The radio hissed and crackled until Sebastian found a reasonably clear signal—Blue Grass. His choice surprised me—from Verdi to this? It made me smile.
“You like Doc Watson?”
“I like all kinds of music.”
I parked in a lot on Harbor Drive and we wandered up the hill to Little Italy, talking about music and food. I remembered this area from when I’d lived here before. There was a Mercarto every Saturday, and I looked forward to being able to buy Italian specialty oils and vegetables that weren’t stocked in regular stores.
“Do you want to grab a coffee?” Sebastian said, sounding hopeful.
Mmm. Good Italian coffee. “Oh, a real espresso. Yes, that would be lovely.”
Too much enthusiasm. Don’t encourage him—no mixed signals.
But the day was too beautiful to be half-hearted, and I found myself delighted with all the pretty cafés, gelateria, and ristorantes.
We stopped at a tiny coffee shop just off India Street. The owner’s wife came out to serve us and was ecstatic when I spoke to her in Italian. She kissed me on both cheeks and summoned the rest of her family to come out and meet me. Sebastian looked overwhelmed, then offered a few careful Italian phrases and was engulfed in the bosom of the family. I couldn’t help laughing—their exuberance reminded me so much of my father.
They rattled out Italian like peanuts, with such speed and vigor, each talking over one another, that I struggled to catch everything they said. Sebastian probably only caught one word in fifty, but he sat there grinning, only wincing when the owner’s mother, a little, round nonna of about eighty, grabbed him with both hands and kissed him repeatedly.
Then they all pulled up chairs and surrounded our small table, which soon overflowed with affection. Someone fetched half-a-dozen espresso cups and I sipped happily at the thick, bitter coffee. I was amused to see that Sebastian added several spoonfuls of sugar before he found the rich brew palatable.
Eventually some more patrons arrived and the family scattered, returning to their various roles of cook, cleaner, chef and bottle-washer.
“Whoa! That was something else,” said Sebastian, as we were left to our own devices.
“Wonderful, wasn’t it?”
“They kind of reminded me of your dad.”
I sighed and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair.
“Yes, crazy—just like Papa.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Then he laid his hand on mine and I felt his gentle touch. My eyes flew open in surprise and I jerked my hand away.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, his cheeks heating.
“No, that was rude of me. I was just…”
Tension returned and to my horror, I found my hands were shaking. I fumbled in my wallet for some money and placed the bills on the table under an abandoned coffee cup.
“I’ve got money,” he said, awkwardly.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it,” I muttered. “I have to get back now.”
Sebastian stood in silence, then followed me back onto the main street.
“Aspetti, signore!”
The coffee shop owner had followed us and was waving the notes I’d left on the table.
I stared, bewildered as he forced the bills into Sebastian’s hand.
“No, please. You and your beautiful wife must come again. You are like family. Please!”
Refusing to keep the money, he kissed us both and trotted away smiling.
Sebastian’s bemusement turned into a broad grin as he passed the money to me. “For you, signora. Beautiful wife, huh? Well, he was half right.”
It was my turn to flush, but I tried to laugh it off. “Free coffee always tastes the best.”
“Yeah! We should definitely do this again.”
I couldn’t return his puppyish enthusiasm; I simply smiled weakly.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I only got about one word in every sentence. I thought my Italian was better than that. Hell, I’ve been studying it for four years. Maybe you could teach me; I mean, just some Italian conversation practice. That would be awesome!”
My automatic response was a big NO, but I didn’t get the chance.
“Hey, Seb. What’s up?”
Sebastian’s face froze.
“What do you want, Jack?”
“Who’s your cute friend?”
A look of anger and deep dislike crossed Sebastian’s face.
“Ah, come on, dude! I’m just saying.”
I was pretty certain Jack was one of the surf rats that I’d seen with Sebastian the day before. He was slightly older than Sebastian and his friends, with dark hair and dark, feral eyes; I disliked him from the first sentence he spoke.