Yeah, what’s wrong?
Josh
Nothing’s wrong.
Seth
It’s two hours before you’re usually willing to speak to another human being.
Josh
I’m outside your house.
The door swung open thirty seconds later, and Seth gestured for him to come inside, a look of concern on his face.
“I really am fine,” Josh lied.
Seth didn’t say anything. He just led the way into the kitchen, where he put on coffee and dug out a carton of eggs.
Josh didn’t protest being fed. He hadn’t eaten much since Tuesday. Most of the food they bought at the farmer’s market, he’d taken across to August and her kids. And then immediately made himself scarce, because he didn’t need August’s questions.
At least Seth didn’t ask—
“You miss her,” his brother said.
Technically, that wasn’t a question.
And statements of such clear, painful fact didn’t need to be confirmed.
“What is she doing right now?”
Probably grilling some olive farmer on his marketing practices. “Dunno.”
“You could give her a call. Let her know you’re thinking about her.” Seth shrugged. “Honesty is always a good policy.”
Josh had started texts to her a dozen times a day. “What time is it in Italy?”
“Noon, I think.”
He nodded.
Seth gestured at the coffeemaker. “That needs five minutes. I’m going to go have a super quick shower.”
Giving Josh some privacy.
It took three of those minutes for him to work himself up to calling her—and then the phone wouldn’t connect. “God damn it,” he growled.
When his brother returned, he was nearly finished with his first mug of coffee.
“Did you reach her?”
“No answer,” he muttered. “I need to go there.”
“Where?”
“Italy.”
“Uh…” Seth exhaled. “Okay. When?”
