A Place in the Sun

  I’m sure she’s furious, and knowing her, she’s probably reading this over your shoulder—HELLO MOTHER. I’ll have you know that Italy is fantastic, and the men here are just as gorgeous as I’d hoped they would be! I know you’ll worry less if you think I’m in the company of a good man, so I’ll have you know that I’ve gone on a date with a lovely man called Gianluca and of course, I will send word as soon as he commits to spending his life with me. Please prepare my dowry. Ha. (Fred, that joke was for you. I’m sure Mum is glowering at this point…)

  Anyway, give those little nieces and nephew a massive kiss for me.

  All my love,

  Georgie

  With a smile at my white lie there at the end, I sealed up the package and slipped it in with the outgoing post back at the hotel. I took the stairs slowly, exhausted after hours of swimming. I had plans to take a long, steamy shower and then read by the window as the sun set, but just as I rounded the top of the stairs, I spotted a little yellow note pasted to my hotel room door.

  It was from Katerina, asking me if I fancied going on a double-date that evening. There were hardly any details about it, just the name of the restaurant and the time they’d be there. I had half a mind to crumple up the note and pretend I hadn’t seen it, but there was a small, minuscule chance they were setting me up with Gianluca, and so for that reason, I went.

  …

  Everyone was already seated by the time I arrived at Belforte. The restaurant was a bit nicer than the place we’d eaten the night before and I was glad I’d slipped on a pair of flats instead of flip-flops. Katerina saw me approach and her face split in two with an infectious grin. She and Massimo stood, and then my date stood as well.

  I felt my smile falter as his features came into view. It wasn’t Gianluca. It was a very handsome man, but my appreciation for his features felt forced after realizing I’d wanted him to be someone else.

  “Georgie! This is our friend Paolo!”

  The man rushed forward to kiss me on either cheek and I was engulfed in a sweet smelling cologne. I was stiff at first, a bit awkward as we went through introductions and protocol. He held out my chair for me as Katerina explained how everyone knew each other.

  “Paolo helps Massimo up at the farm, although I think they actually just drink and take naps up there all day.”

  I nodded and slid my gaze over, trying to get a good look at him.

  He had rich black hair, quite a few shades darker than Gianluca’s, and striking pale green eyes. The combination held my attention so well I didn’t hear him ask me a question until he’d repeated it a second time.

  “You’re traveling in Italy?”

  His English was strained and unpracticed, but it only added to his appeal.

  “Yes,” I grinned. “Only for the last week or so. I was in Rome until I came here.”

  “Did you like it?”

  I caught a twinkle in his eye that told me he didn’t want the standard response. “Quite crowded, isn’t it?”

  He grinned, wide. “Did you see the Colosseum, then? The Pantheon?”

  “Well I saw the outside of the Colosseum, but not much else. The queue went on for nearly two hours it seemed.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Cinque Terre…è meglio, no?”

  I looked to Katerina for help, but Massimo chimed in first. “Better here?”

  I laughed and nodded. “It’s amazing. I actually went over to Monterosso today, down to the beach.”

  Katerina moaned. “I wish you’d asked me to come along! It’s been months since I’ve managed to get over there.”

  I kicked myself for not thinking of the idea myself. I would have enjoyed a bit of company. “I didn’t know if you’d be working at the market or not.”

  “No, no.” She shook her head. “Most days, I keep a clothing shop just along the main road off the square. It’s only open in the late morning and early afternoon, when the tourists are really out and about.”

  I grinned. “Perfect, then I’ll come by the shop before you close up to have a look around and then we’ll go swimming.”

  She nodded, excited. “Tomorrow?”

  Paolo laughed and turned to Massimo, rattling off fast Italian.

  Massimo turned to me with a cheeky smile. “He says he’s supposed to be the one asking you on a second date, not Katerina.”

  I blushed and adjusted the napkin on my lap. That’s right. There I was on a double date and I’d been more interested in chatting with Katerina than I was in getting to know Paolo. After that, I made a real effort with him, turning my body toward him so he’d have my full attention.

