Love Stories, Vol. 1: The Maglias, #3

By Cat Coal

"Gio is a dashing man who deserves love. I rooted for him every step of the way!"

 

Giovanni Maglia knows a thing (or two) about having a good time and living life on the edge. He is a race car driver, after all. But when it comes to matters of the heart, Giovanni's less inclined to risk-taking, preferring to keep his encounters noncommittal. Until everyone around him starts pairing off. Then he becomes open to the possibility. The only problem is, he hasn't found the right woman.

 

In a cross-country story, Giovanni meets many women, but only one causes him to settle down, turning him into the gushy romantic his buddies teased him he'd be one day. For Giovanni, it doesn't matter though, because it's a love story for the books.

 

 

This full-length novel can be read as a stand-along story, but you'll likely enjoy reading the other books in The Maglia series.

 

Love Charms

 

Love & Chaos

 

Love the Cook - novelette

 

Love Stories, Vol. 1

 

Love Stories, Vol. 2

 

Love International

• Language: English
• Publisher: Perfect Escape
• Release date: Aug 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393960249

Book preview

Love Stories

Volume One

Cat Coal

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Copyright © 2017 by Cat Coal. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

Do not upload or distribute anywhere.

Cover design by Cat Coal.

Cover art from Pixabay.

This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with others please either purchase it for them or direct them to the retailer of their choice for purchase. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Contents

Love Stories

Copyright

Contents

Prologue

PART I

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

PART II

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

PART III

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Dear Reader

Books by Cat Coal

Prologue

Your daddy thinks he was so smart, sitting in here rocking you to sleep last night. Sure, maybe you went out like a light, but he thinks it was because of his story telling abilities. I know better. See little G, what you heard was his side of things. I remember most of what happened between us a bit differently. More accurately, you could say. Let me tell you how things really happened. . . . I trail off, starting my version of the story, but am interrupted.

Gio rounds the doorframe and pops his head in, looking devilishly handsome in his gray Henley shirt. Whatcha doing?

Just as I'm about to answer, two of our dear friends join him. Their floating heads peering around the door frame make me laugh.

Come on in, I gesture, while continuing to rock back and forth in a soothing motion, but they stay there apparently not wanting to barge in. Too late for that though.

What's going on? One of the girls repeats Gio's question. I fill them all in on what I've decided to do.

Oh, no, no. That won't do. I'll tell you what, let's take turns at bedtime and nap time. You tell your side of the story, and I will tell mine—the truth! He laughs at me, as if he can do a better job.

I ponder his offer and before I can respond, floating head number one releases her grip on the wall and stands in front of me, hands poised on her hips. Trust me, I should be the one to tell your story. I do know it better than the both of you, she glares at me and then Gio, trying to break us, but I don't give in. Not yet anyway. I wanna play too, please, she switches tactics and starts pouting and whining, like that'd work on me anyway.

No way, I whisper firmly.

Why not? I babysit twice a week. It'll be perfect. She turns to floating head number two for support.

She comes to her aid. Yeah, we want to. Please! When floating head number one sets her face into a scowl, she shrugs. What? I want to be included too.

The traitor that he is, Gio caves first, only warming to the idea because I am not too keen on it. Now, I am outnumbered, and they will likely just do it their way, even without my blessing. Now, I cave. I'll deal with him later tonight I promise myself.

Fine. I drag the word out to let them know I am unhappy. If we are doing this, then I may even know someone else who wants to play along. I'll call her, I threaten without elaborating, but my audience is unfazed.

Deal! Gio air pumps with his fist and walks out happy with himself. I roll my eyes and return my attention to a now sleeping baby in the crook of my arm.

PART I

One

Giovanni: Gio Be Nimble, Gio Be Quick

I was just a boy when I got my first set of wheels. It was Christmas and I was eight going on eighteen, ready to put the world in my rearview mirror, or at least the block where my family lived in Calico Crossings in Broward County, Florida.

Like the terror I have been known to be, I jumped inside my Jeep and tore threw our living room, throwing up torn wrapping paper that littered the floor from our morning festivities in my wake.

Mommy! My bratty five year old sister screamed and started to tear up. Apparently, I had drove over her watercolor paper that she was working on—or rather, making a mess on. In my defense, who paints on the carpet!

Ma! I yelled too, hoping to play the victim.

Grace was not going to give me a chance though. She stood and stormed over to our mother who just emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron over her growing belly with my baby brother, Liam, inside. Mom just went in to start breakfast and with Dad upstairs, I saw an opportunity and seized it.

