A Place in the Sun(9)

Huh, crazy. Clearly, you were supposed to research a place before hopping on a plane, but things were working out for me. It was only my first morning and I was already learning.

“What’ll you have?” the man behind the counter asked, bringing my attention back to breakfast. The most important subject of all.

I ordered tea and an almond croissant, and the Americans suggested I join them outside. I didn’t hesitate. Sure, they were older than my gran, but they seemed to know what they were doing. I could gobble up my flaky croissant and learn more about where I planned on spending my summer.

We picked a spot out front on the small patio and they unloaded all these brilliant maps, flopping them on the table and pointing out which trails were best and which ones were better left for the real sporty types.

I was fit, but I didn’t really fancy a trek to Everest or anything. They suggested I start with a simple route and then they slid the maps toward me.

“Keep them. We have extra.”

I thanked them loads and stuffed the maps into my purse. They were standing, ready to set off for their hike, when I caught sight of a man in a ball cap walking up the main path toward the train station.

Gianluca.

He was alone, keeping his head down as he walked. My heart sped up, watching him approach. A part of me had assumed I’d never see him again, and now here he was, less than a day later!

He took long, confident strides up the road, keeping his hands stuffed in his pockets. I couldn’t see his face with his head down like that, and I willed him to glance up and see me so I wouldn’t have to call his name. What would I call him anyway? Luca was what his friends called him, and after our short meeting—where I’d acted like a nutter on her deathbed—I had no misconceptions that we were at that level.

I opened my mouth, prepared to call out to him, to say something, anything, when a man farther up on the road caught his attention first.

“Buongiorno Luca!”

He whipped his head up and broke out into a devastating smile, all even white teeth and deep dimples. My heart sputtered to a stop. God, he was romantic looking, the sort of man who breathes passion into life without even trying.

“Good looking, huh?”

One of the American women nudged me with her elbow and nodded to Gianluca.

I nodded, trying to ignore how shaky I felt.

“He’s the kind of handsome you don’t see all that often,” her friend chimed in. “You’re safer staying away from Italian men like that, Georgie.”

Maybe she was right.

Maybe I should have kept my distance.

But I didn’t.





THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up to the sound of the heavy church bells. They clanged merrily in the square as I lazed about in bed, in no hurry to leave my warm cocoon. I’d left the shutters open through the night and the sea air swelled into my room, fluttering the thin cream drape up and away from the window. I’d only been there for a day and a half and I’d already learned that the scents of Vernazza changed based on the hour. In the early morning, when the restaurants were closed, the air was fresh, crisp. By the afternoon, as the sun blazed overhead, rich Italian aromas wafted up from the restaurants, luring me down to their doorsteps.

I rolled onto my side, stared out at the mountains past my window, and thought back on my first full day in Vernazza. I’d mostly kept to myself, dipping in and out of shops, sampling two gelatarias, and eating lunch outside a small pizza shop, inhaling two slices like a greedy chipmunk. I’d hoped to run into Gianluca again, but by late morning the square was crowded with tourists. The chances of finding anyone in particular were slim to none.

In the afternoon, I’d propped the wicker chair in my room right in front of the open window and sat down to read. My paperback mostly went untouched as I people-watched through the window. I had a perfect vantage point. My window faced the square and if I dipped my head out just a bit, I could watch the kids splashing in the water.

In the late afternoon, I’d watched a group of older Italian men convene in a corner of the square under crisp, white umbrellas. They pulled out a few decks of cards, and for the next two hours, their conversations and card-playing drifted up to my window like a soft hum.

It was all so different than England. The smallness of it, the lack of pretension. I wanted more.

I flung off my sheets, showered, and hurried to get dressed in jean shorts and a white tank top. I took a few extra minutes to apply a thin layer of makeup, just in case I ran into Gianluca outside The Blue Marlin. This time, I would call out to him and strike up a witty conversation. I’d thank him for helping me and I’d offer up a drink or dinner as repayment.

I was positively humming with the idea of seeing him as I locked up and skipped down the stairs of the hotel.

The front desk was empty and I nearly breezed past it before I heard my name behind me. I spun around and saw Chiara pop out of a broom cupboard in the back of the building.

“You’re in a hurry,” she said with a little smile.

I laughed. “Oh, yeah, just off to have breakfast.”

She smiled and drummed her fingers on the doorframe, clearly wanting to chat. I tilted my head. “How are you?”

Her smile widened at my question. “I’m good. Just…wishing I didn’t have to work today.”

Her English was easy to understand, though she spoke slowly, thinking over each word before she spoke.