Page 6 of Exposed Ink

“It looks like rain,” Brandon says as we gather our belongings.

“Yeah.” I glance up at the darkening sky. “I hope it passes before our trip to the zoo tomorrow.” I’ve been looking forward to going all week, and it will suck if it’s ruined by rain.

* * *

Once we’re ready,since the restaurant isn’t on the strip, we call for the valet to bring around our rental car.

The restaurant is beautiful and authentic with the menu in English and Italian, and the waiters have lovely Italian accents. We learn that it’s family-owned and -operated—from the cook to the hostess to the waiter.

I order shrimp Parmesan—my favorite—and Brandon orders chicken marsala since he hates seafood.

“So, what do you think?” he asks after I’ve taken my first bite.

“So good,” I moan. “I think it just might give Antonio’s a run for its money. Thank you for bringing me here.”

Brandon takes a sip of the beer that he ordered and smiles. “Anything to see you happy.”

After we’re done eating, we step outside and find that it’s pouring down rain and everyone is scrambling to quickly get in and out of their vehicles to avoid getting soaked.

“This weather is horrible,” I say with a grimace.

I’m going to be so bummed if it’s like this tomorrow. I’ve been looking forward to going to the zoo on our last day, and it will ruin it if it’s raining the entire time.

“Look, a piano bar,” Brandon says, giving me a pleading look.

“Let’s go.”

I hook my arm through his and walk toward the little hole-in-the-wall bar, making Brandon grin. He loves music, especially jazz, and drags me to various bars and clubs all over New York and Jersey to check them out.

The next few hours are spent with us listening to the live music, Brandon having a few drinks, and us dancing until my feet and back hurt, and he insists we go back to our hotel so I can get some rest.

“Shit, it’s still raining,” he says when we step outside. “And I’ve been drinking.” He blanches. “I’m so used to New York that I didn’t even think about having to drive.”

“It’s all good,” I tell him. “We’re on vacation. You should be enjoying yourself. But should we take an Uber?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “We can come back tomorrow and get the car.”

He pulls out his phone, types away, and then frowns. “It’s saying it’s going to be an hour.”

“What? That’s crazy.”

“Welcome to Miami,” the valet says. “This time of night, you could be waiting an hour or more, easily.”

“I can drive,” I tell Brandon.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yeah, I do have my license,” I say with a laugh. Because I’ve lived in the city my entire life, I don’t drive often, but I do know how, and I haven’t been drinking. “And the rain has slowed down a lot,” I add.

I shift on my feet, regretting my decision to wear heels. “Besides, I don’t think my feet can handle standing for an hour to wait for an Uber.”

Because of how late it is, the bar and restaurant are closing, which leaves us with nowhere to wait.

“I’m sorry,” Brandon says. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

“Stop.” I palm his cheek. “The point of this trip is to relax. I’m perfectly capable of driving us to the hotel.”

The valet brings our rental car around and opens the door for me. Since my bump isn’t small, I lift the steering wheel a bit higher so I can adjust my seat since I’m shorter than Brandon while he inputs the hotel address into the GPS.

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