Giovanni Maglia! She raised her eyebrow, much like she had always done when she was mad, and put one hand on her forehead and the other around my sister's shoulders, pulling the little pipsqueak close. Take it outside. You are not to drive that inside our house.

But, Ma! You can't give a man a truck and not expect him to cruise. I added a grunt to make my point.

She walked slowly to me, grabbing a wooden spoon from the counter, but I stood my ground, not flinching—that was until she was just within swinging distance. I ran quickly like a stealth cat and Grace broke out in peels of laughter. Mamma joined her and they high-fived each other. I turned around to look at them and ran right into Dad as he came down the stairs in the process.

What's going on in here? He asked with a look of confusion, surveying my damage.

I shrugged.

Take your son outside, Bart. If he wants to drive that monstrosity, he has to do it outside.

Yes, dear, he said. Can we go out after breakfast? Dad asked me, ruffling my hair, waiting for me to give him an out.

Mom came to my rescue. No. I'll call you when it's ready. Go teach your son more about being a man and how that means being responsible. She sighed heavily, rolled her eyes, and turned on her heel, taking Grace with her back into the kitchen.

Dad grunted just like I did seconds before, but really it was a skill he taught me years before, so I was not surprised when he did. Ready, son? We'll go be men. I grunted in reply and he chuckled. Girls don't understand how men have to be active.

You're tellin' me. I paused and whispered the question weighing on my mind. But Mom isn't a girl, so why doesn't she understand?

Dad laughed and bent down to my level. Don't tell her that she isn't a girl, Gio. If she did understand, you better be nimble, he tousled my hair again and stood upright. I looked at him unsure of what he meant exactly, but didn't say anything. Now, let's take this Jeep outside and see if we can make it even more manly, he picked it up and carried it to the garage.

Haw-haw!

Ooof! He placed it outside and went to his tool box. Want to add more power? He laughed at his joke as he was mimicking the famous line from our favorite television actor.

Nah, but can we do something about that wussy horn? I beeped it for him to hear it. What a disappointing sound for a manly car.

He pulled out a mega horn from inside one of his buckets and smiled. This ought to do it. Let's go show this off to your cousins.

I perked up at the thought of showing off in front of my cousin Dominic.

Let's do it. He followed behind me as I drove down the few blocks to my cousin's house. Living in the same community had some serious perks, like no stop lights.

Dad and I always bonded over his truck, so my fascination with driving started early. It was a big, manly truck that was just his. He used to pick me up from school in it every once in a while and take me on excursions. We would roll down the windows and own the road as we peeled through the streets. No one ever wanted to get in his way. Then when we got home, he would teach me about maintaining it—everything from washing it to checking the engine. I liked the driving more, but he insisted that there was more to it than just cruising the streets. As I got older, the cars got smaller, but my love of them got bigger. At eighteen, just before I went to college, I was gifted an Acura SRX. It was quite the upgrade from my hand-me-down Chevy I started out with.

On that same birthday Dad surprised me with tickets to the Indy 500. My whole family came to Indiana, but only the guys watched the F1 race. Even my best friend Jackson was invited. It was a neat experience to be so close to the action. At the time I didn't realize it, but that moment left an impact on me—one that would later dictate my future.

Once I was in college, I didn't feel the same passion for my studies that everyone else I knew did, but then again, I never did much like school.

My major was undecided for too many semesters and finally, I felt like I was floundering my time and parent's money, so I dropped out to pursue my dream of being a racecar driver.

At first, I didn't know exactly what that entailed so I went home and talked to Dad about building a racecar. He helped me and soon our garage became my workshop.

While I was busy building my own, Dad knew a guy that had connections in the business. He got me on a local driver's crew—it was a volunteer gig, but getting out there made a real difference. By the time we polished my very own car, I was asked to test drive for a local sponsor. They were so impressed with my time and skill that they sent me to take part in a NASCAR driving course, with the promise that when I completed it I would race for them.

Racing locally for my first sponsor helped honed my skills. Soon I was winning more races than I was losing. Eventually, I moved on to regional races and it was a race in Daytona that finally put me on the map. I remember that race as if it were yesterday. The adrenaline still pulsed through my veins just thinking about the speed and excitement of it.

It was late September and I was racing a red Miata along a 3.56 mile road course. I had a quarter-mile left when I broke away from second place to first. I was able to maintain my first place position for the rest of the course and was declared the winner. It took my jelly legs a minute to adjust, but once I did, my crew was by my side to get me out, check the car, and the media bombarded me.

