—Jess Rothenberg

The sky was a deep navy blue as I rested my head on Julian's arm, which was stretched out beneath me. Street lights were just beginning to flicker on, complementing the stars that were brightening with each passing minute. Julian reached over to find the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. He held the stick between his pouted lips and used his free hand to set flame to the tip. As he sucked in, the paper burnt into a deep vermilion, leaving ashes behind.

"You know, each cigarette you smoke shaves fourteen minutes off your life," I half scolded, half informed him.

"Is that so?" He took another puff, tightening his grip around me.

I stared at him disapprovingly. Finally, Julian looked over and noticed.

"I know, I know," he said, taking one more long puff before extinguishing the tip into the earth. "I'm trying to quit. It's a disgusting habit."

"What's stopping you then?" I wondered.

"Motivation." He laughed. "I have an addictive personality."

"Well, how about this... each one you don't light up, is another fourteen minutes with yours truly. That can add up pretty quickly." I tried to complete the math in my head. "That's over an hour and a half saved per week, if you take away one cigarette a day."

"That's the best incentive." Julian kissed my cheek under the dark sky. "Just give me until Friday night, then I'll cut back."

"Then you'll quit?" I reiterated.

"Then I'll quit," Julian assured me.

"Promise?" I asked.

"I promise." He nuzzled into my hair. "It's odd having somebody actually give a shit about me. I have to say, I like it."

"Feel free to get used to it."

The moonlight was just beginning to brighten, with the sky darkening exponentially as the moments passed. A glint caught his eyes, and for a short time, I imagined those same eyes in forty years' time—still vividly glowing, with soft wrinkles around the corners. He would be every bit as handsome to me then, too.

As we stared up into the atmosphere, a single shooting star raced through the sky above us.

Without saying a word, I wondered if Julian believed in the cliché idea of traveling meteoroids being able to grant wishes to those who witnessed its path, and if so, what his wish would have been. In that moment, it felt impossible and selfish for me to wish for anything more than what I already had.

"Why did you start smoking, anyway?" My voice cut through the quiet night air.

"Devon got me into it," Julian explained. "I was the new guy in the band, you know? He offered me one at practice one day and I didn't know how to say no. Imagine a normal teenager's desire to be accepted, and multiply that by about a thousand."

"I don't really like Devon," I confessed quietly. It was nearly a whisper.

"Devon does my head in." Julian sighed. "He has a lot of growing up to do. A lot of changing before we can be on the best of terms. I suppose I just have a bit of sympathy for him, since neither of us had the greatest childhood."

Instead of prodding any further, I waited patiently for him to continue.

"Right, so, just between you, me, and the lake," Julian began, "He understands what it means to live on your own as a teenager. Devon and I don't always see eye to eye on everything—hell, on most things, for that matter—but in this one aspect, we get each other."

"Why was he living alone?" I whispered.

"Ran away," Julian said. "Just as I did. And actually, for a bit of time, Devon and I used to live together."

I felt a quiet racing of blood in my veins at this discovery.

"But when it comes to his family," Julian cleared his throat softly, "Devon doesn't talk about it often. Think it still bothers him on some level. But yeah, his dad used to beat his mum. Mum left his dad. Since she was gone—abandoned him, really—Devon's dad only had one person left to focus on..."

"And the one person that was supposed to protect him, became the one who hurt him the most," I quietly surmised.

"Exactly," Julian said. "I'm no psychologist, but I'd like to think I've got a bit of wit about myself... can put two and two together. Devon's got this need for constant attention, right? Acting erratically. Loves being the center focus. It all stems from somewhere."

Fireflies among the not-so-distant trees lit up, like faulty strings around a Christmas fir. For a moment, all I heard was the chirping and chattering of various insects.

"It's been a while, but Devon told me about this one time, shortly before his parents split," Julian explained. "The falling out was already underway, so his father must've known she'd not be sticking around for much longer. His dad was trying to make sure his mum couldn't take too many possessions for herself."

"Possessions?" I asked.

