John Donati had been on a roll. Work was quiet, which meant if there were any criminal activities in Pine Lake, he didn't know about them. His son, Jack, and daughter-in-law, Whitney, were settled in their new home with a child on the way, and John was feeling way too young to be a grandfather. In the past few weeks, he'd been enjoying the kind of no-strings-attached love affair with Genevra Adams that he'd thought he'd never see again at this stage of his life. Genevra had proved to be an excellent companion mentally and physically. Life was good. It worried him when everything was going so well; something was bound to happen to upset the status quo.
For old times' sake, he would occasionally cruise past the house of his ex-wife, April. She'd moved to San Francisco in the spring, but so far hadn't made any attempt to put the house up for sale. The cop in John reminded him that an empty house was a trouble magnet; therefore, he felt it was his duty to keep tabs on the place. Donati wondered why she hadn't sold; secretly, he hoped she would eventually return. For the grandchild.
This afternoon, drifting by her house, he saw a car in the driveway and a woman standing at the front door. For a moment, his heart leapt. But soon enough, he realized the woman wasn't April. He rolled up to the curb, put the police cruiser in park, and got out of the car.
"Something I can help you with, ma'am?" he asked. The woman turned around. She smiled as he approached, and right away he figured that she wasn't casing the joint or up to no good; criminals didn't offer smiles like that to uniforms.
"Officer, do you know if April Donati still lives here? Well, at least I think her name is still Donati. The last time I heard from her, she was considering a, um, change. I actually haven't seen her for years, but she's an old friend of mine from college. We were in Florence together, studying art. "
"May I ask who you are?" Donati knew April kept up with some of her friends from college, and she had gone to Florence her senior year.
"I'm Priscilla Rossini."
Donati recognized the name. April had told him several stories about this woman. In the midst of his recollection, he realized that Ms. Rossini had the most beautiful brown eyes he'd ever seen. Her skin was smooth and luminous, and the touch of gray in her thick dark hair only accentuated the elegance of her appearance.
She held out her hand, which he took. That was the precise moment John Donati fell irretrievably in love.
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