“When we’re together, we make one whole Italian.”
I smiled, looking down at our fingers and feeling my heart grow so fast and big I had to shut my eyes to keep it from bursting out.
He leaned in to me. “Hey, what’s the matter? Are you crying?”
I shook my head, slowly opening my eyes and smiling at him again. “No, it’s nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing. I didn’t want to ruin the moment by explaining it to him, but suddenly it was like I had a zoomed-out view of this moment and I never, ever (ever) wanted it to end. I had Nutella on my face and my first real love sprawled out next to me and any minute the stars were going to sink back into the sky in preparation for a new day, and for the first time in a long time, I couldn’t wait for what that day would bring.
And that was something.
Acknowledgments
Before Love & Gelato I had only a vague understanding of how many people it takes to make a book happen. Turns out it takes lots. Scads. Heaps. Oodles. So here’s my best attempt at narrowing that number down.
My first thank you has to go to my parents, and especially my mom, Keri DiSera Evans, for giving me Italy. Those two years expanded my world exponentially and were pure magic. Thank you for never settling for the status quo. You’re my hero.
Thank you to my inspirational dad, Richard Paul Evans, who not only led me to the cliff of Authorship, but shoved me over the edge. I can only dream about writing as many books or impacting as many lives as you have. Thank you for not letting me give up. (Thank you, thank you, thank you.) I am doing my best to repay you in hilarious grandchildren.
A special thank you to my son, Samuel Lawrence Welch. I got the news that Love & Gelato was going to be a real live book just minutes after you blew out the candle on your first birthday cake, and I still can’t believe I get to live out both my dreams at once. Thank you for making sure I took time out to play cars and read silly books. And you’re right—pencils should be used for drawing choo-choos, not writing endings. Those can wait. (Also, grown up Sam: Did you need a sign that you can accomplish your biggest, scariest dream? This is your sign. Go for it, Sammy Bean.)
Thank you to my lifelong friend/family member/fairy godmother, Laurie Liss. I’ve been so lucky to have you in my life and feel even luckier to have you as my agent. I simply couldn’t love you more than I do. Thank you for believing in me.
Thank you, thank you to everyone at Simon Pulse, and in particular my brilliant editors Fiona Simpson and Nicole Ellul. This story could not have happened without you. Thank you for being enthusiastic about Lina and Ren, telling me what was and wasn’t working (in the kindest way possible), and for helping me to find my voice. I honestly don’t know how to thank you for helping me write a book I love. So just thank you.
Thank you to my friends at the American International School of Florence—in particular Ioiana Luncheon, the real live girl who grew up in the Florence American Cemetery. I’ve obviously thought a lot about you and your runs through the cemetery over the years. Thank you for your help with translating and getting all the facts straight. You were awesome. (Also, an apology to the current groundskeeper at the Florence American Cemetery. I was just the tiniest bit overexcited about my visit and really didn’t mean to set off the alarms or ruin your family dinner. I pretty much want to die every time I think about it.)
Also, a heartfelt thank you to the fourteen-year-old boy who asked me on a date while I sat working on my novel in the Millcreek Library. I was having a tough writing day and you totally turned it around. Also, I forgive you for yelling, “She’s OOOLD!” to your friends. I’m sure you didn’t mean that.
And best for last, thank you to my husband, David Thomas Welch. You are immensely talented, kind, and strong, and I have relied on you so much. Thank you for believing I could do this even when I didn’t. Thank you for all the extra carrying you did to allow me to fulfill my dream. Thank you for listening to every crazy direction this story could have gone and for allowing Lina and Ren to hang out in our home like they were real people. (They are, aren’t they?) But most of all, thank you for choosing me. This December will mark thirteen years since I sat in your car and worked up the courage to say, “Um, hey. Do you maybe want to hang out for a little bit longer?” I’m so glad you said yes.