“You’ve got a little croissant here.” I point at my own lips.
“Ditto,” she replies, and I quickly brush the crumbs away.
“Still hungry?” I ask, and she nods.
I signal Domenico, and this time we order pastries and cake, and a second coffee each.
I make a mental not to tell my PT about this carb-tastic meal.
Once we’ve finished, I lean back in my seat, totally full. “I may just slip into a diabetic coma after that feast.”
“No can do. I need you to drive me back to the city. Can you schedule your coma for after you drop me at the hospital?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Fabiana’s phone beeps, and immediately she pulls it from her purse to read the screen.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
She breaks into a relieved smile. “Nona’s X-ray came back clear. No break, just a sprain.”
“That’s brilliant news.”
The door flies open, bringing in a whoosh of rain, and in steps a stocky man in wet weather gear and a police hat, rain dripping from him and pooling at his feet. “They’ve closed the road!” he announces.
“They’ve done what?” Fabiana exclaims.
He turns to look our way. “The road. It’s closed in and out of town.” Recognition flickers across his face, and he does a double take. “Are you…?” the man begins.
“He is!” Margaux beams, her hand held to her chest. “Royalty. Here, in our little café.”
The police officer removes his hat and bows. “Hello, Your Royal Highness.”
“Pleased to meet you, officer. What have you heard about the roads?” I ask.
Domenico asks, stepping from behind the counter. “What’s going on, Terry?”
“I was helping Juan Rogers get his tractor out of a ditch down on Grays Road when it came over the radio. Fallen trees to the north, a flooded river to the south. We’ll need to hold tight until the storm blows over,” Terry the police officer says.
Fabiana shoots me a look. “But surely there’s more than one road in and out of town?” she says.
He shakes his head mournfully. “There is but one road in and out of San Fiorenzo, miss.”
“One road?” She knits her brows, her mouth forming an “o”. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve lived here all my life. I’m sure,” he replies.
“But—” she begins, and I place my hand over hers.
“Your nona is in good hands. Her ankle isn’t broken. If we need to wait out the storm here, then so be it.”
She nods, her lips pressed together. “You’re right.”
“How long will it be before the road is opened, officer?” I ask.
He shrugs, his palms held out. “It could be hours. It could be days.”
I blink at him. “Days?”
