And a mere hour and a half later, we're on the road to Ercos, with the keys to Pino Alto in the glove department, and a new map spread out on Ruth's lap and all the instructions and phone numbers Bella gave me safely stowed in my bag. I'm so excited I keep bouncing up and down in my seat, like a little kid ten minutes away from the seaside.
"We can have a bedroom each," Yaz says. "Not that I want to get away from you, Laura, but--"
"I want that tiny one," I say. "The one with the twisty bars on the window with the vine coming in--"
"Well, we're having the big one," puts in Tom, predictably.
"Yeah, yeah." says Yaz. "God-- the bathroom looked fabulous, didn't it? All the marble and stuff..."
"Bloody cold at this time of the year," grumbles Tom. "Did she say anything about heaters?"
"Only that there's a big open fire," I gloat. "And they burn laurel wood, and it smells heavenly..."
Tom snorts, and reminds us all for about the five-hundredth time that it's just an experiment and if we don't (meaning he doesn't) like it after a week or so we move on-- south. Then, just as he's explaining for the six hundredth time he wants to get to the south for the summer anyway, Yaz drowns him out by singing "We're all off to sunny Spain! Oh, viva España!" and I'm thinking: with any luck, things'll really come together in Ercos, and Yaz and I and-- who knows?-- maybe even Ruth won't be in the car with him when he goes.
