“We’re discussing it,” Dev repeated.
Adriana quickly lifted the plate of bread. “Would you like more to eat? I have plenty!”
Dev stared at her half-filled plate and wondered how she’d managed to stuff in more food. She felt pleasantly bloated and a bit buzzy from the wine. Thank goodness no one had to drive.
“No, thank you. It was delicious,” she said.
Her sisters agreed. She noticed they’d also eaten at least another half portion. They’d definitely be returning home next week with more curves. Especially if they rented those scooters and began to skip the stairs.
“Roberto, would you do us a favor?” Pris asked. “If you have any friends or co-workers or family that may have known my mother, would you ask around? We’re looking to see when she came here, who her friends were, things like that.”
“Of course! I know many people and will ask.”
Adriana began quickly clearing, shooing them back down when they tried to help. “I will do the same. Someone here must know—there may be many tourists, but we are a tight-knit family here. Do you have any idea about the time frame?”
Dev quickly calculated Mom’s age and when she’d been in college. “Nineteen seventy-six to nineteen eighty is a good estimate. We’re not sure after that.”
Roberto nodded. “Is there a number where I can reach you while you’re here? How long will you be staying?”
“Only for the week.”
Pris handed him a scribbled note with their number. “You can text or call anytime. We can’t thank you enough for taking such good care of the house and inviting us to dinner.”
“Don’t be silly,” Adriana sang, “we adore company. And you can’t leave yet. I couldn’t send you out the door without dessert! I have fresh pastries and gelato!”
Dev swallowed. “Um, I’m so full, I don’t know if I could.”
Adriana’s face fell. Disappointment beamed from her gaze, which was a complete match of Roberto’s expression. Oh no. Maybe saying no to food in Italy was an insult?
“Gelato helps you digest,” Roberto said hopefully, cutting a concerned glance at his wife.
Dev forced a sickly smile. “Grazie. It sounds . . . wonderful.”
The couple immediately relaxed and fell into excited chatter while Adriana served.
Maybe she’d be able to roll down the steep stairs when she left.
chapter thirteen
Olivia
I finished my first year of college with a solid 3.7 GPA, which satisfied my parents, and a burning desire to leave academic life behind for the summer. Rafe and I had been writing letters regularly to each other throughout the year, and after a conversation with Aunt Silvia, she’d agreed to help convince my parents to let me go back to Italy with her.
I tried to tamp down on the frantic panic at the thought of not being able to see Rafe, and I planned a meeting with Mom and Dad over dinner where I launched my plan. Even though they’d expected me to hold down a summer job, I’d been working regularly in the work-study program and had saved up enough money to pay for my expenses. Aunt Silvia had already bought my ticket as a late birthday present. I got the most pushback from Mom, who didn’t like the idea of missing out on my company, but she’d been forced to find another job due to a layoff and I think she finally realized she’d have more time to settle into her new position without worrying about me.
I’d been smart to set up a PO box so Rafe’s letters got sent either to school or there, and Mom had no reason to think a boy was the reason I wanted to go back so badly. Eventually, both my parents agreed, and I found myself at JFK the very next week, headed back to Positano.
Rafe and I spoke on the phone and planned to meet later that evening. His voice sounded excited, but my stomach felt like a flock of birds taking flight. Would we feel the same about each other once we were together again? Had I built something up in my head from a perfect summer meant never to be repeated? I knew I took a risk going back when everything might change. My mind churned as I tried to keep up with my aunt’s chatter and excitement. I’d asked if she was still with Rafe’s dad, and she said he was a treasured friend she always looked forward to seeing.
Guess she wasn’t sure either.
I wondered if Rafe and I could have that type of relationship. Free to date and build relationships for those ten months, while coming back together for the summer. I think I’d seen a movie like that once—Same Time, Next Year—where the couple met for a weekend each year to be together, even though they were married to others. As romantic as the idea sounded, I didn’t like the image of Rafe kissing another girl while I wasn’t there. Maybe monogamy was too important, after all.
I fiddled with my outfit that night, settling on a casual white sundress and flat sandals. I rarely wore dresses, but tonight felt special. I left my hair loose and borrowed Aunt Silvia’s perfume, spritzing a cloud of it in the air and walking through like I’d seen my mom do.
I headed down the familiar trek of steps from the house toward the village and waited outside Santa Maria Assunta. The old church was a landmark, the gorgeous ceramic roof and dome towering above as a marker for me while I learned the ins and outs of the Positano streets. Last summer, we’d spent a quiet hour there. While Rafe prayed, I soaked in the spiritual silence and gorgeous white and gold décor. When we reemerged, I’d felt closer to him than ever before, as if within our silence we shared a deeper bond.
Would it be the same? Would I still experience that jolt when he touched me, the leap in my chest when his eyes met mine? Or was ten months apart too much for anyone to overcome?
And then I spotted him.
His legs ate up the sidewalk as he walked over, dressed in khaki pants, a black button-down shirt, and his good boat shoes. Chocolate curls spilled lower on his brow and over his ears—he’d let it grow longer. I gazed hungrily at his body, still lean and broad, taking long, graceful strides until he stopped a few inches before me. His dark eyes were intense, a bit shuttered, as if afraid to let me back in. My nostrils tingled at his familiar earthy scent. We stared at each other, both half smiling, obviously nervous, and I held my breath. My fingers curled into tight fists. Oh God, was he happy to see me? I couldn’t tell—his face seemed distant, as if he was about to tell me his feelings had changed. Maybe this was a mistake. I should have stayed home and not been so stupid to think—
He closed the distance and whispered, “I’ve missed you, dolcezza.”
He lowered his head and kissed me.
And just like that, I fell apart and fell for him all over again.
* * *
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