Page 71 of Misadventures of a Biker

He lifted it to the light. “Seven hundred and fifty-four grand.”

“No,” I said. “You got the right one.”

His eyes shot wide. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Sorry it took so long,” I said. “It’s sixty days after everything clears escrow, but it starts on the first of the month following the sale. Anyway. I hope you put it to good use.”

He looked at the check and then at me. “This is mine?”

“Every cent of it,” I replied. “I want you to know how much I appreciate the hard work.”

“I need to give you part of this, for sure.”

“Believe me,” I said. “I got my part.”

He studied the check as if he was unsure that it was real. “Are you sure?”

“The company gets its share, the selling agent gets his, and the listing agent gets hers,” I explained. “It’s all covered.”

“Selling them beats the shit out of building them,” he said.

“Get your license,” I said. “I could use a construction-savvy agent.”

He grinned. “I’m good right where I am for now.”

“Well. Congratulations, and thank you, again. I couldn’t have done it without you. I wish I could do more, but if I did, it would be unfair.”

“More?” He coughed out a laugh. “This is more than I would have expected out of a lifetime of doing what I did. I enjoyed it.”

“You still want to go out to eat?” I asked. “Or are you going shopping?”

“Shopping?” He laughed. “I’m not much of a shopper.” He glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Let me straighten up my desk and I’ll be ready to go.”

* * *

We strolled along the sidewalk at Mercato, one of Naples’s open-air shopping areas that included a theater, fine dining, and exquisite shopping. As we walked toward one of my favorite Italian restaurants, Bravo!, we passed Dunkin’s Diamonds showroom.

I took a quick glance at a ring that caught my eye in the window. Certain that my interest went unnoticed, I continued my stride at the same pace.

“Do you want to go in?” Devin asked.

“Me?” I asked. “No.”

He stopped. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“You sure seemed interested in something.”

“I just glanced at a—”

“Let’s go inside,” he said. “You can take a longer look.” He nodded toward the restaurant, which was on the other side of the narrow street. “They’re not even busy. We’ve got plenty of time.”

I couldn’t speak for other women, but for me, looking at diamonds was a love-hate affair. I loved doing it, but afterward, I hated the fact that I didn’t have a ring on my finger. I always seemed to slip into a slight state of depression after looking at rings. Each one I saw acted as a reminder that I was perpetually single. Nevertheless, I loved it until I came to that realization.

“Okay,” I said. “Just for a minute.”

We stepped inside. Necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets of every imaginable design, ranging from elegant to gaudy, were on display in the well-lighted cases.