Page 21 of Tempted Hearts
“Is it me, or are there no men around?”
“Want to see the men?” Juliette asked as if she had a secret. “Do we have time?”
Parker looked at his phone. “We have more than an hour.”
“Let’s go.”
This time, she led, though how Juliette knew where she was going, I had no idea. I asked her exactly that as we navigated the cobblestone streets, Parker and Delaney following behind us.
“Roslita told me the pin came from ‘una gioielleria in piazza’ which she told me was this way. I have no idea whatgioielleriameans, but if the piazza is this way, that’s where the men are.”
I waited for her to finish, but she didn’t seem inclined to do so.
“And why, pray tell, are the men in the piazza?”
“The first time I came with my parents to Italy, we had no idea some of our ancestors were from Monterosso. We only knew my father’s family was from somewhere in Liguria. We were in this little town in Levanto, trying to dig up our ancestry, when I asked that exact question. There were literally zero women in the square. My dad hired a tour guide, who was German incidentally.” She spoke a mile a minute. Clearly this was a topic that interested her. Animated Juliette was a sight to see. “I guess she married someone from the town and spoke English, so giving tours became sort of a side gig. What was her name? Oh man, I totally forget.”
“Gertrud?”
“Is that even German?”
“It is.”
“No, it wasn’t Gertrud.”
“Hildegard?”
“What? No.” She laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Anyway, doesn’t matter.”
“Precisely my point.”
If Juliette wasn’t a grown woman, I was certain she’d have stuck her tongue out at me at that moment. I suppressed a grin.
“Anyway,” she said, more exaggerated this time. “When I asked about it, the guide—we’ll call her Gertrugard?—”
I did laugh then.
“Said all of the women were at home, either cooking or cleaning. While the husbands sat around the piazza, shooting the shit, smoking cigars, or whatever. Can you believe that? In this day and age?”
“Sounds like heaven,” I teased, 100 percent correct when guessing she’d lose it at that response.
“Really? You’d want your wife to sit at home, cooking and watching the kids, every single day while you smoked cigars with your friends after work, not a care in the world?” Before I could answer, she added, “Every day, mind you. Not, like, a special occasion.”
This was too easy.
“It feels like maybe I shouldn’t answer that.”
“Oh my God. I can’t.” She turned to Parker. “Where did you find this guy? Under a rock?”
“In college.”
“Same thing,” Delaney teased.
We’d arrived.
Sure enough, the piazza was filled with locals. Not a tourist to be seen. There were two women, about 10 percent of the square’s total occupants. Some played chess. Others sat at tables or on the foot of the fountain in the center.
