“Indeed.” He waves his hand in front of his face like he’s clearing away a bug.
“So,” he says. “Lonely traveler. What’s your name? I don’t even know.”
“Katy,” I say.
“Katy what?”
“Katy Silver.”
“Adam Westbrooke,” he says. He holds out his hand. I take it. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
We eat in silence for a few moments, punctuated by the activity of the morning. Couples come down to eat; the street below us becomes active with cars and bicycles. The bells ring out: it’s 9 a.m.
Adam stretches. “That’s my cue,” he says. “I should probably head out.”
“Busy day?”
“I have a few meetings,” he says. “But if you’re free later, would you like to meet for a drink?”
I think about my wedding band tucked upstairs. Is this a date? Or just two fellow travelers enjoying each other’s company? We just met. We’re in a foreign country. I’m alone.
“Yes.”
“Great,” he says. “I’ll meet you downstairs here at eight.”
“Sounds good.”
“Have a great day, Katy,” he says. He pushes back his chair and stands. His hair is blond, then red. It changes color in the sun.
He leans down close and plants a kiss on either cheek. I smell his smell—cologne, sweat, the scent of the sea. I don’t feel even the hint of stubble.
“See you later.”
When he’s gone, I think about what I want to do today. Theitinerary is tucked upstairs, but I still want to visit my mother’s favorite places. Now that I don’t have a schedule, I can, as Monica said yesterday, explore. There was a restaurant she always talked about in town. Chez Black, right on the water. We were supposed to go tomorrow night. But today I want to explore as she did when she was first here.
Just then Marco appears, right at my chair.
“You left this,” he says, holding out my room key and gesturing to the other table.
“Oh, yes, sorry. Thank you.”
“And I see you’ve met Adam.”
“Upstairs,” I say, tucking the key into my bag. “He was borrowing a book from the little library and introduced himself.”
Marco shakes his head. “He’d borrow this whole place if he could.”
“What do you mean?”
Marco rolls his eyes. “This young guy here.” He gestures to Adam’s empty seat. “He’s trying to buy my hotel.”
Chapter Six
“Adam, he comes here every year. This year he comes and he has this stack of papers.” Marco holds his hands like an accordion in front of him. “And he tells me, proposal. He wants to buy Poseidon.”
I’m struck by two emotions. The first is anger at Adam at trying to Americanize this Italian gem. The second is bewilderment that Marco is sharing this information with me so readily, and easily. We just met an hour ago.
