Page 11 of Burn for You

“Right, but don’t you always do a stall?” Caio nudges him in the side, not so subtly. “What?” Leo whispers, clearly oblivious.

“We used to,” I say bluntly. I don’t want to talk about the fact that now that all of my family is gone, it wouldn't feel the same to set up a stall all by myself.

He nods off, clearly avoiding the rest of the conversation.

“I was saying to Rafael that I should’ve done a cocktail stand,” Marina chimes in.

“Ugh, yes!” May and Isla say in unison. “That would’ve been perfect.”

“Next year.” They nod in agreement.

Although Marina’s attempt at distraction was good, I can see Leo trying to have a silent conversation with Caio across the picnic blanket.

“Oh, per l’amor di Dio,” I mutter. “I didn’t want to cook, Leo. What’s the big deal?”

He holds his hands up. “No big deal, just curious.”

I refrain from mentioning how we’re alljust curiousabout the fact that he still hasn’t gone back to his own security firm in Sorrento in the last four months.

In all honesty, the idea of setting up a stall this year didn’t even cross my mind. I used to do it all the time as a kid. Me, Nonna, and my parents would all stand behind one stall dishing out meals like we were in a fast-food restaurant, it was so busy.

The festival used to be a way to test out new recipes, but I haven’t been able to conjure up anything new in months. Like I said, that spark is gone, along with my culinary creativeness. I just make the same thing every night. I don’t have the motivation to even try something new, something exciting, because it doesn’t excite me anymore. Cooking doesn’t make me feel anything anymore, only numbness.

I catch May frowning at me out of the corner of my eye and I throw one back. She rolls her eyes before switching her attention to Isla beside her.

I can almost feel the salt emanating from her pores.

Yup, definitely a sore loser.

chapter five

MAY

“This is your last round, okay?”

Grumbles come from the table in front of me. “I think we’re old enough to make responsible decisions.”

“Hmm…I recall multiple instances when that statement has not rung true.” I put my stern face on as I look down at Vanessa and Nora.

They look up at me with puppy dog eyes.

“Last round.” I knock my knuckles on the bar.

“I bet we can handle our liquor better than you canprincipessa,” Vanessa yells as I walk away.

“I’ll have you know I’m not as much of a lightweight as your daughter,” I yell back.

“Hey!” Marina smacks my arm as I come back around the bar.

“Sorry, but it’s true.”

She frowns and looks over at her ma, clearly offended.

Vanessa shrugs. “You never inherited the tolerancebambina.”

I laugh as Marina huffs a breath through her nose. Marina’s mom Vanessa and her best friend Nora frequent the bar every week. Nora owns the art studio Isla works out of, and the two of them can get pretty rowdy when they’ve had a few too many margaritas.

“I say we do a competition,” Marina says.

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