Homeport

change.”
    “Excellent choice. I know just the place.”
     
    It was loud, it was crowded, and the harsh lights bounced off the unapologetically garish paintings that crowded the wall. They suited the hanks of hanging sausages and whole smoked hams that were the restaurant’s primary decor. Tables were pushed together so that diners—friends and strangers alike—ate the hearty portions of meat and pasta elbow to elbow.
    They were wedged in a corner by a round man with a stained apron who took Ryan’s order for a bottle of local red with a nod. At Miranda’s left was one half of a gay American couple who were touring Europe. They shared a basket of bread while Ryan engaged them in conversation with an ease and openness Miranda admired.
    She would never have talked to strangers in a restaurant except in the most limited fashion. But by the time the wine was set on the table and poured, she knew they were from New York, ran a restaurant in the Village, and had been together for ten years. It was, they said, their anniversary trip.
    “It’s our second honeymoon.” Enjoying himself, Ryan picked up Miranda’s hand and kissed it. “Right, Abby darling?”
    At sea, she stared at him, then responded to his light kick under the table. “Oh, yes. Um . . . we couldn’t afford a honeymoon when we were first married. Kevin was just getting started and I was . . . only a junior exec at the agency. Now we’re treating ourselves before kids come along.”
    Stunned at herself, she gulped down wine while Ryan beamed at her. “It was worth the wait. You breathe romance with every inhale in Florence.”
    Defying every law of physics, the waiter pushed his way through the excuse for space between the tables and demanded what they wanted.
    Less than an hour later, Miranda wanted more wine. “It’s wonderful. It’s a wonderful place.” She shifted in her chair to smile affectionately at a table of Brits who chatted in polite voices while a table of Germans beside them downed local beer and sang. “I never go to places like this.” It all spun in her head, scents, voices, wine. “I wonder why.”
    “Want some dessert?”
    “Sure I do. Eat, drink, and be merry.” She poured another glass of wine and grinned tipsily at him. “I love it here.”
    “Yes, I can see that.” He nudged the bottle farther out of her reach and signaled the waiter.
    “Weren’t they a nice couple?” She smiled sentimentally at the space their table companions had recently vacated. “They were really in love. We’re going to look ’em up, right, when we get home? No, when they get home. We’re going home tomorrow.”

    “We’ll try the zabaglione,” Ryan told the waiter, eyeing Miranda under lifted brows as she began to hum along with the drunk Germans. “And cappuccino.”
    “I’d rather have more wine.”
    “Not a good idea.”
    “Why not?” Filled with love for her fellowman, she picked up her glass and drained it. “I like it.”
    “It’s your head,” he said with a shrug when she snagged the bottle again. “Keep it up, and you’re not going to have a pleasant flight home.”
    “I’m a very good flier.” Eyes narrowed, she poured until the wine was precisely a half-inch from the rim of the glass. “See that, steady as a rock. Dr. Jones is always steady.” She giggled and leaned forward conspiratorially. “But Abby’s a lush.”
    “Kevin is more than a little concerned that she’s going to pass out at the table so that he has to carry her home.”
    “Nah.” She rubbed the back of her hand over her nose. “Dr. Jones wouldn’t permit that. Too embarrassing. Let’s walk down by the river. I want to walk by the river in the moonlight. Abby’ll let you kiss her.”
    “That’s an interesting offer, but I think we’d better get you home.”
    “I love Maine.” She leaned back, swinging the glass in her hand. “I love the cliffs and the fog and the waves crashing and the lobster boats. I’m going to plant a garden. This year I’m really going to do it. Mmmm.” This was her opinion of the creamy dessert set in front of her. “I like indulging.” She set the glass down long enough to dive a spoon in. “I never knew that about me,” she said with her mouth full.
    “Try the coffee,” he suggested.
    “I want the wine.” But when she grabbed for it, he snatched it up.
    “Can I interest you in something else?”
    She studied him thoughtfully, then grinned. “Bring me the head of the Baptist,”