He looks up with weathered eyes that seem to assess me carefully before he nods. "Buongiorno, signorina."
"Carlo?" When he nods, I point to myself. "Madison. American."
"Ah, si. Giuseppe's house." His English is heavily accented but clear.
"Yes! I'm hoping to bring tourists here, help the village grow. What do you think?"
His expression shifts to something I can't quite read. Caution? Concern? But then he glances toward the upper village, toward Enzo's villa and his face clears.
"Is good," he says carefully. "Village needs new life."
"Could you tell tourists about fishing?"
"Perhaps." He seems to choose his words carefully. "You speak with Signor Benedetti about this?"
"Yes, we're meeting this morning to discuss possibilities."
Surprise flickers across his face, then he nods approvingly. "Is good. He knows best for village."
Everyone keeps saying that about Enzo. He knows best for the village. Clearly, he's some kind of local business leader or maybe involved in regional politics. The respect people show him is obvious, though there's something else in their reactions I can't quite identify. They respect him and his judgement which makes me feel better about working with him.
I spend the next hour walking through the village, taking notes and photos, talking to anyone who'll listen. The responses are universally positive once I mention Enzo's involvement.
A woman working in her garden mentions the old customs house that could be restored. Even the teenagers hanging around the church steps seem intrigued by the idea of jobs that might let them stay in Monte Vento instead of leaving for Rome or Milan.
By eight o'clock, I've filled six pages with notes and ideas. My presentation materials are organized by location, my notebook is full of detailed plans, and I've even borrowed a wooden crate from behind the bakery to use as a makeshift table for my papers.
The harbor is the perfect starting point for the tour. It offers the most dramatic first impression with its ancient stone buildings rising from crystal-clear water, fishing boats bobbing in the morning light, mountains providing a stunning backdrop. This is what will make tourists fall in love with Monte Vento.
I arrange my papers on the weathered crate, organizing everything so I can walk Enzo through each area systematically. Financial projections here, renovation estimates there, photos I printed at the café yesterday of similar successful projects for reference. This needs to look professional and well-researched.
Because despite the butterflies in my stomach every time I think about seeing him again, this is business. A real opportunity to create something meaningful here. I can't let my attraction to him interfere with what could be the most important presentation of my life.
Even if the memory of sitting by the fireplace last night, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, keeps making my concentration slip.
Focus, Madison.
This is about saving the village and creating sustainable tourism. Hopefully something lasting and beneficial for everyone involved.
The fact that it also means working closely with the most compelling man I've ever met is just... a bonus.
I check my phone. He'll be here any minute if he’s prompt.
I smooth my hair, straighten my papers one more time, and take a deep breath of salt air. This is it. My chance to prove that buying Giuseppe's house wasn't just an impulsive mistake.
It’s the beginning of something amazing.
I hear footsteps on the stone path and turn to see Enzo approaching, looking perfectly put-together as always despite the early hour. My heart does that fluttering thing it's been doing every time I see him, but I push down the reaction and focus on the task at hand.
"Good morning," he says. He almost seems amused by our planned tour. Or maybe he’s curious? His expressions are impossible to read.
"Enzo! Perfect timing." I beam at him, unable to contain my excitement. This is going to be amazing.
I can feel it.
Chapter 10: Enzo
I show up at the harbor five minutes early and find Madison already there, buzzing around like she's about to change the world with a pile of papers and some hand-drawn charts.