  He told me about his work up at Massimo’s farm, how they were currently harvesting the summer produce.

  “Big, ripe zucchinis and fat lemons. We grow them there and then bring them down for Massimo to use in his restaurant.”

  “You should bring some for Georgie!” Katerina chimed in.

  “Oh, no. It’s all right. I’ve only got the small room and there’s no kitchen or anything. I’d just let them go to waste.”

  Paolo’s smile fell as if I’d turned him down instead of the vegetables. I laid on the sweetness, assuring him I’d take a lemon or two, but it didn’t really help.

  After that, the four of us sat in silence, waiting for the food. Paolo had ordered us the fish of the day and when they brought it out from the kitchen, it was presented in a massive tin pan, a few inches deep in sea salt.

  The waiter turned it down for us to see, we clapped and smiled, and then he set about cleaning it and serving it up on plates for us.

  “It’s lovely,” I said, leaning into Paolo. “Thank you.”

  And then Paolo took a big bite of fish and chewed…with his mouth open.

  I understand that for some people, it wouldn’t mean much, but for me, it was a deal breaker. His gnashing teeth gave me flashbacks to my blind date with Chompers, and I knew whatever chemistry we might’ve had was extinguished. I didn’t know where mums had gone wrong teaching table manners to their sons, but I wasn’t having it.

  Katerina nudged me beneath the table to get my attention and when I glanced over, she tilted her head, trying to get a read on the situation.

  “Good?” she mouthed.

  I knew she wasn’t talking about the fish.

  “Mmhmm,” I said, but I shook my head no, gently enough so the boys couldn’t see.

  After dinner, Katerina insisted on walking me home, telling the boys we had things to discuss. I hugged Paolo and thanked him for dinner. Though I’d tried to split our bill down the middle, he’d insisted on paying, which I thought was very kind.

  “You’ll come up to the farm?” he asked, hopeful.

  I let my mouth hang open for a moment, trying to work out a proper response, and then I caved and nodded, adding an indecipherable hum on top. He grinned and Katerina looped her arm through mine, tugging me away from the restaurant.

  We hurried back to my hotel and I insisted she come up and see my room.

  “It’s very messy,” I warned as I turned the old key and pushed the door open.

  “If you’ve got wine, I won’t mind the mess.”

  I grinned and presented the bottle of Sciacchetrà I’d picked up on a whim at the shops that afternoon. I’d nearly stuffed it in the package for Freddie and Andie (lord knows they needed it with those nieces and nephew of mine running them ragged) but I’d held on to it instead.

  Katerina clapped with excitement.

  “I don’t have any glasses though.”

  The hotel wasn’t like the proper ones I was used to staying in. There were no mini bars or room service.

  She shrugged. “We’ll share.”

  And with that, she popped the top and took a long swig, handing me the bottle after her. It was my first time trying Sciacchetrà, but the woman at the shop had raved about it. Apparently it’s made from Vermintino grapes and has a sweet, honey-ish flavor—perfect for sitting at my window with Katerina and taking in the last few minutes
of the sunset.

  “Pass it, you hog.”

  I took another quick sip and she laughed as I handed it back over.

  I hadn’t known Katerina long, but there was a level of comfort between us that usually took years to develop. I glanced over to her, admiring the way she’d wrapped up her long blonde hair into a knot on top of her head. Her dress was just as stylish as the one she’d worn the day before, and I guessed she’d been quite popular in school. She gave off that sort of vibe, but without the snarky attitude.

  “So Paolo didn’t sweep you off your feet?” she asked, handing me the bottle.

  I took a long swig, wiped the drop slipping down my chin, and shook my head. “No.”

  “Shame.”

  “Shame,” I agreed.

  “You fancy Gianluca, don’t you?”

  I blushed, a fierce red shade I prayed she couldn’t see. “What? Why would you say that?”

