“Part of the magic of vacation is being open to the unexpected bits too, Sora,” Mari says while he’s gone.
I don’t respond, and instead check my phone now that it’s connected to Wi-Fi. At least this place has one thing going for it. But there are still no texts.
Nico returns and scans in our passports. He blows a lone curl out of his eyes. What is his deal, anyway? Painter, receptionist, tour guide? I haven’t figured him out.
“How long have you worked here?” Anya asks, as she looks through the wall of framed photos behind him. There are black-and-whites of sunbathers in sunglasses and sharply dressed people in eveningwear seated at a dinner table.
“My whole life.” He shrugs. “This is my family’s place. My mom, Alessandra, and I run it.” He hands over the keys, actual iron keys attached to thick purple ribbons. Mari and Anya find the vintage charm alluring, but I feel like I’ve gone twenty years back in time.
He does deliver on the five-star service, however, as he adds bellman to his extensive resume, piling up our bags and suitcases on a cart before escorting us to our room. We pass a restaurant with a patio. “Right there,” Nico points at the patio terrace, “is where we have our golden hour affogato special. Where some hotels have a complimentary wine hour or happy hour, we have an affogato hour. You can enjoy dishes of our homemade vanilla gelato with espresso poured over top while relaxing on the terrace overlooking the water.”
“Um, we most definitely will!” Mari sends an elbow into my belly, which means she wants me to concur.
“I concur,” I say, and despite the disappointment I’m currently working through, I am pained to admit it actually does sound pretty cool.
We scrunch together like sardines in the elevator, which creaks and screeches as it ascends. Our room is on the third level, the top level, which hardly counts as the penthouse room I had booked.
The elevator lurches to a stop, and when we exit, there is a pile of used books on a console table. I don’t notice it at first—I’m distracted by how potent my RBF is in the mirror above.
Nico notices my gaze. “Take one, leave one,” he says. “We love for our guests to share their books with one another. Even if you don’t have a book to trade, help yourself.”
“I love that!” Mari squeals as she picks up a hardcover with frayed bindings and pages through it. She holds it up to her face, inhaling deeply. “It smells like saltwater and sunscreen! Amazing.” She clutches it tightly to her chest.
Nico unlocks our room and starts unloading the luggage. Our room is small and quaint, with two full beds. There isn’t any of that luxury bedding I was envisioning, only a pair of thin pillows and a light quilt on each. The features are outdated and slightly worn, although at least everything appears tidy and clean. The floor is patched in intricate tilework of blues and yellows, and the aesthetic islight and beachy. Even though there’s nothingwrongwith the room, I can’t help but feel underwhelmed.
That is, until Nico opens the curtains to let in the light.
Even I, with my off-the-charts RBF, feel my face morph into awe. I’m stunned into silence. Our tiny room has a majestic view of the Mediterranean. A panoramic seascape of vibrant blue shimmers under the golden sun. I step out onto our balcony and the sea breeze mists against my skin, blowing my hair back from my face. I grab on to the railing and peer down a hundred feet, to the dozens of orange-and-white-striped umbrellas that dot the pebbled beach.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, before remembering I’m supposed to be an unsatisfied customer. Anya and Mari come to stand next to me, flanking my sides, both equally blown away.
Nico is inside, retreating toward the door, job done. He bows his head quickly, letting his curls tumble over his eyes as he prepares to leave. “Enjoy your stay.”
CHAPTER 5
“I’m pretty sure we weresupposed to tip him,” I say twenty minutes later, as I recline on the bed closest to the balcony. “Even if this isn’t a five-star hotel.” We’d unpacked a few of our things but had been interrupted by a call from the airline telling us that Mari’s bag had been found and was on its way to the hotel. We decided to wait until it arrived before going for a walk to explore the town and hunt for our inaugural slice of pizza. The view had calmed me down, and, luxury hotel or not, I couldn’t deny that we were finally in paradise.
“I’ll tip him when I see him next. I love him,” Mari says. “He’s so nice and normal and welcoming.”
“So genuine,” Anya adds.
“He could very easily be a murderer, you guys. We still have three months of vacation left. Can we at least wait until closer to the end to die?” I ask.
“Some would argue you have a better chance of getting us killed than he does.” Anya smirks, throwing her head back on the pillow.
“If that was another reference to the bus ride, I deny all culpability,” I say.
“Anya, your face.” Mari giggles. “It was a shade of yellow-green I’ve never seen before.”
I join in laughing. Most things don’t seem so terrible when we can find the humor in it together. I mimic Anya, putting my hand over my mouth and gagging like she had.
Anya tries to stay hard, her face serious, but then she breaks and starts snorting too. “God, you guys. How long have we even been awake for at this point?”
I try to do the math. We left Savannah before eight a.m. the day prior and I haven’t slept more than fifteen uninterrupted minutes since. “Over thirty hours, I’m pretty sure.”
“If we can manage to stay awake for a few more, we can go to bed and wake up tomorrow refreshed and adjusted to the time change,” Anya suggests optimistically, but she and Mari are already sinking into the pillows on the bed they’re sharing. I try to fight my exhaustion, but before I know it, we’ve all fallen asleep.
I’m awoken over four hours later by my phone vibrating. Through the window I see the sun has been replaced by stars that pierce the dark night sky.
