The dock at Bellagio spilled out onto a curving road where cars and the occasional Vespa zipped by. On the other side, shops and restaurants with colorful awnings glowed in the morning sun. Narrow alleyways marched up the slope, lined with more shops.
It looked like a postcard. Like a painting from someone else’s life. It looked perfect.
Noah pulled out his phone to snap a few pictures, but Angela was already moving. “We gotta go!” she called over her shoulder.
Noah met Ramin’s eyes for a moment; Ramin shrugged and led Jake up the slope, leaving Noah to bring up the rear.
He sighed and tucked his phone away. He could get photos later.
The town bustled with folks strolling in the sun, popping in and out of shops, laughing and smiling. Noah could imagine Jake happy here. He could imagine himself alone at home, too. He stuffed that down. This was about what Jake wanted, not what he wanted. When Jake glanced back, Noah put on his best smile. If Jake moved here—if this is what he chose—Noah would be heartbroken, but he’d support his son no matter what.
Jake turned forward again, swinging his hand in Ramin’s, taking in the scenery with open wonder. The sight warmed Noah’s heart.
The sight of Ramin in those short shorts warmed a different body part entirely. Ramin’s legs and butt looked amazing as he climbed the slope. Noah almost pulled his phone out, but that would’ve been totally inappropriate.
And thank goodness he didn’t, because Ramin glanced over his shoulder and nearly caught Noah staring. Noah pretended to be looking at the nearest store window. Ramin had made it clear in a thousand unspoken ways that they were only friends. Noah had to respect that boundary, even though every cell in him yearned to smash it down.
The noon sun beat against the back of Noah’s neck, and he hoped he’d put on enough deodorant. Ramin always smelled good, like citrus and leather, though now mixed with sun and sweat. The breeze kept sending whiffs in Noah’s direction.
He reached down to adjust his tightening boxers.
“What’s salita?” Jake asked, pointing to a stone placard hung on the corner of a building—Italy’s version of a street sign.
“It means ‘climb,’” Ramin said. “That’s what they call a narrow street like this that goes up.”
Jake nodded sagely. “I’m hungry.”
“We’re nearly there. We’re looking for Salita Serbelloni,” Angela said over her shoulder. “Keep up, guys!”
Ramin’s eyes widened and met Noah’s for a moment, but Noah shook his head. There was no future in getting between Angela and her schedule.
Angela made a right turn that had them going back downhill, then paused in front of a little shop with a dangling metal sign in the shape of a wine bottle. A few oddly angled steps led up to the bright orange door where a sign readENOTECA ROSSI.
“Here we are!” Angela reached for Jake, who let go of Ramin to take his mom’s hand. Ramin rubbed at his tattoo, like he missed the warmth of Jake’s hand, and Noah’s heart nearly burst. Ramin was radiant. Hewas brighter than the sun, and Noah had lived too much of his life in shadow.
Ramin caught his eye, and this time Noah was too slow looking away.
“You okay?” Ramin asked. He scratched at his collar, where a few black chest hairs poked out. Noah wondered what they felt like. “Nervous?”
No, but that was a good enough excuse.
“A bit.”
Ramin gave him a soft, dimpled smile. His stud earrings sparkled, even though they were in the shade. “You need a sec?”
“Nah.”
“You didn’t get any pictures earlier.”
“It’s fine.” It was sweet of Ramin to notice, though. “Come on. Don’t you want to taste some wine?”
Ramin’s smile broadened. “Always.”
“Dad!” Jake shouted as soon as Noah opened the door. “Can I get one of these?”
He held up a bottle of bright yellow limoncello. Noah laughed and let Ramin in behind him. “I don’t think you’re old enough to buy alcohol just yet, buddy. Even in Europe.”
Jake studied the bottle with a puzzled look. “I thought it was lemonade.”
