Page 15 of One Hot Summer

“I know. Dammit. Had my eye on one, too.”

“Well, my hot blonde bombshell is currently out having drinks with her new Italian boyfriend, so looks like you’re stuck with me for a bit right now.”

“Sarah is out with a guy?” His tone had changed. “On her own? Is that safe?”

“Yes. She’s a grown-up now so she doesn’t need minding.”

“Did you say you were back at the hotel? I’d hate to think you were out on your own, you never know what could happen.”

“Zack, honestly, it’s fine. She will be fine. He’s a nice guy and it’s making her happy. Which is what this holiday is all about.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am. Anyway, the bistro they’re at is literally across the road. If I lean far enough over the balcony, I’ll be able to see them staring into each other’s eyes feeding amaretto to each other.

“If you say so.”

If this was Zack’s attitude to a mature, grown-up date in a foreign country, then it would be best he never heard about our holiday to Zante all those years ago. He would not approve. Some things were best kept secret.

“So, tell me more about dinner with your parents? What’s new with them?”

“Not much. Same old, same old. They asked about you, about work, more about you. They want me to organise a meal out with us and them when you get back if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is. I can’t wait to meet them. We can sort it out next week.”

“Good. I’ll let them know. Anyway, why are we talking on the phone as if it’s the nineties? Have you got wifi there? Call me on WhatsApp video, I want a sneak peek of those white bits.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Leonardo brought us our breakfast at exactly seven thirty the next morning, smiling as always. I was glad he had survived the night unscathed. On the tray, along with our coffees, bread, fruit and pastries, was another plate covered with a napkin. He placed the tray down on the table, and winked at me with a cheeky grin, putting his finger over his lips.

When he was gone, and the door was firmly shut, I pulled back the napkin and saw half a dozen chocolate biscotti. I giggled and shook my head at his daredevil activities. When Sarah had got back the night before, I’d explained ‘biscotti-gate’ to her and that we would be avoiding Maria as much as possible between now and when it was time to go home.

I poured us both some coffee and had a nibble of the biscotti before preparing our little picnic for the day. There was a hint of coffee mixed in with the chocolate flavour this time. I needed to take some of these home with me. I’d need to ask Leonardo for the recipe. I could bake a batch and impress my mother with my new European culinary skills.

Sarah emerged from the bathroom, smiling to herself.

“Still smiling from last night? Must have been a good one.”

“Alessandro has just texted me, wishing me a good day. That’s all.” She slid her phone into her back pocket.

“Are you seeing him again?”

“I think he wants to take me out for dinner tomorrow night. He’s checking his work schedule… but it will be our last night here so I’m not sure I should. It should be us girls doing something special.”

“We can go for dinner anytime we want to back home. If you want to see him, go and see him.”

“I’ll see.” She picked up a biscotti and dipped it in her coffee. “Oh, that reminds me.” She put her drink and biscuit down and went over to her bag, pulling out some pieces of paper. “He gave me these bus tickets.”

“Okay, I suppose flowers and chocolates are rather old school.”

“I told him we were going to attempt the buses to get around today, and he said you need to buy tickets before you get on the bus, or you can get fined. He buys loads in advance so he’s never short of one. He just said to make sure we get them validated on the buses, or something along those lines, and we’ll be fine. Didn’t sound too complicated when he explained it so it should be easy enough.”

“Oh, great stuff. Well, I don’t fancy spending the night in an Italian police cell, or walking any further on my poor sore feet. Keep those tickets safe in your bag.” My feet, although all right in appearance, were feeling very tender.

“Did you ask him which bus we need to get to the Colosseum?”

“Yes, I wrote it all down in my phone. I’ve got the entry tickets downloaded to my phone too – and I’m fully charged.” She had a little giddy spring in her step. “Let’s eat quickly, I booked our entry time for nine thirty and we need to be at the ticket desk thirty minutes before that, according to the app.”

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