For the first time, they were coming to me. After that, I made sure not to miss the next two events at Sebring International Raceway. Unfortunately, one was the famous Turkey Trot Regional, which just so happens to fall on Thanksgiving weekend every year. Mom wasn't too happy about that, but my family proved to be my biggest supporters and rallied around me before and after every race those first years. Even today, they still try their hardest not to miss a race.

It's no surprise that I am close to my family. Growing up with two siblings, five cousins, and two sets of aunts and uncles nearby, my family was always tight. There was always someone in my corner, and I tried to be there for them in return. As we got older though, we grew even closer than when we were kids.

In fact, a little over a year ago my best friend, Jackson, married my cousin, Ava. My favorite story about those two was not so much about them as it is about their dog Java, named for them, of course. I was dog-sitting the beast when-, well, now that you know a bit about dear old dad, I might as well start the love story there. . . .

I shifted little G from one arm to the other and started to walk us upstairs when the front door flew open.

I turned on the landing and considered the descent, but stood still listening closely to see who was there.

Son? Dad's voice billowed.

Yeah, Dad? I kept my voice low not to disturb my flesh and blood. I was just putting the baby down. Wifey isn't home. Get yourself a beer, I'll be right down. I snuck us away to finish my story.

Where was I? I asked the rhetorical question as I tried that swaddling thing Wifey did so well.

I couldn't get the hang of it, so I settled with just laying the blanket on the side of the crib.

Okay, so, picture this. . . I started.

***

Cousin Ava's dopey dog was staying with me while the two lovebirds rendezvoused in Texas, which turned into Jackson tracking her to France and Italy.

Java ended up hanging with me longer than I planned, but I didn't really mind it because he was good company. That was until he got sick on me. . . .

Grace had just come over to complain about her life. While she was whining she was also binge eating. Her comfort food of choice was chocolate, specifically chocolate covered coffee beans. In the middle of her rant, she got a phone call from some mysterious caller.

I'll be right over, she promised whoever it was on the phone and tossed her phone in that suitcase she calls a purse.

Grace turned back to me and smiled. Thanks for listening to me, Bro. I don't know what came over me, but I feel so much better. You're a good listener. She came over and stretched up on her tiptoes and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

Grace. I muttered and wiped her lipgloss off my cheek. I walked to my favorite old chair in my apartment and sat down. You're off so soon?

She nodded. Yes, I got to run. Why don't we have dinner tonight and you can do the talking and I'll listen? Java jumped on her legs and she petted him.

That's okay, I don't have any problems like some of you do. I kicked the recliner up and sat back, propping my head up on my arm. I won't say no to dinner though. I'll call Liam and tell him dinner's on you. It is, isn't it? I teased my sister knowing she barely had two pennies to rub together, let alone splurge on dinner for us.

On her way out she stopped long enough to throw a couch pillow at me. She had good aim too because she hit me square in my head.

I laughed it off good-naturedly. See you later. We'll make a thing of it.

It turned out that sibling dinner never was had.

After she left, I didn't pay anymore attention to the mess she made in my kitchen, but Java did. He was attracted to the coffee scent like a moth was to a flame. Turns out he not only sniffed it, but decided to eat it.

When I found him later that night, he was sprawled out on my floor, drooling, looking almost comatose. The beans were spilled all over the floor beside him and I knew I was going to be in some deep trouble.

I knew next to nothing about dogs, or pets of any kind—we never had any growing up—but I did know that chocolate was like the anti-Christ to a dog. I lifted the beast off the floor with Herculean effort and flew outside.

He was resting on the seat of my car and my racing skills came in handy as I got us to the local vet in six minutes flat.

Carrying him inside, I rang the bell several times before I was helped.

What's the emergency? The girl asked me what I thought was the silliest question.

Did she not see the dog in my arms looking like he was a few sheets to the ultimate wind, if you catch my drift?

Chocolate. I said, panting.

I am not embarrassed to say that the dog had me scared shitless. I mean this was my cousin's dog after all. Forget the fact that it was also my best friends dog—him I could handle, but not Ava. She would have my hide.

What's the breed?

Did it matter? Would the questions ever end?

Um. . . Whatever Starsky and Hutch's dog was. I answered embarrassed that I didn't know, which must have come out a bit louder than I intended because out came a vision with wild red hair and green eyes.

Bring him back here, she instructed me. Her voice was like silk. We'll do the paperwork later, okay? She spoke to the girl at the desk.

I followed her to the back and did as she told me.

Java was now laying on the examination table and she was getting some tools.