"There was some type of quarrel, over music CDs," Julian imparted. "Sounds ridiculous, I know, but Devon said that things escalated rather quickly. Got physical. Dev was sat at the top of the staircase of his childhood home, watching his father hold a knife to his mother's throat."

I could say nothing.

"Sounds absurd. Just mental. Over CDs, I mean..." Julian momentarily wandered off in thought, before speaking again. "I don't know. Maybe that's got something to do with why he went into music... being the one to produce the content for similar products."

"But I just don't get it," finally, I piped up. "You've been through worse, and you aren't anything like him."

"No, I suppose I'm not," Julian agreed. "Well, I hope I'm not."

"You're nothing like Devon," I restated, promising him. "One similarity aside. I know I should probably feel some sense of sympathy for your bandmate, after hearing all of this. But he went about it the wrong way, Julian. He allowed it to change him for the worse."

Julian gazed at me, slowly blinking. He listened intently.

"When I look at you, I see nothing but kindness and humility," I whispered. "When I look at him, I see nothing but entitlement. Arrogance."

"He can be a bit... up himself, sometimes," Julian said. "And from his childhood, he's got absolutely no respect for women. Didn't help that a girl he used to know, really messed him about."

I wondered what might have happened.

"Now, he goes through girls like I go through new packs of strings," Julian explained. "I don't relish the idea of him being alone with you, ever."

Julian appeared deep in thought. "I know I've already asked you this, but are you sure nothing happened in the dressing room with you and him, back in Orlando?"

"Nothing happened, I swear it." I turned to face him in the dark. "What I told you before is exactly how it happened. I wouldn't do that to you."

He grinned at me softly, apologetically.

"I just get a bit paranoid. You're just so beautiful." He brushed my cheek with his index finger, before shifting into an equally unsettling subject. "You don't have to tell me this, but, how many people have you... you know... been with? I understand if that's too invasive."

"Two, including you." I was sure he could figure out who the other person was. "But I wish it was only you."

"I wish, too." Julian's arm was tense under me, and his jaw was clenched. "But I can live with being fifty percent of your love life."

"How many have you... been with?" I repeated his question.

"Maybe another topic?" He nervously chuckled, and I felt myself freeze with envy. Images of Julian with faceless women passed before my eyes. I pictured his hands gripping their curves, kissing their necks, and the thoughts nauseated me.

Julian interrupted my sick, self-torturing episode.

"Are you okay?" His accented voice permeated every part of me and drew me back into the present.

"Yeah." I shook my head softly, as if the physical act could actually remove the memory. "We should just leave pretty soon."

"Okay, beautiful." He kissed my forehead and gently pulled his arm from under me. We both stood, dressing quickly, then made the short walk back to my Civic.

As I was reversing out of the space, I heard Julian's stomach rumble.

"Boy, you have the appetite of a lion." I patted his abdomen and brainstormed where I could take him for a late night snack.

"But you love me anyway. It's just the accent, isn't it?" He turned the radio on, and in mock disgust at the current song, turned it back off again. Julian didn't notice my eye roll at his previous comment.

"Are you in the mood for anything in particular?" Bland fast food places were lined on either side of us, zipping by as I drove.

"I can make something back at your place." Julian shrugged his shoulders. "There's plenty there now."

"Let me get something for you. It's late, you don't need to spend time cooking now. I'm sure you want to sleep soon."

"I'll have anything then. Especially if it's cold." As soon as the words left his mouth, I knew exactly where to bring him.

My favorite little gelato shop was still open, with plenty of empty parking spaces out front.

"What's this?" Julian asked as he unbuckled.

"Gelato." I eyed him for a reaction.

"Gel what?" We stood from my car and looked at the shop sign.

"You can't honestly tell me you've never had gelato?" I asked suspiciously.

"Never have." He shook his head and shrugged.

"It's like ice cream, but a bit healthier." I smiled at him without trying.

"Eww. Healthy." He pretended to gag as we entered.

"Shh. It's really good. And authentic. And you can choose a combination of flavors," I explained quietly.

"Alright, alright." Julian rewarded me with a small smile. "Let's see what they have on offer. Hope there's hundreds-and-thousands."

