Page 19 of Tempted Hearts
What the hell?
“Grazie mille.”
“What did you ask him?” If my tone was accusatory, it was because Cole was full of shit. Looked up a few phrases on the plane, my ass.
“For restaurant recommendations for tonight,” Cole said, obviously being facetious.
Try again.
“How did you ask for directions, and understand his response, in perfect Italian?”
“Who says I understood his response?”
I looked at Parker, exasperated.
“Don’t look at me. But I told you, he knows things.”
Oh my God. “Okay, Jon Snow,” I tried again with Cole. “Fess up.”
This time his smile was genuine.
“Game of Thronesfan?”
“Oh no,” Delaney groaned. “Please don’t.”
I repressed a smile. “You can say that.”
“Books or show?”
It was my turn to raise a brow. “I was an English major and teach writing for a living. What do you think?”
“Teach writing? I thought you were an author?”
“How about you two get to know each other later?” Parker interrupted. “Did you understand any of his directions?”
Cole looked as if he were contemplating some smart-ass, or maybe just smart, response. Instead, he pointed up the hill. “This way.”
How had he understood? It was one thing to learn a few phrases. But it was another to actually understand a native Italian who wasn’t slowing down his response for a non-native speaker. I’d started, and given up, on taking Italian lessons more than once over the years, and it was the interpreting that always got me.
Walking between Parker and Delaney, Cole was talking more animatedly than usual. I followed him, noticing everything. The self-assured stride. Head held high.
Very fine-looking ass.
How about you two get to know each other later?
I could admit the question had made my stomach do a little flip-flop. It meant there would be a later. Cole was staying tonight, and most likely a few nights, in Italy. And I wasn’t entirely disappointed by that fact. Even if I told myself, otherwise.
9
COLE
“This is it,” Parker said, looking up from his phone.
We stared up at the small building, modest and well kept given its apparent age. Like those surrounding it, some of the terracotta color was faded to pale peach under the hot Italian sun. The cracks didn’t distract from, but added to, its character.
Authentic. Unlike the tourist trap that was the beach area we just left.
Juliette stared at the building like the rest of us, and then in true Juliette fashion, marched up to the front door. There were no flies on this woman. She was as fearless as they came.
