I fiddle with my wineglass, swallowing the remainder.
“Are you a dessert person?” Adam asks me.
I have a sweet tooth; I always have. I get it from my father. My mother never cared for sugar, and neither does Eric. “Give me a bag of pretzels over a bar of chocolate any day,” my mother used to say.
“Yes,” I say. “Definitely.”
“They have this berry torte that’s seasonal. I’m not sure it’s on the menu this year, but I think we can get Carlo to deliver us one.”
Sure enough, the berry torte idea is welcomed with enthusiasm, and then minutes later a delicate berry and cream concoction is delivered to our table.
“Ladies first,” Adam says, sliding it over to me.
I take a spoonful. It’s predictably divine.
“Ohmygod.”
He takes a bite, too. “I know.”
“I think this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I’m not kidding.”
Adam sits back and looks at me. Really looks at me. I feel his gaze on me like it’s a hand.
“You haven’t told me if there is anyone at home,” he says. He picks up an espresso cup that Carlo brought out with the dessert.
I swallow and down some water. I nod.
Adam raises his eyebrows. “So that’s a yes.”
“Yes, it’s a yes.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“What does that mean?”
He stares at me. His gaze seems to soften, lift. Like before where his palm was, now it’s just his fingertips. “You seem like the kind of woman who likes to belong to someone.”
I feel his words physically. They strike me right in the sternum.
“I was supposed to be on this trip with my mother,” I tell him. “She always loved Positano. She was here…” My voice trails off as I think about Carol, just today, seawater spraying off her on the boat, her mouth half-open, her eyes closed.
“What happened?” Adam says gently.
“She died,” I say. “And then everything that I knew went with her. My marriage…” Adam reacts but doesn’t say anything. “I don’t really know who I am anymore.”
“And you came here to find out?”
I nod. “Maybe.”
Adam considers this. “What’s he like?”
“Who?”
“Your husband.”
“Oh,” I say. “We’ve been together since college. He’s, I don’t know, he’s Eric.”
Adam inhales. “You know what I think your problem is?”
I clear my throat. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or pissed off. “Seriously?”
He looks at me like Come on.
“Fair, fine. What’s my problem?”
“You don’t feel like you have any agency over your life.”
“You’ve known me for two hours.”
“We had breakfast, lest you forget. And you were late to dinner. Let’s call it thirteen.”
I wave him on.
“You act like you don’t know how you got here, like you just woke up and looked around and thought, Huh—but I have news for you. Even inaction is a choice.”
I just sit there, staring at him. It’s a strange thing, to have a stranger tell you off and then be right.
“Is that all?”
“Yeah, you’re cute, too.”
I feel that blush again. My toes tingle. “That’s a problem?”
He leans forward. So close I can smell the sweet berries and espresso on his breath. “For me? Definitely.”
Chapter Eleven
I wake up early again. The sun is just barely cresting the horizon; it’s not even 6 a.m. I take some tea out onto the patio, overlooking the sea, the whole town bathed in that same hazy blue light.
I parted ways with Adam at the elevator last night. He’s on floor two—a suite, he said, with a great view. I laughed. Everywhere has a great view in this place.
Right now, this morning, all I can think about is her. I’m anxious to see her tonight, anxious to know if she’ll show up, anxious to discover whether yesterday was all a lucid dream, just a little too real around the edges. I feel the caffeine hit my system, but instead of making me jittery, it seems to make me more alert, like I’ve just put on glasses. And I know, in the way only certainty can present, that it really was her, that she’s here. That somehow I have stumbled into some kind of magic reality where we get to be together. That time here does not only move slower but in fact doubles back on itself.