Sisterchicks in Gondolas! Read Online Free

have chocolate on my face?”
    “No, you don’t have chocolate on your face. You look like goodness and mercy are hot on your trail.”
    Sue gave me a peculiar look. “Goodness and mercy?”
    I didn’t know what had sparked the image of invisiblegoodness and untouchable mercy. Was it the skipping sisters? Sue playfully looked behind her chair. “I don’t see them. Maybe they’re following you.”
    “I certainly hope so.” The constant flow of pedestrians and the absence of wheels and engines were becoming more noticeable as another wave of church bells filled the air with their resonating chimes.
    Another woman walking toward the café caught our waiter’s eye, and he called out a greeting. The slim young woman wore sunglasses and had her blond hair twisted up in a clip with one long strand trailing over her shoulder in an artful curve. She stopped to chat with our waiter, leaning forward so he could make a kissing gesture on her right cheek and then her left. He continued to talk during the effortless greeting.
    The two of them spoke for a few moments, he nodded, and then the young woman strode in our direction, looking at us inquisitively.
    “Buon giorno.” Her greeting was calm and direct. “Are you Jenna?”
    “Yes. You must be Steph.”
    “I am. How was your flight?”
    “Great. This is Sue.”
    The three of us shook hands politely.
    “It’s nice to meet you,” Steph said.
    Sue spoke slowly, as if trying to make sure Steph understood her. “We-are-glad-you-speak-English.”
    When Steph didn’t respond right away, Sue added, “Your-English-is-very-good.”
    Steph removed her sunglasses with a bemused expression on her face. “Thanks. I’m from Kansas. I was raised on the stuff.”
    “Oh! I thought you lived here.”
    “I do. I’m a student.” Steph casually pulled up a chair and gave us a few more details about the overseas study program she was participating in and about her uncle who owned the apartment and had hired her to handle the rentals for English-speaking guests.
    Our attentive waiter delivered a demure cup of dark coffee for Steph. On the side of the cup’s saucer were two uneven cubes of raw sugar.
    “Would either of you care for a cappuccino?” Steph asked. “Paolo here makes the best cappuccinos on this side. This is one of my favorite morning stops.”
    “Sure,” we agreed.
    Steph held up her thumb and forefinger the way I’d seen Paolo do earlier as she ordered two cappuccinos for us in Italian.
    He responded to Steph, speaking in Italian but all the while looking at us with a grin.
    “He wants to know if you would like some more gelato to go with the cappuccinos.”
    Sue and I exchanged sheepish expressions and shook our heads. Our breakfast secret had been discovered.
    Steph said something to Paolo in Italian and then turned her head as he walked away and called back a response to her over his shoulder.
    “I hope you don’t mind being treated like Italian women now.” Steph’s mischievous eyes reflected how much she loved her life in Italy. “I told Paolo you’re going to be here for a while and that you’re not just one-day tourists passing through. He’ll watch for you. Every time you stop here for a gelato or cappuccino, he’s going to flirt with you. It’s tradition. Makes older Italian men feel young, I think.”
    I didn’t know about Sue, but Paolo’s cultural expressions already were making me feel a little younger, although I wasn’t quick to admit that to beautiful, young Steph. One day, years from now, she would know what I was feeling. For now it was gracious of her to spread her canopy of youthfulness so that it covered Sue and me. “So, what flavor gelato did you two have this morning?”
    “Chocolate.”
    “Always a good choice. Next time try the
stracciatella al caffe
if you like coffee with chunks of chocolate. Or try the
fior di latte
. Very creamy. Oh, or
panna cotta
. That’s my all-time favorite. Unless you prefer fruit. In that