  Had I been that transparent at dinner the night before? I’d stared at him a few times, but I hadn’t realized I’d made a show of it or anything.

  She sighed, this sad, hopeless sound that nearly broke my heart.

  “Because women always do,” explained Katerina. “They think they’ll swoop in and coax him out of his shell. They want to heal him like a bird with a broken wing, but it’s actually easier with birds, because they want to fly so badly. Gianluca—well, for the past five years, he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to be healed. He wants to stay on the ground.”

  “Where it’s safe,” I muttered.

  After that, we passed the bottle in silence until it was empty.

  “YOU KNOW, MOST people shower before they eat in my restaurant.”

  I glanced up from my plate of seafood pasta to find Massimo grinning at me from across the bar.

  “I came from the farm. I was helping Paolo with the harvest.”

  “Hopefully the produce was less ripe than you are. You’re scaring away my customers.”

  I turned round to find every table was full. I turned back to him with an arched brow and he chuckled before walking away.

  I was sweaty, but nothing more than normal. The arsehole could have thanked me for helping him get out of a bind after one of his employees had called in sick, but Massimo wasn’t the appreciative type.

  “More wine?”

  I glanced at my untouched glass and then up to the new waitress Massimo had hired last month. I couldn’t remember her name.

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  “You do smell,” she spoke in Italian with a flirtatious smile. When I didn’t reply, she went on. “But I think it smells good. Manly. If anything, you’re attracting more customers.”

  I wasn’t good at this.

  Banter.

  Flirting.

  I’d had sex since Allie’s death. People were always curious about that. Massimo nearly chewed my head off about the risk of “losing it” if I didn’t “use it”, and well, I had, though not nearly enough, and never with a woman I felt anything for. I’d take the train into the La Spezia with him or Paolo, or another hand from the farm. We’d go to one of the usual spots and sometimes the night ended with sex, and sometimes I rode the train back home with Massimo, him going on about how I’d lost the magic touch.

  I hated it.

  When I married Allie, I thought I’d moved past the dating part of my life. I still knew all the things I was supposed to do, supposed to say, but it felt forced and unnatural, like I was in a bad dream.

  “What are your plans for tonight?” she asked, eyeing me as she wiped down the bar with a rag.

  Truthfully, I needed to continue working on the wall outside my house, and I needed to clear away a bit of the foliage that had grown nearly out of control. I could hardly see my front door past the bougainvillea. I could spend the rest of the day working on chores, but she didn’t want to know that.

  “Work,” I replied with a committed tone. There was no room for change and when she caught on to my meaning, her smile faded a little.

  “Well, if you ever want to go for a drink, let me know.”

  With that, she pushed off the bar and past the door into the restaurant’s kitchen.

  I finished the last of my pasta, threw a few euro onto the bar, and waved to Massimo on my way out of the restaurant. The waitress was pretty, but I preferred to meet women in La Spezia. The short train ride put enough distance between me and them that I didn’t feel so guilty about it in the morning.

  It was dusk, and I breathed in the fresh air as I made my way back home. Massimo’s restaurant was in the section of Vernazza most tourists never ventured into. It was past the train station, up at the top of the hill. There was no view of the sea, but the food was better than anything you could find down below. Most of the time tourists didn’t realize that. They’d accept the frozen fish and stale bread if it meant they could look at the sunset.

  I walked past the train station, nodding at the locals I passed along the way. The Blue Marlin had transitioned into a bar now that dinner service was ending, and there were people spilling out onto the patios, enjoying the weather and ice-cold beer.

  The road was dense with tourists, and I weaved my way through them, catching bits of laughter and conversation. A small boy ran across my path, nearly colliding into me on his way to get to a shop window. He’d spotted a row of cakes and pastries and made a break for them, ignoring his mother’s calls. She ran after him, throwing me an apology over her shoulder, but I didn’t mind. For someone who preferred to be alone, Vernazza was the ideal setting. For fleeting moments, I could participate in strangers’ lives and enjoy the moments without getting overly invested.

