Page 8 of Tempted Hearts
As we talked and Italian-speaking parents and children, teens with bikes, businessmen and women and tourists walked past us, our train pulled up. I checked the numbers, twice, confident this one was the real deal.
“Can you please remind me to listen to you next time?” Delaney asked as she pulled her massive luggage on board the train.
Helping her settle in, Delaney and I finally dropped into our seats.
“Why did I bring half my closet?”
“Because you didn’t believe me.” I chuckled, remembering what I’d said when first seeing Delaney’s luggage. Despite me begging her to take a carry-on, not only did she check a big suitcase, I swore it was the biggest one on the carousel. It would have been perfect for a two-month stay. But one week?
“That’s the last time I make that mistake. Okay, so talk to me about what we’re seeing,” she said as our train began to move.
I pointed to the graffitied buildings as we sped by. “Milan,” I said, deadpan.
Delaney grinned. “Ooo, and what’s that?”
“Also Milan.”
The two of us continued our silliness all the way to our stop. After what seemed like a hundred hours later, but really was just one train change and a ten-minute walk to our hotel, we were finally checked in and walking down the promenade, the green-blue sea on our left and the quaint Italian town of Monterosso on our right.
“This looks like a postcard. And holy shit, Jules, did you see that guy looking at you?”
I’d seen him alright. He had “playboy” written all over him. “Totally my type.”
“He was. Should we turn around? Go hunt him down?”
I laughed, seeing the perfect spot. Partway up the mountain, its patio jutted out with a perfect view of the sea. “Yeah. He’s probably already leered at fifty other tourists. No thank you.”
Delaney frowned, swatting me. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. Those tourists aren’t you. There isn’t a better catch in this whole country.”
I snorted. “Someone is biased.”
My friend looked over her shoulder, so I couldn’t resist doing the same. Rico Suave had stopped and was chatting up a pretty blonde. Go figure.
“Maybe you’re right. Finding someone who is the opposite of your usual type might not be the worst idea. Is that where we’re heading?”
“Yep,” I said, breathing in the sea air, smiling as I remembered the time in Lake Como where my father saw a vending machine that sold cans of “Como air.” Of course he bought one as a joke for my mother’s stocking.
The fact that my parents still gave each other stockings cracked me up. And if I were being honest, maybe made me a little sad. I was so far away from having a marriage—never mind that, a relationship—like theirs, it wasn’t even funny.
Without warning, a vision of him staring at me popped into my head.
Since the weekend, I hadn’t been able to get stupid Cole Ford out of my thoughts. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time. Apparently my bad taste in men extended beyond the playboy type to actual assholes. Who cared if he was like one of those Roman god statues come to life when he acted like that?
“What are you laughing at?” Delaney asked.
“I was just thinking that Parker’s friend Cole might be hot but his personality ruined it.”
We reached the restaurant which was actually a trattoria. Perfect.
“And that made you laugh?”
“No. I was thinking he was like one of those Roman god statues come to life, looks wise… and maybe personality wise too,” I admitted, imagining Roman gods were pretty self-inflated too.
“But they usually have small penises.”
“What? That makes no sense. Why?”
“It was seen as a sign of strength, to be able to control their… uh… urges. Haven’t you ever seen pictures of Michelangelo’sDavid?”
