“Oh.” Sabrina found herself unable to say much.
“If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t worry over the wine. I’d find a way to spend more time with him.” The platinum-blonde woman winked. “The Toscani family will survive as they have for the last several hundred years.”
Sabrina’s eyes widened. “Several hundred years?”
“Si. Many families that live in the Cinque Terre have lived here for generations. The Toscani clan included.”
The woman launched into a brief history of the Cinque Terre.
Twenty minutes later, thanks largely to the helping hand of the other market vendors, the mess was quickly sorted out.
Lorenzo joined the two women. “Tonia, thank you for the use of the broom and dustpan. I gave it back to Sisi.”
“Grazie, Lorenzo,” she replied. “Now that you’re back, I’ll leave you two here.Alone.”
Sabrina opened and closed her mouth. “How forward.”
Lorenzo muttered under his breath in Italian. “Tonia is never subtle. It’s a flaw many of us from this area have, but in the grand scheme of things, saying what comes to mind also saves us a lot of time and energy.” He ran a hand over his jaw.
They watched the jewelry vendor retreat to her booth. Lorenzo’s attention returned to Sabrina. As if she were being X-rayed, his eyes bored into her. “Senorina?.?.?. you’re certain you aren’t injured inanyway?”
“My name is Sabrina.” She held up her hand. “Cross my heart. Physically, I am one hundred percent fine.”
Mentally, I’m one hundred percent mortified. But I’m not telling him that.
“I’m Lorenzo.” They shook hands. His fingers were short, but his grip firm.
The other stalls have multiple workers, but Lorenzo is all alone.
Sabrina jumped up from the crate. “If you won’t let me pay for you for the wine, may I at least help you clean up?”
He sighed and began stacking the remaining overturned crates. “Senorina—”
“It’s Sabrina,” she automatically corrected.
“Sabrina”—Lorenzo shifted his weight from foot to foot—“if you really wish to help me, I suppose I could use some assistance packing up my booth.” Behind his stall, Lorenzo opened the trunk of a white sedan and placed the crates inside. “You can start with folding the tablecloth.”
Sabrina reached for the royal-purple cloth. In the center was a shield with a cross, a lion, and two swords. Gold-embroidered cursive script read, “Casa di Toscani.”
“The woman from earlier, Tonia, was telling me that your family has been in the region for a long time.” She matched up the corners and folded it down into a neat computer-paper size. “Which of the five villages in the Cinque Terre does your family live closest to?”
Lorenzo busied himself folding the legs of the long plastic card table. “Geographically speaking, Riomaggiore would be the closest village.”
Sabrina placed the cloth inside the trunk. “Oh. Do you have any recommendations on places that I should see in Riomaggiore? I am going to eventually make my way there today.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but apart from the views, the five towns that make up the Cinque Terre—Monterosso al Mare, Vernazza, Corniglia, Manorola, and Riomaggiore—are not all that different. There isn’t much to do except eat, shop, and sit on the beach.”
His accent. Swoon.
Sabrina lifted her chin. “The scenery is the primary reason I’m here. This is one of the few places I’ve been so far that seems to have changed little over the last century.”
“That is thanks largely in part to the strict building codes.” Lorenzo’s lips pinched. “The Cinque Terre isn’t impervious to change. There are more cafés and restaurants than ever before. Thanks to social media, the Cinque Terre is a hot destination for visitors. They see the photos of our coastline and villages and wish to experience it for themselves. Unfortunately, when they arrive here, they are disappointed to find so many other visitors share the same idea.”
Sabrina pouted. “You have a fair point there. I just noticed that earlier today.”
“I don’t mean to be pessimistic. I’m just sad to see the villages so dependent on tourism. But there is little that can be done about it.” Lorenzo cleared his throat. “To backtrack, if I were in your shoes when I reached Riomaggiore, I’d order a focaccia from one of the takeaway stalls, stroll up to the medieval castle ruins, and enjoy the sunset.”
She nodded, mentally adding the information to her list. “Which is about seven thirty?”
