He loved how friendly and passionate the people were. He loved the food, north and south. And for the first time in all his Olympic experience, Caleb felt as if he knew the weather conditions, the lay of the land, and the damn time zone since he’d competed here before.
He and his buddy Jamie Meyers were wandering the neighborhood around the Olympic village in Porta Romana, the old railyards in Milan that were experiencing a boom thanks to the Games. There were some great little neighborhoods, and they were hunting a cappuccino and maybe a pastry.
He wasn’t big on the plain panettone stuff, but there was the Veneziana, which was a custard-filled thing that he could gobble up by the dozen. Anti-inflammatory diet be damned.
“Hey, that place looks likely.” Travis pointed to a little corner cafe that seemed busy but not too packed.
Caleb nodded, ready to be inside where it was warm for a few minutes. He stepped inside first, coming up shortbecause the line was almost to the door, but Travis didn’t notice, and ran right up his ass.
“Oof.” He bounced off a tall, solid dude in an expensive wool coat, and he’d immediately started to apologize when the guy turned to look at him.
His brain had to sort through languages to come up with Italian. “Uh. Mi dispiace. Sorry.”
“Caleb?”
He looked up— way up—into the guy’s face, and his eyes widened, his breath whooshing out of his lungs. “Hawk? Holy shit! Hey!”
Hawk Montineau grinned down at him, those bright silver-gray eyes just the same in a face that had a few more lines around the mouth and eyes. “Hey, man. Look at you. All Team USA again.”
“Hat and all.” He bobbed his head, and the pompom on his beanie bounced. “You look great.”
Hawk studied him for a moment, then nodded back. “So do you.”
Jamie cleared his throat, and Caleb snorted. “Sorry. Jamie Meyer, this is Hawk Montineau. Hawk, Jamie. He’s a slopestyle guy.”
“Nice to meet you.” Hawk held out a hand to shake.
“Holy shit. Hockey Hawk Montineau?” Jamie pumped Hawk’s hand. “I saw you win that last cup, man. It was epic.”
The smile stayed on Hawk’s mouth but not in his eyes. “Thanks. It was something special.”
Ouch. Caleb knew that game, and the injury that had come from it, had been a career-ender for Hawk. And, at like, thirty-two, Hawk hadn’t been ready to retire, he would bet.
“Thanks for the gift basket, by the way.” Hawk moved up in the line, getting them out of the danger zone from the door.
“Hey, just returning the favor, like I said.” He’d felt good,being able to send Hawk some cheer just like he’d gotten in Beijing.
Jamie was glancing back and forth between them, his eyes bright with curiosity.
“So, taking another run at the gold, huh?” They hadn’t been texting too much lately, as Caleb had been at the Olympic training center, gearing up for the Games.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m doing well this season. So I’m on the hunt. And you’re— Are you, uh?” How did he ask if Hawk was just in Italy as a spectator?
“Broadcasting. Doing a few sponsor events, too, for my major brands.” Hawk waved a hand. “And a few podcasts, believe it or not. Fully paid working vacay in Milan.”
“Hell, yeah.” He reached out for a fist bump. “Way to go.”
“Thanks.” They moved up again until they were next. “So what do you guys want? I’ll buy you a coffee and… something with custard for you, I bet. Jamie? What do you want?”
“Uh. I love an eclair, man.” Jamie looked at him, eyebrows going up.
“Cappuccino? Americano?”
“Cappuccino for me,” Caleb said.
“Make that two.”
When they got to the counter, Hawk rattled off a string of words in Italian, then paid before leading them to a table. “Might as well sit.”