Page 37 of Problematic Summer Romance

I stop when Lucrezia returns and deposits a glass in front of me. I thank her, then wait for her to leave again before asking in a low whisper, “Why did she bring me a slushy?”

Conor looks at me like I just produced a legally actionable claim. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“Maya.”

“What did I do?”

“Took a dump on centuries of Sicilian culture?”

I blink. “Because I asked about the slushy?”

“It’s called a granita. Granitaal caffè. Withpanna—the heavy cream on top.” He plucks a brioche bun from the basket on his left and puts it on my plate. It’s oddly shaped: a round, donut-like base, and a tinier ball on top of it.

“Am I supposed to drinkafterI eat the boob with a giant nipple that’s having a severe allergic reaction, or before?” I mostly ask because I love the way the corners of Conor’s eyes crinkle together when he’s annoyed at me. But the Arabica aroma wafts up, making me salivate, and Conor…he’s always been good at feeding me.

“Shut up and eat.”

It turns out to be crunchier than a slushy, made of little shards of ice infused with sweet espresso. It’s delicious, of course—creamy and refreshing and cloud-fluffy, and: “I’m moving here,” I tell him after two bites, scooping more granita onto my pastry.

He smiles, staring at me in that way that I sometimes wonder if I imagined—enchanted. Sweet, almost. Like I’m precious. Like he cares about me enough tonotgo ten months without contact.

“No, I’m serious. After I finish scarfing this down I’m gonna throw my passport into the ocean.”

“The jellyfish will rejoice, I’m certain.”

“So, what are the rules? Is granita just for breakfast? Can I have it multiple times a day, or is it like having cappuccino after eleven a.m.?”

“Lucrezia might judge you if you substitute granita for every meal.”

“And since I didn’t drink theE. colijuice, I want to hold on to her good opinion as long as I possibly can. Hmm.” I push mypolished-off plate away. “Maybe I’ll find another downtown. I’m going to check out the Greek theater, anyway.”

His eyes narrow. “Who are you going with?”

“Bob,” I say.

“Who?”

I point to the right. “He’s my imaginary friend. Big Shamrock Rovers fan. You two wouldnotget along.”

“Maya.”

“Come on. The only person who feels good enough to take a stroll among the ruins with me is Minami, and she’s sticking around to take care of Sul. You know I’m going alone.”

His scowl deepens. “You can’t.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Ah, yes.” I push back my chair and rise to my feet, which prompts him to do the same. “You’re right. I absolutely do not have the experience or the ability to take care of myself in a foreign country.” I squint. “Wait a minute…”

“This is different. You don’t speak the language, and—”

“And the forest is thick and dark and terrifying, full of dangerous beasts that will wrestle me to steal my rucksack and the mulberries it contains.”

He gives me a flat look.

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