"Hundreds and thousands of what?" I stared at him while we crossed the floor. "There couldn't be that many flavors."

"No, hundreds-and-thousands." Julian had a playful grin spread wide across his face. "You know, the confetti-like sugar bits?"

I laughed, much too loudly for the setting, "Sprinkles?"

"Same thing." One corner of Julian's mouth turned up. "I like our terminology better, even if it's slightly more excessive."

"You already knew they're called sprinkles here, didn't you?" I asked, as Julian wrapped one arm low around my waist.

"Maybe." Julian's fingertips grazed my hip, attempting a swift tickle.

"Benvenuti!" the shop owner, Innocenzo, called from around the corner, halting our playful exchange. "Welcome!"

"Hi, Nunzio." I waved and smiled.

After my tenth visit here, he had insisted that I start calling him by his nickname. Nunzio ran the shop with his beautiful, sweet, yet slightly authoritative wife of more than fifty years, Marie. She usually stayed in the back room, preparing the treats for display, while Nunzio ran the registers.

"Oh, Brooke!" He leaned over the counter for a hug. "Come stai?!"

"Bene," I answered with a grin and Julian looked on, completely confused.

"Nunzio, this is my..." I paused momentarily. "My Julian."

Should I have said Riley?

Julian smiled and reached for the owner's hand. Nunzio grabbed Julian's hand in both of his own and shook it animatedly.

"A Roman name! Good to meet you, Julian." Nunzio's eyes gleamed with kindness. "Now, what can I get for you two?"

"Biscotti, amaretto, and mint chocolate chip for me, please." I picked three of my all-time favorites. Nunzio overstuffed my cup while humming to himself.

Julian looked excitedly through the glass at the seventy flavors and pointed to the first three that caught his eye.

"Chocolate cappuccino, tiramisu, pistachio," Nunzio stated each flavor as he filled the large cup with generous, rounded scoops.

Nonchalantly, I stifled a laugh while remembering one of the first times I stopped by the little gelato store. Although he was in his golden years, Nunzio still had most of his real teeth left, and took pride in the fact that he didn't need dentures. He had opened his mouth to show me his strong teeth, actually, and swore it was due to the fact that gelato had a lower sugar content than ice cream, though nobody could ever tell the difference in his treats. Right about then is when Marie came out from the back room, and yelled at Nunzio to stop pestering the customers.

My fond musing was interrupted as Nunzio handed us the large cups of gelato, filled well past the brim, and told us to enjoy.

"How much do I owe you?" I asked over the tall glass counter.

"Gratuito," Sweet, silver-haired Nunzio replied. "My treat."

"I can't let you do that. How much, really?" I asked. Julian had his debit card out and ready, trying to beat me to the register.

"On me tonight! Please, enjoy," the older, kind shop owner offered, with a genuine, heart warming smile.

Just then, the kitchen doors swung open and I could hear the Tarantella Napoletana playing from a small, old radio in the back room. Marie was wiping her hands on the side of her black apron, and her dark hair was combed back, out of her kind, beautiful face. I wondered if their playful yet affectionate love for each other was the reason for their youthful natures, despite being older.

"Nunzi," I heard her say as Julian and I made our way towards the shop doors. "Cosa vuoi per cena? O hai mangiato troppo gelato e sei pieno?" For clueless Jules, I roughly translated this to: "What do you want for dinner? Or are you too stuffed on gelato?"

"Grazie, Nunzio! Grazie, Marie!" I nodded and grinned at them both, before taking our cups outside to the patio. "See you soon!"

We took our pick from the empty picnic tables outside the shop, and sat down.

"So," Julian said as he took the first bite of his gelato. "How do you know Italian?"

"I only know a little bit." I tasted the frozen, creamy, amaretto flavored treat and felt it melt on my tongue. "I took it as my elective language in college, because I'm Italian, too."

"No, you're American," Julian corrected me. He was devouring his food.

"My family has roots in southwestern Italy. Sorrento, to be exact. I am, indeed, Italian," I explained.

