Page 19 of One Hot Summer

I wrapped the biscotti back up and decided to skip on more indulging this evening.

“So, what have you been up to today?” I asked.

“I called back at home today to make sure the place is still standing, which it is. My housemate hasn’t burnt the place down yet. It’s been a boring one, really. Miserable weather over here too, if you can believe that. How was the Colosseum?”

“Oh, it was amazing. There was some serious eye porn. I took so many photos. I’ll have to show you when I see you, but they just don’t do the place any justice at all. You won’t believe how big it is. We’ll have to come sometime, so you can see for yourself.”

“Well, actually…”

“What?”

“I’ve got a confession. I’ve been before. Years ago, we went as a family and did the whole touristy thing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been bragging about how much of a good time I’m having here, and you’ve already experienced it. I bet I’ve sounded like a right idiot.”

“Well, you can’t help that.” He laughed as I swore at him. “But it’s fine. Rome is just… there are no words for it. Everyone needs to visit Rome at some point in their lives. And I love hearing how much you’ve enjoyed your break. We’ll definitely go together one day. Did you see the Vatican too?”

“Yes, we went after we had our little picnic. That was a strange experience. I probably can’t describe it properly, which doesn’t matter as you’ve already been. But it felt quite eerie.”

“I thought that too.”

I took the phone out to the balcony and sat down at the table. The air seemed cooler tonight. There was a refreshing breeze. I put my feet up on the other chair and relaxed, talking to Zack about next week when we would both have the week off together. At least one of those days would be spent in bed.

I heard a familiar laugh and looked down over the balcony.

“I think I can hear Sarah,” I whispered to Zack, as I leaned forward to watch the people below. “Yes, they’re back, he’s walked her home. Shh.”

“Why are you shushing me? They can’t hear me.”

I spied on Sarah and Alessandro as they gazed into each other’s eyes at the bottom of the hotel steps. I could only see the tops of their heads, but I knew they were smiling. He then raised his hand and stroked her cheek before leaning in for a kiss. Wow. I felt like I was in it. I could almost feel their body heat rising and ruining the breeze keeping me cool. He slowly pulled back and stroked her face one last time before stepping back to walk away. He made it only ten steps before he looked back to give her one final wave.

“I’ll have to go, she’s on her way up.”

“Are you going to giggle and gossip about kissing boys, over biscotti?”

“Yes, in our pyjamas, right before we have a pillow fight.”

“Well, just make sure to save me some biscotti, don’t eat it all. Okay, baby, I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Love you.”

“Mwah, I love you too.”

I stayed on the balcony waiting for Sarah to get to the room. I watched as the knob turned on the door and in she came, rosy-cheeked (finally!), eyes glistening and a smile from ear to ear. She hadn’t noticed me staring at her from the balcony.

“Ahem,” I called out, finally getting her attention. “Did you have a good evening?”

She didn’t answer. She just nodded her head. No words were needed. Her sheepish smile said it all.

Sarah was back.

CHAPTER FIVE

Why does it always take forever for suitcases to appear on the conveyor belt at the airport when you arrive back in your own country? When you have been travelling for hours and hours and just want to get home to the comfort of your own bed, you’re hit with all these barriers. A delay in leaving the plane, huge queues at security, and now, finally, the long wait for our luggage. We must have been standing there for twenty minutes waiting for our cases, and they still hadn’t appeared. Our prebooked taxi would be leaving without us, or waiting with the meter running and costing us an absolute fortune. I’d been on a fair few holidays abroad and never, not once, had my suitcase been the first to appear upon returning home.

“I wish they’d hurry up, or we’ll need to book another taxi, and who knows how long that will take,” I said to Sarah, who was being oddly calm about the situation. I thought maybe she was still distracted by thoughts of her Italian friend. “Who did you say you’d booked with? Do you think you should call them to say we’re still waiting for our bags?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’ll be fine.” She tried to reassure me, but I hated this part of holidays. Not just because it was over, but because the process of getting home always seemed to take an age. It’s always a shame when you have to check out of such a perfect holiday abroad, but as soon as you do, you always just want to get straight back home to your own bed.

There was suddenly a loud clatter as the conveyor belt began to move.

---