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What was supposedto be a three-hour long ride turns out to be more than five.
But it’s hard to hate how long the drive is when the view is beautiful. The sapphire Mediterranean Sea gleams below us as the wide highway slowly gives way to narrow single lane roads. Mountains rise up—seemingly right up to the sea—and I can’t help but marvel at the brilliant white houses clustered above on the cliffside, decorated in dazzling red barrel clay tiles of varying hues.
The taxi pulls in front of a cobblestone plaza and I recognize the large fountain carved into a fifteen-foot-high wall of the Amalfi Central Hotel. Pavers are green with damp moss. Angelic faces—worn away by weather—jut from the fountain. Water bubbles from their cracked lips, the soothing sound relaxes me.
“Here we are,” the driver says as he passes a credit card reader over to me.
What little sense of relaxation instantly turns into panic when I spot the bill.
ThreehundredEuros!
What the actual fuck!
But there’s nothing I can do now except insert my card into the reader, and agree to pay him for this highway robbery of a ride. At least he’s still willing to help me with my bags when I exit the car. With another toothy grin, he gives me a wave, steps back into the driver’s seat, and peels away.
I swear I can hear him laughing as he disappears out of sight.
The Amalfi Central Hotel is a medium-sized building with a skinny balcony surrounding the second level. Yellow paint coats its outer walls, making it stand out from the otherwise white buildings of the town.
It looks like a lemon, and since the air is heavy with the scent of the fruit, it’s all I can picture it as.
Nadia loves the smell of lemons, so this hotel was a no-brainer.
It takes about ten minutes to check in, haul my suitcase up the narrow steps to the suite, and reach the maroon door with a golden8on it. By the time I open the door, my shirt—already damp from the Italian heat—is drenched in sweat and sticking to my chest and stomach.
I need to change into something clean,I think as I push my way inside.
But as eager as I am to put on something dry and non-sweaty, I take a moment to appreciate the room.
There are two large beds with tall wooden posts that rise to the ceiling. Mint-green wallpaper with a white diamond pattern extends over every surface, including the floors where thelavender rug doesn’t hide it. I peek into the bathroom; the sink is shaped like a seashell, and the soap smells like the lemons on the trees outside.
I did my best to find a place where there are reminders of the beach all around us.
But the best part is the balcony. I spent hours on the phone, squeezing out every little detail Nadia wanted. Somehow, in every phone call, she’d tell me that she wanted to sit on a balcony on the Amalfi Coast with a glass of wine in hand, the salty sea breeze in her hair, digging into a plate of freshly made tiramisu in front of her.
I push the glass door aside, letting the warm air into the room. It’s still hot in the bright sun, but the salty sea breeze wafting off the waves directly into my face offers just a tantalizing hint of relief.
I hurry over to my bag. There’s still one more thing to do before Nadia arrives: set up the balloons. The special-ordered lavender, glitter-filled balloons arrived just in time before I left for the airport.
Popping my bag open, I reach inside, moving clothes around to find the balloons.
Wait, hold on.
Since when did I pack a black and silver button-down? Or a cobalt blue tie? Or a pair of Prada lace-up black shoes in a men’s size twelve?
“What the hell?” I whisper.
There’s a sharp knock on the door.Oh shit, is Nadia here already?I thought I had more time!
Still casting confused looks at my bag, I open the door and my eyes bulge even wider when I spot the last person I expected to run into in the world.
Familiar mahogany hair, ice-blue eyes, gray slacks and sienna dress shirt, and a tiny mole just beneath his right eye that shifts up when he smiles.
It’s him!
The handsome stranger that I ran into at the airport five hours ago.
Before I can say something, he holds up a black bag.
