“I’m so sorry.” I put my hand over my face. “I’m not actually an alcoholic. I don’t know why I said that.” I grab the menu and start fanning myself like the room just went up twenty degrees.
“You’re okay.” She reaches across the table to grab the menu from me and sets it down. Her fingertips brush my arm, and a shock wave dances up my spine.
Hot damn, I need to pull myself together.
“So, what have you been doing with your time here in Milan?” Skye takes a sip of the clear liquid in her glass. It smells fruity. Like the first night I met her, though most of that is hazy, there’s something about smells that jog the memory.
I prepare my reply, this time without lying, and wow, does that feel good.
Tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, I slide into the easy conversation.
“So, um… I did manage to leave the hotel a few times, which felt like an accomplishment in itself.” I glance at Skye but try not to overthink my words as I continue. “I went to see the Duomo again. Obviously, because it felt illegal to come to Milan and not experience it as many times as possible.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Skye leans her elbows on the table. “I still haven’t had a chance to really venture out and see anything.”
“Duomo,” I tell her, my hands in the air in front of me. “Highly recommend it. It’s aggressively perfect. Almost like it’s showing off.”
She smiles, and I continue with my experiences.
“I walked through the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, too. Glamorous, of course. Very, ‘I should not be trusted near designer stores.’ I didn’t buy anything, which I consider a personal victory.”
I pause to take a small sip of water that I don’t need other than to help me clear the jumbled mess that is my brain.
“And I may have gotten lost trying to find La Scala,” I admit, which is totally true. “In my defense, all the streets look like they belong in a perfume commercial.”
“Did you end up finding it?”
I nod, almost a little too enthusiastically. I felt very proud of myself for not having to ask for directions. “I did. Very dramatic, but ten out of ten.”
“I feel like I would get myself lost.” Skye blinks after she speaks, and the look on her face tells me she didn’t mean to say that. As if she doesn’t want to seem vulnerable or incapable.
“If it makes you feel any better, I tried to order coffee in Italian.”
Her icy exterior seems to crack a little at my admission. Not enough that anyone would notice without trying too hard, of course.
“Oh yeah? How did that go?”
“Very… humblingly.” I laugh, and she laughs too. “I’m pretty sure I asked for something that doesn’t legally exist.”
Skye's amusement reaches her eyes, and my grin widens at the accomplishment.
“Have you planned any future adventures? Or are you all business?”
She gives a half-shrug. “Mostly business, but I do want to get out of the hotel at some point. My free time has been mostly spent sleeping or calling people back home.”
“I’m sure your mom is thrilled with your success.” I notice her face drop, and instantly regret assuming she was close to her mom.
She clears her throat. “My um… my mom passed away when I was a kid.”
My heart cracks for her. “I’m so sorry, Skye.”
“You didn’t know. And I had my Aunt Keisha, who helped raise me. She’s a saint.”
“How old were you?”
“Eleven.” She leans back in her chair. “My mom died of pancreatic cancer. My dad was worthless and nowhere to be found.” She ends that sentence in a way that tells me she’s not discussing her father.
My heart breaks and warms simultaneously. I focus on the wholesomeness of a woman whom I’ve never even met. “I think anyone who takes in a child who isn’t their own should get some sort of award.”