  To get back to my villa, I had to walk straight through the main square, curve around the church, and start the steep climb up the hill. There was a faster way through the back alleys, but I liked the view along the cliffs.

  I turned past the church and caught sight of a woman sitting on the breaker. It was a common place to sit and watch the sunset, but most of the time, tourists stayed to the concrete section, the dry, safe area with an even path and built-in benches.

  The other half of the breaker was made up of hundreds of granite boulders, tossed down one on top of each other so that the surface was rocky and uneven. They were there to break the waves before they reached the concrete landing, but the woman sitting there was perched right on the edge, at the mercy of the sea. I stayed there, watching her and waiting for one of the waves to crash up and carry her away, but they never quite reached her, and she didn’t seem preoccupied with the idea of getting wet. She was licking her gelato, turning the cone round and round to keep it from dripping down onto her hand. Her legs kicked against the granite boulders and for those first few seconds, she seemed almost childlike to me—until I realized who she was.

  I didn’t know her name. She’d told me and I’d forgotten, and now I regretted not committing it to memory. She was the woman who’d passed out in the square, the brunette Katerina had invited to dinner.

  I wasn’t so shocked to see her sitting precariously on the boulders as I was by the unnerving notion that I should join her. I didn’t like the idea of her sitting there alone.

  It was stupid. I knew I wouldn’t do it. I hardly knew her, and though she was beautiful, I had no business befriending her. She’d be moving on to the next village in Cinque Terre soon and I’d go back to my villa, back to the memories of Allie.

  PERHAPS I’VE GONE full lesbian.

  I hadn’t previously considered it, but it was starting to look like a viable option. Rather than admitting I was hung up on one unattainable guy, I needed to start considering the possibility that my brain was just trying to persuade me that all men were undesirable. I mean, in the two weeks since I’d arrived, I’d gone on three blind dates with truly lovely Italian men, and I’d left each one of them without so much as a kiss. I should have let them cart me off to their apartments and have their wicked way with me. I’d have had at least three proper (read: not self
-induced) orgasms, and maybe I could have been on my way to planning an Italian marriage. Hear that? Gothic church bells ringing.

  Instead, I’d found some arbitrary fault with each of them (as I did with every man) and I’d latched onto it. Ridiculous. Would it really be so bad to marry a man with a few flaws? God knows I had some—too many, really. My brother Freddie had told me on the phone just yesterday that I was flighty and irresponsible. A bit selfish too, he’d added when I’d told him I hadn’t been paying attention and to please repeat the last ten minutes of his ramblings.

  “You can’t just move to Italy to escape your problems and assume they’ll work themselves out. Eternal optimism will only carry you so far. I worry, Georgie.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t. I know exactly what I am doing.”

  I didn’t.

  Of course I had no bloody clue what I was doing. I’d spent the last two weeks in Vernazza and I was in no rush to leave. I’d asked Chiara about an extended-stay rate at the hotel and she’d promised to ask her mom about it. I knew it was a bit insane, but even if I didn’t know what I was doing, I knew it felt a lot better to be going through a quarter-life crisis in a place like Vernazza. I felt like I belonged. I went to The Blue Marlin every morning for breakfast, and Antonio greeted me with a familiar smile and asked if I wanted tea or coffee. Sometimes I’d order a fluffy croissant, or if I was getting a late start, I’d tuck into some eggs and bacon while I people-watched on the patio.

  After that, I’d pop round to Katerina’s shop to see if she needed any help with stocking or folding new clothes. Even though there were quite a few clothing shops in Vernazza, I thought hers was the most chic. She didn’t bother with silly t-shirts or baseball caps. She sold frocks and linen trousers, shirts and handmade leather sandals she sourced from a man in Corniglia, the village just south of Vernazza.

  If her shop was closed, I’d take a train to a neighboring village in Cinque Terre and spend the day exploring. But my favorite pastime by far was just sitting out on the boulders with gelato and eating it slowly beneath the giant red sun.