“True, but there’s also so much more of the city, also like New York. You just happen to be staying in a very populated section.”
She’s wearing a pair of black shorts today, giving me the gift of her bare legs, which I have trouble not ogling, becausedamn. And I don’t mean “damn.” I mean “day-um.” Because wow, her legs are beautiful. Muscular but shapely, deeply tanned. My mouth goes suddenly dry, and I clear my throat before I speak. “I don’t mind the walk,” I say, and it’s true. The heat has eased up for us a bit. Instead of the high nineties, it’s in the high eighties, and it’s amusing how the high eighties can seem almost cool when you’re so used to temps close to a hundred degrees.
“I will also, one day, take you someplace that doesn’t involve eating or drinking,” she says as she stops and turns to face me with a big grin. “That day, however, is not today.” She reaches for the door to her right and pulls it open, then waves me in. “After you.”
This isn’t a restaurant, I don’t think, and it almost seems closed. But then a woman greets us with a cheerfulbuonaseraand gives Marina air-kisses on both cheeks and a big hug. They speak in Italian for a moment and then Marina turns to me, her arm out. “This is the woman I told you about. Lily Chambers, this is my dear friend from childhood, Angela Petrillo.”
I expect to shake her hand, but Angela Petrillo pulls me into a warm hug, and I get the same two-cheek air-kisses Marina got. Angela is plump and soft, and her hug feels like comfort and home. I like her instantly.
“Welcome,” she says. “Welcome. Marina has told me so much about you. Come.” She waves us into the empty roomwhere there is a long table, chairs, and wine. So much wine. Wow.
We sit in the closest two seats, and Marina leans close to my ear. “When you ask for inspiration, my mind goes to wine. I can’t help it. The depth and flavors and stories behind wine…” She lifts a shoulder and whispers. “Inspiring.”
It’s easily the most fun I’ve had in longer than I can remember, and by the time we leave Angela’s place—with longer hugs this time and promises to keep in touch—I’m more than a little bit tipsy. I don’t know Marina well enough to know if she is as well, but she looks happy, her grin near constant.
“That was amazing,” I say as we stroll down the street, which has come alive since a couple hours ago. Lights and music and people. The scents of food. The sounds of a soccer game emanating from every bar and restaurant we pass, including the collective, seemingly city-wide cheer whenever there’s a play in Italy’s favor.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she says, and I find myself leaning into her a bit, holding her arm for steadiness.
A couple passes us, a man and a woman, and the woman is beautiful, elegant in very fitted black pants and heels, and both Marina and I turn to look, follow her with our eyes as she passes. Turning back, our gazes meet. She grins and her eyes sparkle and I roll my lips in and bite down on them.
“She had a very nice…behind,” Marina says diplomatically.
“She did,” I agree.
“So, is that your, um, preference?” She doesn’t look at me as she asks the question.
“What, behinds?”
That yanks a laugh out of her. “No. Women.” She clears her throat, and it occurs to me that she’s nervous asking this question.
“Ooohhh,” I say, drawing the word out. “Women.” I lean intoher a little more, the wine making me braver than usual. “Yeah. It is. Though I’m more of a leg girl than an ass girl.”
“Ah, I see.”
We walk for another moment before I say, “Yeah, you don’t get away with not sharing, too. So, is that your preference as well?” I hold my breath as I wait for her answer because I don’t know what I’ll do with the information, no matter which way it goes.
“Yes. I have always been gay.”
“Always?” I ask, teasing her.
Her cheeks pinken, I can see it even in the low light. “Well, since I knew what it was to like somebody.”
“I see,” I said.
“You?”
“Oh, I was later than you. Not exactly a late bloomer, but later than you. High school. Fell in love with my best friend. That old song and dance.”
“She was straight.” It’s not a question. Marina knows, as do most of us.
“Are they ever gay?” I say it with a chuckle. We can laugh about it now, but when you’re sixteen, it’s not even a little bit funny.
“Nope.”
We walk along, enjoying the night, the atmosphere, the softness of slight inebriation, and it feels a little bit different between us now. I can’t really put a finger on exactly how, but we’ve shared something personal, and the air between us has shifted because of it. I still hold her arm, and she doesn’t seem bothered by that at all. In fact, she closes her hand over mine, and we walk along that way, and it doesn’t feel weird at all. Quite the opposite, which would probably be more confusing for me if I had less wine in my system. But we continue to meander, and I think I sigh, because I’m so incredibly content right now. Marinatightens her arm, which kind of squeezes my hand against her body, and everything in this moment could not be any more perfect if I wrote it myself.
“Oh!” I say, remembering something. “I have something for you.” I reach into my purse and pull out the little notebook I bought. Handing it to her, I say, “I noticed you could use a new one.”
