Page 11 of Tempted Hearts
Making my way to the nightstand, I peeked at the book she was reading.The Alchemist. A book about chasing purpose. Fitting, for someone who seemed to live like every moment mattered.
Opening the drawer and groaning, the utter lack of organization inside hurting my brain, I found the stacks of papers and cards Parker told me to look for. Each one was rubber-banded with a small sticky note on top.
No. Fucking. Way.
This woman was nuts.
There was more than one pile, each rubber banded with a sticky note. One stack was labeled “Receipts for things I meant to return but didn’t.” Another, “Cards from people who disappointed me.” Putting those back, I picked up a third. “Photos I’ll never scrapbook.” And finally, the one I was looking for: “Expired CC/IDs, why do I keep these?”
It only took me a second to find her most current, expired, driver’s license. I put the rest back, next to the tin labeled “Emergency chocolate,” smiling as a certain item peeked out from under a scarf, and closed the drawer promptly.
If that wasn’t the strangest damn organization system I’d ever seen…
As I made my way out of Juliette’s house, one thing was for certain. I wasn’t going to regret offering to tag along with Parker.
Because I already did.
6
JULES
“Mi scusi,” I asked the hostess. “Lei parla inglese?”
“Sì,” she said, glancing from me to Delaney.
Most did here, which was great. My basic Italian had major limits when my brain wasn’t functioning due to lack of sleep. “A table for two, by the water, please. And we’d love to start with two glasses of white wine and an antipasto.”
This morning, we’d woken up to a knock on the door from a housekeeper with a bag of chocolate croissants, two bottles of water and a fifty-euro loan, courtesy of the boutique hotel’s owner who we’d gotten to know pretty well over the last day.
It was almost noon, and tourists had begun to arrive by ferry and train to the town. One thing we’d quickly learned about Monterosso was how much busier it got during the day as people, like us, explored each of the five Cinque Terre towns. Weaving through people, we’d made our way to restaurant number three. This time, we’d got lucky.
“When we walked by here the other day”—Delaney pulled out her chair—“I never in a million years thought we’d be in this predicament.”
With a small table between us, our chairs facing the sea and umbrella keeping the Italian sun from melting us, it really was the most incredible of spots. One we’d planned to visit earlier, until “the incident.”
Ordering an antipasto platter and two glasses of wine, I asked Delaney again about Parker’s ETA. Yesterday was a complete blur.
“As far as I know, they’re still on track to get here by early afternoon.”
“They?”
Our waitress came with the platter filled with meats and cheeses—one almost as big as the table between us—and two glasses of vino rosso.
“Grazie mille,” I said before she hustled away. The tables to our right and left, all positioned similarly to ours in a straight line looking out over the sea, were now nearly filled. I took a sip of wine, trying to put the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours from my mind as I waited for Delaney to respond. She had a sort of… odd look on her face.
“Did I say they?”
The wine glass froze on my lips. Instead of sipping it, I pulled it back down.
“You did.” A creeping suspicion tugged at me. Delaney was definitely guilty as hell, which meant that wasn’t an accidental slip. Parker and his three buddies were basically brothers, so there was a 100 percent chance one of them accompanied him.
Except…
There was no way Mason would leave with the baby, and it was hard to imagine Beck leaving town on a whim with the bar. Which left Cole.
“Please no.”
“I didn’t tell you,” she rushed, “because I know he’s not your favorite person. But you have to admit it was kind of nice of him to jump on a plane to Italy, right?”
