Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Renata
The sound of the ocean woke me from what felt like a deep hibernation. A smile grew as I slowly opened my eyes, listening to the seagulls and the waves. Taking a deep breath and stretching so hard my back cracked, I let my sleepy mind come to life.
I was in San Diego and was going to see Vicky for breakfast. Quickly checking my phone, I saw I still had a few minutes before my alarm was set to go off.
Throwing off the fluffy duvet, I set my feet on the cool hardwood and looked around.
The night before filtered back into my mind as I stood and headed for the bathroom.
Fatigue and the weird conversation with Mike hadn’t allowed me time to look around my new temporary home.
I texted Vicky last night to let her know I’d made it to Luke’s cottage and made plans for this morning.
Walking into the bathroom, I checked the mirror, horrified at how wild my curls had gotten.
I must’ve been fighting a bear in my sleep.
Conditioner. Lots of conditioner was in my future.
Climbing into the small but well-appointed shower (hello, fancy showerhead), I let the hot water and the pulsing massage from the showerhead melt away the soreness from travel. I sighed in pure joy.
True to my word, I didn’t mention anything to my best friend last night about Mike’s proposal. I choked on air at my choice of words. Not a proposal. Definitely not a proposal. Just a fake girlfriend.
This was straight out of a romance novel.
I chuckled thinking about how Vicky would react when she heard the news.
She loved romantic movies and books, so maybe she’d think this was adorable.
Whenever she made me watch one with her over the years, I acted annoyed, but secretly I loved them.
I was pretty sure she saw through my act when she found my Netflix list, which had more rom-coms than design shows.
She’d given me a knowing look but didn’t call me out.
An hour later, I was dressed, my curls doused with a gardenia-scented hair oil. I was so fascinated by the house and its design after my shower that I’d forgotten to check my phone. Walking back into the bedroom to retrieve it, my eyebrows lifted when I saw the multitude of missed texts from Vicky.
Before I could read them all, a loud knock startled me. Rushing to the front door, I opened it to see Vicky, hands on her hips, her eyes wild.
“First, give me a hug because I’m so happy to see you. And then you’ve got some explaining to do!” She grabbed me before I could even speak.
She pushed me inside after she finally let go, then slammed the door.
“What in the fake dating trope is going on, Renata Marie Valenti?” she yelled, hands flying in the air. Yikes, my full name.
“No ‘hello, how was your trip, amica?’ I crossed an ocean to see you.” She glared at me, and I pursed my lips, trying not to giggle. “I take it Mike called you. Come sit and calm down so we can talk,” I answered, pulling her to the pillowy soft sofa. “Oh, this is so comfortable.”
“It should be. I picked it out,” she grumbled. “Now don’t change the subject. What is Mike talking about? After that, we can talk about your bad airplane food.”
“Okay, I will tell you everything, but I’m really hungry, Vicky. Please feed me first. If I don’t get coffee soon, it won’t be pretty.” I showed her my best puppy dog eyes, complete with batting lashes, and she started laughing.
“Fine, fine. But first, tell me everything that happened after we spoke the other night.”
Ignoring my growling stomach, I filled her in on everything I’d done before leaving Tuscany, a little about the flights, and told her the overall conversation with Mike and our ride to the cottage.
“I won’t tell you more until you feed me,” I said sternly, making her laugh. She pulled me into another long hug, chatting about where she was taking me to eat.
“Fair enough. Food first. Grab your stuff and let’s head out. You’re going to love this place. We can walk there if you’re good with that.”
“That sounds perfect. Lead the way.” I grabbed my purse, and we headed out. It was a beautiful morning, and I could smell the salty air. “This neighborhood is beautiful."
“It really is. It’s one of my favorite places in San Diego. I love that it’s not cookie-cutter homes. But you don’t want to know prices.” She was wearing a multi-colored boho-style maxi skirt with a white button-down shirt tied at the waist.
“Change of subject. Tell me how it’s going with trying for a baby?” I asked, my eyebrows waggling obnoxiously.
Vicky laughed loudly, making a group of women walking like their lives depended on it look over at us. It seemed they all had the same exact black workout uniform on. Maybe it was a club.
She leaned close and whispered, “That’s the way everyone dresses here. You’re not in Italy anymore.” I guffawed as I watched them race towards the beach. “And married life is amazing. The wait? Worth it! That’s all I’m going to say.” Her wide smile and twinkling eyes said it all.
