One Italian Summer(43)

“I feel like that might be your tagline.”

“My tagline?”

“Like The Real Housewives? Tagline?” He looks at me blankly. “Never mind.”

We walk in silence. It feels comfortable, familiar, even. Like we’ve known each other a lot longer than the few days since I arrived. We stop at a lemonade stand, and Adam buys us both one. It’s sweet and syrupy and sticky and delicious. I down it and then pop an ice cube in my mouth, sucking on the cold until it melts. We wander back to the hotel through side steps. We stop at the landing and look down at the water. There is no rush. It is somehow, impossibly, still morning.

“I feel like there are more hours in the day here,” I say to Adam.

“That’s why I love it,” he says.

Everything is longer in Positano. Even time.





Chapter Twenty


Over breakfast I ask Adam if he wants to go to Capri today. The weather is glorious—wide-open, bright blue skies. I look out over the water that looks like crystal. Spending the day going to an island paradise is a perfect plan.

“Sounds like fun, Silver,” he says. “I think you’ll like it there, and I’d be honored as ever to show you around.”

“I asked you.”

“Trust me,” he says. “You want me in charge.”

Adam has a connection for a day boat, and an hour later we’re back at the Positano dock, loading into a small private yacht.

“This is Amelio,” Adam says. He introduces me to the captain—a man who looks to be in his late thirties with a ponytail and a white cotton polo.

“Hi,” I say. “Thank you for taking us.”

“Watch your step,” Amelio says. He speaks with an accent that sounds half-Italian and half-Australian.

He takes my hand and helps me onto the small yacht. The entire front of the boat is padded, like a giant lounge chair. All browns and creams and whites. It’s so old-school beautiful.

“Tornado, right?” I ask Amelio.

He smiles appreciatively and nods. The tiny yacht is a throwback to the sixties in its style. It looks brand-new, impeccably maintained.

“Some of the most stunning boats in the world,” I say. “I love this one. Is it yours?”

Amelio nods. “Sì, è della mia famiglia.”

I grab a beach towel. Adam raises his eyebrow at me.

“What?” I say. “My father loves boats.”

When I was little, he used to take me down to the marina in Huntington Beach and show me the boats. Small catamaran yachts, like the one we’re on, are his favorites. Mine too.

We settle down on neighboring beach towels as Amelio revs the engine. Then we’re speeding away, toward Capri. The wind kicks up, and the air around us is salty and wet.

The trip to Capri is no more than forty-five minutes. The island emerges out of the sea like a giant perched rock—all jagged, dramatic cliffs. As we get closer I see a cove, then the rocks of a shore. There are about twenty swimmers bobbing their heads in the ocean.

The deep blue water gives way to a turquoise that seems fake, almost clear.

Amelio cuts the engine, and we drift. As we pull into the cove I turn to Adam.

“I want to swim,” I say.

“Now?”

“Amelio,” I call. “Can we hop in the water before we pull to shore? Can we swim?” I pantomime the breaststroke.

“Sì!” He gestures to the left side of the boat, where there is a step stool down into the water.

I pull my cover-up over my head and toss it down onto the mat. Underneath I’m wearing a white ribbed one-piece. I notice Adam noticing.

And then I make a single dive off the side. The water hits cold on my hot skin. It’s nearly breathtaking. After a few seconds, the initial shock fades to a luxurious, refreshing sensation. Crisp and smooth, almost like velvet.

My head breaks the surface, and I shake the water out of my eyes and call up to Adam.

“Get in!”

He stands, looking over me.

“Is it cold?”

I blow some water off my lips. “It’s actually quite warm,” I lie.

I watch as he peels his T-shirt off. I dive underneath the water and when I emerge, he’s half in, suspended on the step stool, bargaining.

“Christ,” he says. “It’s cold.”

“C’mon, Adam,” I say. “Take the plunge.”

He dives off the step and emerges moments later, shaking out his hair. He’s such an alpha male, but here in the water, his hair curling up with droplets, he’s playful. He appears younger than he has since I met him.

Adam splashes some water toward me and then floats up onto his back. I do the same next to him. The sky is cloudless. One wide expanse of bright, impossible blue.

“I love it here,” I say.

He laughs beside me. “We haven’t even gotten to Capri yet.”

“No,” I say. “Here. All of it.”

I flip back over so my feet are underneath me, and Adam does the same. He treads water, and the current bounces him closer.

“Thanks for coming with me,” I say.

He’s so close I can see the water droplets on his eyelashes. They cling there like tears.

“Thanks for asking me.”