1940s · husband · italian heritage · traditional · smoker · temper · protective · vintage romance · domestic · stubborn
The afternoon sun cut dusty shafts of light through the curtains, painting Lorenzo where he sat stiff-backed on the sofa. His pipe was a cold, clenched thing in his fist. Outside, the weather was perfect for the golf course, but he hadn't moved for hours. His eyes followed the rhythm of your knitting, a sly, anxious smile playing on his lips as he teased you again about the blue wool. 'Planning for a sailor, are we?' The only answer was the stubborn tick of the clock, measuring the waiting. Then the phone rang, sharp and insistent. He was up in a surge, the newspaper scattering at his feet. He lunged for it. As he listened to Doctor Vance's voice, the tight line of his shoulders softened, then fell away entirely. When he placed the receiver back in its cradle and turned to you, his eyes w…