“A booze cruise?”
Carmen grabbed Brooke’s hand, pulled her up. “Work with me here. I don’t get out much.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t take Scott up on his offer last night,” Carmen started as they walked away from the hotel to explore the city the next morning.
“You mean the twelve-year-old?” The harbor cruise had been a great way to see the sunset and gather some background on San Diego. A light dinner and alcohol were provided . . . and plenty of single people were there looking for entertainment. Enter Scott. The man-child Carmen was referring to.
“He was not twelve.”
“Pretty sure if you double-checked his ID, you’d find he’d swiped his big brother’s to get on the boat.”
“He’s in the navy. I’m sure they’d frown on that.”
“Even if he was twenty-one. I’m thirty-six. No. Just no.”
Carmen moaned. “He was cute.”
“Did it ever occur to you I don’t want that? Any of that? I haven’t wiped off my smeared mascara from Marshall yet, the last thing I want is to jump into anything else. Besides, I don’t have time. And I don’t live here.”
“I don’t think he was looking for forever.”
“And I don’t want for now. I don’t want anything.”
Carmen frowned.
“Don’t look at me that way. I’m okay. I need to be me. I have to figure out my dad, my life . . . our lives. Then if something comes along . . . maybe.”
“A Scott?”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “I think I can do better than a Scott.”
They walked along Harbor Drive until they passed where they’d gotten on the boat the night before and turned into Waterfront Park. The long fountains and vast grassy areas were dotted with families and kids playing. A few children splashed in the water while parents snapped pictures that were sure to make it onto a social media page later in the day.
Funny, Brooke hadn’t thought about her own pages in weeks.
It wasn’t like there was anything interesting to post. Nothing brag-worthy.
She’d been downright depressed since she arrived in California, and for good reason.
Yet pausing and watching the kids playing in the park put a smile on her face.
Carmen nudged her, bringing the fact that she’d stopped walking to her attention. “You need a man who can give you one of those.”
“Carmen!” Her name was a familiar warning. A friendly way of saying, “Drop it.” The subject of babies didn’t get brought up often, and when it did, Brooke changed it quickly.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
They walked away from the park, up a couple of blocks, and the crowds started to gather again.
“What is this?”
Brooke looked up and saw a huge sign spanning the street . . . Little Italy. On the streetlights were Italian flags. Restaurant patios and tables spilled onto the streets, taking up where cars once parked. Beautiful structures with proper fencing and fake greenery separated the dining patrons from the passing cars. Strings of outdoor lighting hung between the buildings, adding to the neighborhood feel of the area.
“This is crazy,” Carmen said as she pulled her cell phone from her purse and started snapping pictures.
“You didn’t know this was here?”
“I heard someone talking about it last night, but I didn’t think it was so close to the hotel.”
Brooke dodged a couple walking a big dog. “I missed it. That must have been when Scott was hitting on me.”
Each restaurant was open to the street, hostesses standing at a podium smiling and inviting people passing by to look at the menu.
While the buildings didn’t look anything like what you found in Italy, the atmosphere had a similar energetic feel.
Brooke found a smile on her face as she heard those working inside the establishments talking in rapid Italian as they ran around. She’d missed traveling when she’d taken care of her father the first time and knew she wouldn’t be on a plane again anytime soon. Not to mention the breakup with Marshall, the travel influencer who could be in Italy right now for all she knew.
Brooke shook off the thought and welcomed where she was.
“This is fabulous,” she said, soaking it all in.
“Are you hungry?” Carmen asked.
“Not at all.”
“Want to get something to eat anyway?”
Brooke stopped walking, looked around. “Absolutely.”
They perused their options and decided on D’Angelo’s Trattoria, which had an authentic-looking menu and more ambiance than many of the places they’d passed by.
“Buongiorno,” the hostess, a girl in her midtwenties with long dark hair and olive skin, greeted them.
“Hi. Table for two?” Brooke asked.
“Of course. Inside or out?”
Brooke pointed to the tables set for two on the patio connected to the restaurant. “Is this okay?”
“Perfect.” The hostess smiled and walked them to their table, then handed them menus.
“Thank you.”
“Prego.”
As the woman walked away, Brooke leaned forward. “I love this town. I love this city. We’re sitting outside and it’s not too hot and it’s not too cold.”
“This bed is juuust right!” Carmen teased.
“I’m serious. It’s like Seattle with better weather. Better than Seattle. The waterfront doesn’t smell like fish guts.”
“Ewhh.”
“You know what I mean.”
A waiter came to the table. “Hello, ladies. I’m Giovanni, I’ll be serving you today. Can I get you something to drink? A Bloody Mary, maybe? A glass of wine?”
“How about a spritz? An Aperol spritz?” A staple when she had visited Italy.
“Good choice.”
“Make it two,” Carmen said.
He walked away and Brooke put her phone down. “He’s Italian.”
“I think they all are.”
Brooke couldn’t stop smiling. “I wonder if D’Angelo is a family name?” Her muse was sparked for the first time in weeks.
Someone arrived with water, set it on the table.
A few seconds of silence passed, and Brooke turned her attention to Carmen.
Who was staring.
“What?”
“I’m going to suggest something.”
“Okay.”
Carmen stopped smiling. “You have to promise me you won’t instantly tell me it won’t work or it’s a bad idea. Promise me you’ll think about it and instead of saying you can’t, ask yourself how you can.”
“You make it sound like I’m a horribly negative person.”
Her friend offered a soft smile. “Not the woman I’ve known all these years. But lately, yeah. All this stuff with your dad and Marshall. I don’t know, Brooke . . . your glass has been half-empty a lot lately.”
Much as she wanted to deny Carmen’s accusation, Brooke would be lying to herself.
“Okay. I promise.”
Carmen looked around the room, at the people passing by the restaurant as they went on with their day. “Find a home for your dad down here. Sell the condo. Move to San Diego.”
That’s crazy.