“Sono felicissima per te, amica.”
Grabbing my hand, she answered saucily, “Gratzie and I’m happy for me too. More than I could’ve imagined when I first got here. And apparently you’re well on your way now.”
Fake glaring at her, I answered, “Ha, ha. Just helping a friend. Your friend.”
We walked up to a quaint home-turned-café and chose an outdoor table under an umbrella canopy, grateful for the shade. My olive skin tanned easily, but I was careful about so much sun exposure, knowing I’d be thirty this year.
After ordering a simple but hearty breakfast, something out of the ordinary for me, I could see she was vibrating with nervous energy.
“Look, before you hurt something internally, let me explain. Mike and I had a great conversation on the way to the cottage about this and that. He’s easy to talk to and very sweet.
Then, he dropped this bomb. Started telling me about his grandmother being sick.
She apparently is determined to see him married before she passes.
Not sure how close she is to that, but he was very upset,” I said, wincing when she frowned.
“Oh, wow. I thought Mike would’ve said something to the group if she had taken a turn for the worse. He’s always asking for prayer. But I’ve heard him and the guys talking about being worried about her.”
“I don’t know. Poor guy was tearing up talking about it.”
“I’ll have to ask him about her. But did he say what made him tell her you were his girlfriend?”
“Well, that part is kind of funny. It sounds like she tried to set him up last night on a blind date,” I said, pinching my lips together at the memory.
Vicky laughed out loud, head thrown back. “Oh, yeah. Grammy’s antics are legendary. Her group of friends at the assisted living facility is not your usual group of senior citizens. Niko told Luke the last time he visited without Leyla, one of them pinched him inappropriately.”
I was laughing just picturing it. Niko looked like a pretty serious guy from what I gathered when I met him on that video call. “Remember what we talked about when we heard the old neighborhood nonnas speaking their minds to everyone?”
Wiping her tears, she nodded. “Yeah. That we couldn’t wait to get old so we could say whatever we wanted to everyone. I still am holding on to that. Although you already do that now. I was too meek to try it.”
“Well, you’ve found your voice now, bella. You’re simply glowing even more than before. Beautiful inside and out. You sure you’re not pregnant?”
Her amber eyes widened, and she shook her head quickly. “No, not yet, but I can’t wait, Ren. I adore being a mom to MJ. She’s everything I’d ever wanted in a daughter, but I can’t wait to experience carrying a child of my own.”
“Shoot, don’t start crying.” Her eyes brimmed with happy tears. “Then I’ll start crying, and I didn’t put on the right mascara.”
We both laughed and thanked the server when our breakfast was served. We ordered their famous blueberry buttermilk pancakes and a veggie omelet to share.
“So Americanized,” I teased. “At least you’re not drinking those huge tubs of coffee.”
“I put my foot down at that. Don’t even ask what Miles gets on his pizza. It’s a travesty,” she said, digging in. “You seemed ravenous, so I’m joining you in our very American large breakfast.”
“I was, girl. Talking about airplane food.” I shivered. “What they call pasta, I call a horror show. Tell me about work. How’s Elena?”
She swallowed a bite of omelette and took a sip of her espresso. “Still amazing. My client list is growing, and she seems pleased with my results. I love working for her, but I still dream about us doing our own thing.”
Nodding, I said, “Me, too. With this mess going on at work back home, the idea of moving here is very appealing.” I took a bite of the sweet pancake, humming at the slightly sour tang of the sourdough addition, the fresh blueberries bursting in my mouth.
“Wouldn’t that be something? That’s the dream, right? You and me. Our own place. Taking over the world.”
With a sigh, I answered, “That’s the dream.
Now that you’re sure you’re putting down roots here and not going back to Rome, I guess San Diego is part of that dream.
Not sure how I’d make that happen on my end, though.
” I leaned back and looked around at the nearby shops with eclectic items for sale and a bank of surf lesson venues. “It really is so beautiful here.”
She looked at me intently with an expression somewhere between a smirk and a grin. “Sounds like that might be something you’re open to. Hadn’t ever heard you say that before. I was obviously occupied those four days you were here for my wedding, so I must’ve missed it.”
“I may have fallen a tiny bit for the place.” My eyes met hers, and her smile widened.
“Really? Don’t tease me now, woman, and get my hopes up. Is that a real possibility? Could you really leave Italy?” she asked expectantly.