"Fine, let me ask you this then," Julian took another bite before continuing, "When you're in America and someone asks you what you are, you say Italian."

"Yeah?" I waited for him to continue.

"And when you're in Italy, and someone asks you what you are, what do you say?" He smirked at me. "You say American."

"Smartass." I dug into my second flavor as Julian laughed raucously.

"Whatever you are, I love you." Julian's foot nudged mine under the table.

"I love you, too," I said, as color flushed his skin.

Before I was halfway finished with mine, Julian stood to throw away his empty cup.

"How'd you like it?" I asked.

"It was okay." Julian winked.

"Just okay, huh?" I asked dubiously. "Well, you won't want the rest of mine then, I suppose. I can't finish this, so I guess I'm just going to throw it away..."

"I mean, I could take it off your hands, if you'd like." He reached for it. It was only then that I realized he was wearing his bracelet from the Disney shop.

"That's what I thought." I slid the cup to him over the table.

"Are you sure this is healthier than ice cream?" Julian shoveled spoonfuls into his mouth. "It tastes just like it."

I laughed admiringly at how youthful his face appeared under the sky, with traces of melted gelato around the corners of his mouth. Silently, I stood and walked over to sit on his lap. He looked up at me, confused, as I wrapped one arm around his shoulder and kissed around his lips, swiping my tongue across his mouth to clean it.

Julian's already red face turned three shades darker when I was finished, and he cleared his throat. Still, his voice cracked as he spoke.

"I could have used a napkin," he whispered, beaming. "But that works, too."

...

Wednesday morning seemed to drag on forever.

Burt was out of the office on a family emergency of sorts, and since he couldn't have foreseen leaving early, I didn't have an assignment to write. Eric gave me some rough story copies written by other journalists in the newsroom and told me to highlight any grammatical errors I could find. Even though editing was not in my job description, I chipped away at the busywork while listening to Bon Iver through thick, padded headphones.

Halfway through the stack, my vibrating phone distracted me. I walked toward the empty restroom down the hall, to answer the unfamiliar number.

"Hello?" I kept my voice low.

"Yes, hello, I need to speak with Brooke Fray," the unfamiliar male voice on the other end boomed.

"I'm Brooke. Who is this?"

"My name is Officer Sansbury with the Tucson Police Department. I'm calling about an incident that we responded to last weekend." He paused. "We've been trying to reach you. Is now a convenient time to speak with you?"

"Yes, now is fine." I wanted to get it over with.

"Are you aware of who may have vandalized your dwelling, Ms. Fray?" the officer asked.

"I have a pretty good idea," I answered.

"We spoke with your friend, Ms. Connor, and she gave us the name Caleb Pennyson. Does that name ring any bells?"

"Yes, that's my ex boyfriend," I said.

"Do you believe that Mr. Pennyson was involved somehow in the vandalism?"

"I do," I told him honestly.

"Ms. Fray, this is a serious offense and if you would like to press charges and recover your losses, we would need your full statement. The sooner you can come into the station, the better."

"Officer Sansbury, I'm not sure I want to press charges." I gulped. "I do want to get a restraining order against him, though."

"Without any charges held against him, we have no legal means to merit an order of protection," he said disapprovingly. "You would just have to wait until he shows up again, then call us."

"I don't think he will show up again." I wasn't sure if I even believed myself.

"I would really urge you to consider bringing charges against him Ms. Fray, and we can follow through with a full investigation. We have tried to speak with Mr. Pennyson, but he has been uncooperative thus far, extremely difficult."

"Yeah, that sounds like him." I sighed. "I will give it some more consideration. Thank you for the call."

"Please come in as soon as possible, if and when you do decide to make a statement, Ms. Fray," Sansbury said. "I encourage it for your safety."

"Thank you," I said before hanging up.

Nervously, I walked back to my desk and quickly finished marking the stack of papers with all the errors I could find. Once everything was completed, I placed the stories back on Eric's desk.

"Hmm." Eric rubbed his chin. "I have to go pretty soon. I could leave you here to waste away and do nothing until six, or you could come with me to the Tucson Museum of Art."

"The museum sounds good." I laughed.