Every Single Thing About You: A “Tuck Yes” Love Story - Book 3 by Hopkins, Faleena (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

Laughter breaks free and I shout a cry of celebration, making Josh laugh with me.

He’s forced to slow as the buildings become businesses with signs over every door, no separation between them. Shops for locals are soon overwhelmed by tourist traps far less gaudy than those in Times Square.

Josh cranes his neck to look for a street sign, of which there seem to be few. Our helmets hit.

“Sorry!”

He distractedly replies, “All good.”

“You lost?”

“Never ask a man that.”

I grin and drop it, remembering Evan telling me the same. If a man is lost, he needs to find his way. It makes him feel like he can take care of his woman.

His woman.

But I’m not Josh’s.

Even though…

I can’t deny it anymore.

I really want to be.

As we pass the same street twice, I tighten my hold on his strong body and enjoy the time we’re together, knowing we’ll get to where we’re meant to be, eventually.

Chapter 22

Riding through swerving streets and relying on memory, we pass a park with a large angel statue on our left, an upscale hotel and restaurant carved into the bay on our right.

Recognizing her hired cars, I stop by the first parked one, and Tempest asks the driver, “Where is everyone?”

With a thick accent he informs us, “No drive. Must walk.”

“I’ve got this,” I reassure her, finding a place to park along other scooters, and we dismount, Tempest first.

She smooths her dress, waiting for me, facing what looks like an alley with stones embedded in the path. “Kinda like the cobblestones in Soho,” she smiles before adding, “I don’t see anyone.”

“Must’ve already gone.”

Side by side, wordless we walk down a slender winding road, residences reaching up with clothes drying on wires off balconies here long before any of us.

We turn several bends until we see a picturesque Marina with colorful buildings four stories high watching over tented dining that lines a narrow beach, small boats either tied to docks or dragged onto the dark sand itself, as if frozen in time in a Fellini film when the great director was still alive.

We find the others who rode in cars have chosen to stick together, seated at Ristorante Taverna Azzurra with menus in their hands as they greet us. Tempest beams at them while taking a place across from Shaun, motioning to the empty seat beside hers for me. “Everyone find their way okay?”

Overlapping confirmation is quickly interrupted by a server, dark hair and eyes, in his forties. With the manner of a happy expert, English clipped, he addresses us by asking where we’re from. People chime in, and he’s as excited about one as he is another — nobody gets left out of his excitement that they’ve come to his restaurant. We learn quickly that his family has owned it for decades.

Tempest is charmed by him, and waits until he’s finished to smile, “Can we add one more table?”

“You have more?”

“Si. Due,” she answers.

He lights up, voice loud with enthusiasm, “You speak Italian!”

“No,” she smiles, “Just a few words.”

Nevertheless the effort is felt, and he grins at her like she invented the sun, before ordering another man to connect a nearby table to ours.

Shaun is admiring him, but as soon as our eyes meet, his go dead. “They’re loud here.”

I correct him, “Free.”

I can tell he wants to argue, even though it’s true. The guy doesn’t like me. I felt that last night. It’s rare, but some guys give me a hard time for no other reason than they believe I get all the girls they want. Waste of energy, in my opinion, to compare yourself to anyone. Never makes you more attractive.

We order wine, in no hurry, and when Joan and Meredith arrive, Tempest stands up. “Sit here!”

As they take their seats, I ask, “How was it?” interested since they were the only ones brave enough to try.

“Amazing!” Joan grins, telling the group, “You guys have to do it! We got lost, but who cares! We’re in Italy!”

Meredith asks Tempest, “What are you drinking?” and lunch continues in a group-effort, overlapping conversations about where everyone is from, what got them here, and if they’ve ever been.

When food arrives and I’m tearing into my pizza, Tempest asks me in a voice lowered for just my ears, “Are you feeling better?”

My eyebrow cocks.

Shaun asks, “You sick?”

“No.”

He looks at Tempest.

She lowers her eyes to her pasta.

Realizing what I’d missed, I fill in the blank for her benefit only, telling Shaun, “I lost my wife.”

His eyes clear of the judgment he’s had toward me, and his back straightens. “Oh, wow. I’m sorry!”

Joan stopped talking to Meredith when I said that, and she reaches past Tempest to touch my hand. “I’m so sorry, Josh.”

“Been in a dark place.”

“That’s why you’re here?”

I glance to Tempest. “No.”

Joan retrieves her hand, smile returning. “How’s your pizza?”

“Not as good as New York.”

A few students laugh, making me realize others had been listening. Tempest gives me an encouraging smile. I reach under the table, clasp her thigh, and release it, eating my food in silence until the check comes and Tempest takes it since all meals are included.

I didn’t pay for the retreat online, so I pull out my wallet, but she stops me.

“I’m not in the pot.”

She eyes me, “When did you buy your ticket?” implying it must have cost more than everyone’s without the advance purchase they all benefitted from by booking through her.

My lips tighten. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Next time. You got the scooter.”

Meredith announces, “I haven’t been to a beach in years!” and it’s quickly decided we should all walk it, even though I give no vote, mind still on that check.

A few stop at a souvenir shop, but the rest of us walk to a small stretch of dark sand where little kids run into water, shouting in Italian, their squeals of happiness making Tempest smile to me, “Will probably misses you.”

“Probably doesn’t.”

From the corner of long eyelashes, she stares at me. “Why do you