You should step outside, I'll take care of him and let you know when you can come back in. I nodded. Does he have any medical conditions I should know of? This time, I shook my head. She winked and pointed to the door, nudging me out. By the way, he's a Dogue de Bordeaux. I left then as she asked of me, but couldn't help thinking that I had seen her somewhere.

She was by no means familiar because she was common looking—no, she was far too special—yet, I couldn't quite place her, which surprised me because I was certain hers was a face I would not soon forget.

Two

Melinda: This Little Piggy(let)

The veterinary clinic I worked for just moved to a new location. For the first three months I was working at South Palm Vet I would travel forty minutes westward, into the heart of the county from my beachfront condo. The drive was the only downside to my days, but when I heard it was relocating closer to the ocean, my days got brighter. The spot that was selected was inside a bustling shopping plaza, neighboring a grocery store, bank, restaurant, and small boutiques.

I was giddy with excitement at moving and so when we first settled in to the office, I arrived earlier than my scheduled start time. As the second shift vet, my hours kept me working from around lunchtime to primetime at night, but it never bothered me much because I knew as well as anyone that the animals needed just as much TLC at six or seven o'clock at night as they did at nine in the morning.

It was a crisp morning even in the beating sunshine. Just as I pulled into my parking space and was about to turn to get out of my sturdy little car I stopped suddenly—in front of me stood a man that took my breath away. He appeared to be checking his cell phone, but unlike most people, he stopped to stare at the screen, instead of rudely continuing to walk into people and objects. There was a certain swagger about this man that struck the right balance between arrogant and insecure, manly and boyish.

Leaning back in the seat of my car, my eyes were fixed on him and I hoped that he didn't look up to see me staring, but I couldn't peel my eyes off of him anyway.

When he finally looked up from his phone, he dropped his sunglasses back in place and I couldn't catch a glimpse of his eyes, but his dark, gelled hair filled me with promise of the beauty his eyes held too. He moved onward, entering the bank, and in that moment, I was filled with such gratitude to be working next to that bank.

It took me a second before I could compose myself enough to get on with my day and go into work, but when I did, I was humming happily all day.

Each day after that first day in the new location, I came into work with renewed optimism that I would see that mystery man again. He filled my thoughts when I was not busy caring for an animal. I would ponder his name, profession, marital status, and so on. He couldn't have worked in the bank, I thought to myself, because he was dressed in more casual garb than what I had seen of the other employees. Finally, one day I had to answer the question for myself, so I got up during my four o'clock lunch break and strode into the bank under the guise of opening an account. Truth be told, I already had an account at a branch near my condo and had been with them since I moved in. I was happy with their fees and customer service, too, so I wasn't really looking, but it did no harm to inquire, I convinced myself.

I shed my white lab coat and walked the short distance to the bank, pulling open the doors with a gust of wind following behind me.

Good morning, Miss, it's a beautiful day, isn't it? the beefy security guard asked me.

I smiled and agreed.

How can we help you? he asked.

I explained that I was interested in possibly opening an account.

The guard pointed me the appropriate desk and asked me to sign in. You'll be called in just a moment, he promised me.

I did as I was asked and starting taking in the building, looking at all the faces behind the glass. None fit the mystery man and I was disappointed, but knew that there were quite a number of offices that still held hope behind the closed doors.

I sat down and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Just a moment my behind, I thought to myself, I was going to really have to forfeit eating at the rate this was going.

After about ten minutes of waiting, which felt like an hour, a tall, charming southern gentlemen came out from behind the closed doors and introduced himself as Jackson Walker. He explained that he typically doesn't assist new customers, instead he worked in investments, but he was asked to talk to me because the woman I had to speak with was currently occupied.

We chatted briefly before I left with a few pamphlets and was asked to come back when I had more time to go really delve into the various accounts and their benefits, and possibly investment solutions.

That brief interaction with Mr. Walker told me two things—one, the mystery man was neither the person who could help me open an account (boo!), and two, I should really consider investing some of my money now that I had a stable job (eh, spending was so much better!).

I walked out the door and let my hair fly around in the wind, just praying that my curls didn't get too knotted.

I was not even two feet from the door when the wind blew the pamphlets from my hand and paper was flying everywhere.

I crouched down to pick them up and as I lifted my head, about to rise, I came face to face with the mystery man. I stopped in my tracks and felt my lips curl back into a full smile.

My brain went dead and I couldn't find my voice. He spoke though. I believe these are yours.

I nodded my head. Thanks.

"No