it never really worked out between Holly and I. We were both too eager and greedy, wanting to grab the spotlight. So it became more of a competition than a marriage. It caused a lot of jealousy and arguments. The resentment finally led to the very public and messy divorce. I quickly discovered the media could easily turn around and destroy you, as quick as they could build you up.

Pride kept me from getting in contact with my father. I didn’t want to admit failure or hear my father say, “I told you so.”

The story of Allison’s mother has got me thinking of them with a new sense of guilt. I’m no better than her mother at this point. After all, they didn’t even know my whereabouts; did they even care? I wouldn’t blame them if they washed their hands of me.

My first instinct is to find solace in the whiskey bottle again. Halfway through the first glass, I discover it didn’t work. All I want is to hear my mother’s voice.

I’ve always been closer to her than my father. Being the first-born son, I have always had a special place in her heart, and she is always there for me. Even though it meant her loyalties are torn between her husband and me.

Most of all, I’m grateful to Harvey, my publicist, for suggesting it might help to stay here at his cottage to clear my head. It seems to work, even though it took him being frightened out of my wits by a black lab charging at me down the beach, and a crazy young woman who puts me in my place. Now, I need to get my priorities in order. So, I’m abandoning the whiskey, setting it aside to go over to the phone. There is no signal on this small island for my cell phone to work properly, so I pick up the receiver and dial my parents’ number, hoping and praying someone will answer before I lose my nerve and hang up.

The sound of my mother’s voice rewards me. “Hello?”

My heart hammers, “Hello, Mama.”

“Lorenzo? That you?” she asks with a hint of surprise at the other end.

“Yes, Mama, it’s me.” I try to gauge her reaction to my unexpected phone call. Is she angry or annoyed?

“Where are you? Everything alright?” she demands, far from sounding angry. Much to my relief, she seems more anxious and concerned.

“I’m fine, really. Don’t be worrying. I just needed to get away from everything for a while to sort stuff out. Harvey’s letting me stay at his place in Ireland.” No need to burden my mother with my trouble and worries. I’m not sure what all she has seen or read, and I’d rather not tarnish her thoughts of me. So, for now, I’ll keep my mouth shut about the drama surrounding my life right now.

“I see. It’s good to hear from you. It has worried me.”

“Don’t fret. I’ll be okay.”

“It’s a mother’s prerogative,” she informs me, making me smile, knowing I did the right thing by calling.

“How’s the rest of the family?” I haven’t from any of my siblings in months, and even when I did, it is usually very short conversations and that’s it.

“They’re all fine. Your brother Carlos has started with a new accountancy firm. Amelia’s still studying hard at University.”

“How’s Papa?” I know he is most likely in the same room as her, as they don’t ever stay away from each other for long. They’ve been madly in love for decades. One thing I can say about my dad; he’s a prime example of a perfect husband.

“Keeping busy as usual. You know he never stops. He’ll be pleased you called, even if he doesn’t say much. Don’t let it be so long next time.”

“I won’t,” I promise, and for once, I’m determined to keep it.

“I love you. Call me in a couple days and check in. Maybe next time you will even talk to your father.”

“I love you, mama. Maybe. Good night.”

It’s been too long since I have heard her voice, and it almost makes me tear up. She is the one that always pushed me to do what I wanted. It surprised her when I decided to follow in my dad’s footsteps and become a chef. Any little boy wants to be just like their dad though, right? It’s a common thing.

When I get back to London, and get my things in order, repairing my relationship with my family is going to be a priority.

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