she muttered, but the pleasant shiver that fluttered down her spine when she imagined Vitale mispronouncing her name mocked her attempts to follow her own advice. She grabbed her bag and the crutch, determined to let the salty breeze cleanse the overcharged synapses in her brain.
Passing through the hotel lobby, she spotted a brochure advertising a boat excursion around the area. There would be just enough time to grab a bite and make it to the three o’clock tour.
The walk down the incline went fairly well with the crutch, though a bit slower than she was used to. She hadn’t ventured very far before she found a lovely bistro with alfresco dining. After ordering a panini and a pinot grigio, feeling smugly decadent for drinking wine at lunch, she dialed the business number.
“Panache. This is Camille.”
“So the business hasn’t folded in my absence.”
“Julia! How are you?”
She drew out a long, dramatic sigh. “Well, my toe got broken this morning when Jupiter became angry that I was gawking at one of his gods, so I won’t be hiking the Cinque Terre after all.”
“Oh no.” Camille groaned the utterance in such a way that adequate sympathy and a hug were both conveyed over the distance.
“And I lost my hotel reservation, so I don’t have anyplace to stay, but said-god is looking for a place, and he noticed my dancing finger, so all in all, I’d say things aren’t too terrible.”
“I’m not even sure I followed all of that, but it sounds like you’ve met a man, so I’m impressed.” Impressing Camille wasn’t difficult if romance was involved . . . even the fantasy kind.
“I’ve met a man named Vitale, who’s gorgeous, but he’s only about thirty, so hardly in legal range for me. The good part is that he’s taking care of me like he would his mother—so you got your wish—and he’s very helpful.”
“His mother, huh? Better wait and see what he wants for his trouble before you continue down that line of thinking.” Camille’s philosophy came out chewed around the edges. She must be eating breakfast. “And how’d the broken toe happen?”
Julia opted for the dramaless version. “Vitale was laying a pathway, and he had this pile of stones. One fell off and landed on my foot.”
“Are you in pain?”
Julia thought about that before she spoke. “No, not really.”
“But you can’t hike.” More crunching ensued. “That’s terrible.”
“Could be worse. Of all the great places in the world to get laid up, the Italian Riviera’s got to be at the top of the list. How’s business?”
“Nora Travis called this morning.” An eye roll was evident in Camille’s voice. “She’s ready to do her library and got all excited when I told her you were in Italy looking for new lines.”
Julia answered with an eye roll of her own. “Glad you’re there to take care of the pretentious little twit. You were so good with her last time.”
“As long as she’s willing to pay the price, I don’t mind wearing my boots and carrying my shovel.” Julia heard the familiar door chime in the background. “Anne Hutchens. How are you? Hey, Julia, somebody just came in, so I’ve got to go. Call and let me know where you are and how you’re managing, ’kay?”
“I will. Go make us some money.”
“And you find us some great stuff. Love you!”
As the warm sun beat down on her back, Julia was surprised at how relaxed she felt considering the circumstances. She should be upset . . . in a foreign country virtually homeless. But Vitale’s manner had been so assuring, she really wasn’t worried. He would find her a place to stay.
Allowing someone else to take care of things this once was rather nice, actually. But she wouldn’t want to make a habit of it.
She sipped the crisp white wine, which tasted of sunshine and air and sea—Liguria in a bottle—and soon her server sat the grilled sandwich in front of her, bits of roasted red peppers and eggplant oozing out the side along with the cheese.
Julia’s mouth watered at the sight.
“You meet Vitale?”
Julia’s surprise must’ve shown on her face.
“I hear you say ‘Vitale.’ ” The girl pointed to the cell phone.
“Oh.” Julia pointed to her toe. “I broke my toe this morning, so I’m having to change my plans. Vitale helped me do that.”
“Vitale, he is nice.” The girl took a dreamy breath. “And beautiful. Do you love him?”
Ah! Just as she’d suspected—no woman was impervious to the man’s charms. Julia chuckled and shook her head. “No, I don’t love him. He’s much too young for me.” She estimated the girl to be around seventeen. “And much too old for you, I think.”
The girl flashed her a sheepish smile. “All the women love Vitale. Mia nonna, mia madre, mia sorella . . . me. All love Vitale.” She pursed her lips and gave a knowing nod, looking wise for her years, and shook her finger meaningfully. “And Vitale, he love all the women.”
“So look, but no touch, eh?” Julia tried to match the girl’s wise and somber look.
“Sì. Plenty of look, though.” The sweet face dissolved into a moony smile before she walked back inside.
“Done more than my share of looking already,” Julia murmured, then washed away the admission on a sip of wine.
One bite of the panini, and she was sure she could live here forever. Gorgeous men, great wines, luscious foods—all works of art. What was there not to love about this place?
The young server sat a plate on the next table over with four perfectly formed chocolate truffles. They reminded Julia of Hettie. She dialed the number that would ring directly into her mother-in-law’s room.
Hettie answered on the fourth ring, which was a feat for her.
As soon as she heard Julia’s “Buon giorno,” she opened with, “Gotten laid yet? Remember, it’s got to be by an Italian. Americans you meet on planes don’t count.”
“The American I met on the plane was a jerk. And the only Italians I’ve met would be better suited for Melissa or you.”
“Go for one of the young ones,” Hettie said. “If you caused one of the old guys to have a heart attack, it could get ugly.”
Julia tucked that away under needless advice and shifted the subject to the news about her toe and her change in plans. Hettie was sympathetic, but not sappy. “That stone didn’t just fall on your toe. Fate pushed it there, so be ready.”
“Ready’s my middle name.”
Hettie snorted and launched into a tale about Mable Tarrington’s foray into the game room that morning wearing only a smile.
The time neared for her excursion, so Julia said her good-byes and asked for her check. The girl brought her change along with a small bag.
“For Vitale. From Rosa.”
Julia hesitated. “I won’t see him until tomorrow.”
“Pasticceria. They keep.”
Julia tucked the package into her tote and went to meet the boat.
CHAPTER 6
The tour headed south to Tellaro first, giving Julia a different perspective on the town than she’d gotten yesterday from the hike in the hills above, though just as tranquil. The picturesque pink and orange houses set against the vibrant green backdrop made it difficult to imagine anything but perfect harmony behind those walls. No cancer. No infidelity.