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He takes another bite before answering.

“Okay. That's fucking good.”

“Told you.”

Behind us, Damiano's uncle looks ridiculously pleased with himself as he tears into his own brioche, apparently satisfied that none of us is going to starve on his watch.

And suddenly, I remember.

Damiano standing in our kitchen one summer morning, complaining that American breakfast was depressing.

Granita e brioche, Vita mia. That's breakfast.

I'd laughed at him.

That's dessert.

The offended look he'd given me had been almost identical to the one his uncle gave Lexy five minutes ago.

A laugh slips out before I can stop it, and the familiar ache follows, settling somewhere beneath my ribs.

But I'm still smiling.

I can almost see him standing there in our kitchen, shaking his head at me, his eyes full of that ridiculous indignation I loved so much.

The ache stays, but the smile does too.

For once, grief doesn't grab me by the throat.

She just nudges my shoulder.

See?

I smile down at my granita.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

I see.

***

After breakfast, we decide to visit the house where Damiano grew up.

Matteo, Dami's cousin and apparently Chiara's new flame, has offered to take us to all the places Damiano used to tell me about. We spent part of last night putting together some kind of itinerary, trying to fit years of stories into the few days we have here.

We also decided when to spread his ashes. Two days from now, at sunset, on the beach he loved so much.

Back in our hotel room, I slip on my sandals and step onto the balcony while I wait for Chiara to finish getting ready.

The beach is already full of people. Colorful umbrellas cover the sand, children run along the edge of the water, and voices drift up towards me from below. Somewhere nearby, someone is laughing, and the sound mingles with the waves breaking against the shore.

A breeze lifts the loose strands of hair around my face, carrying the familiar scent of salt and sea.

I close my eyes and let myself miss him.

His smile, his voice, the way his arms felt around me when he pulled me close. I can almost remember the weight of his chin resting against the top of my head.

A tear slips down my cheek, and then the strangest thing happens.