Letting my eyes fall closed, I breathed in the fresh scent of the September air, the grass and dew, and urged myself to appreciate this week of total freedom. I would not let myself worry about Dad back home. Dottie had everything under control. I needed to remember what she had said—that I deserved a week off.
The bells in town stopped ringing, and then all I could hear was the calming whisper of a breeze through the olive grove. Eyes still closed, I inhaled another deep, cleansing breath, then finally forced myself to step away from the window and head for the shower.
A short while later, I made my way downstairs to the dining room, where a buffet breakfast was laid out with pastries, yogurt, cereal, eggs, and a platter of sliced meats and cheeses. A long table, large enough to seat thirty people for a formal dinner, was dressed up with a white tablecloth and bouquets of fresh flowers. As soon as I reached the sideboard to pick up a plate, a young woman from the kitchen approached me. “Caffè? ”
“Sì, grazie ,” I said. “I’ll have an Americano, if you have it?”
She smiled and nodded and returned to the kitchen. I then filled my plate and sat down across from a young couple.
“Good morning,” I said as the server returned with my coffee and set it down in front of me.
“Good morning,” the young woman replied. From the sound of her accent, I speculated she was from the southern US. “Have you tried the cappuccino yet?” she asked. “It’s delicious.”
“Not yet. I’ll give it a try tomorrow.”
We made small talk, and I learned they were on their honeymoon. They’d started in Rome, and now they were on their way to Venice to board a private schooner and sail around the Mediterranean.
After they left, an older couple—also American—walked in and ordered cappuccinos before filling their plates with eggs, toast, and sliced meats. I chatted with them as well. They were recently retired and making the rounds in Tuscany, touring a different winery every afternoon, but this was their home base for the full two weeks.
“We love Montepulciano,” they explained. “And the wine here . . .” The man kissed his fingertips with a flourish. “Simply the best.”
“I’m not much of a wine connoisseur,” I quietly admitted, keeping my head down as I stirred my yogurt. “I always go for the same label at home—a California merlot that hits all the right notes when it comes to the price tag.”
They laughed and nodded with understanding. “You’ll enjoy trying these old-world wines. There’s a very different flavor here.”
“In more ways than one,” his wife said with a smile as she gazed across at her husband. “There’s just something about Europe.”
They seemed very happy. “How long have you two been married?” I asked.
“Going on forty years,” the man replied.
“You’re lucky you found each other.” I sipped my coffee and set it down, cupping it in my palms. “This is just what the doctor ordered. I’m still a bit jet lagged.”
“That will pass,” the woman said. After a pause, she asked, “Are you traveling alone?”
“Yes, though I’m not really ‘traveling,’ so to speak. I’m here for a funeral.”
“Oh, that’s a shame. We saw everyone heading to the church yesterday. Our condolences.”
“Thank you.” I finished my yogurt and changed the subject before they had a chance to ask about my relationship to the family. “I might try to walk around Florence for a few hours before I head back,” I said. “Have you been there?”
“Yes, and do try,” the woman said. “Pitti Palace is worth a visit. The gardens are impressive. And walk across the Ponte Vecchio. It’s an old medieval bridge with shops. Mesmerizing at sunset. Of course, go and see David . You can’t visit Florence without feasting your eyes on that .”
I laughed. “I’ll make sure to get there.”
After breakfast, I returned to my room to brush my teeth, then ventured downstairs to the reception desk to ask the clerk how to get to the villa. It turned out to be Anna, the same young woman who had checked me in the night before.
Anna pulled a colorful map out from behind the counter and used a red Sharpie to circle a building, dead center. “We’re here at the inn. Go out the front door to the parking lot, turn right, and walk up the gravel road between this building and the new winery facilities. When you get to the top, turn right at the chapel and follow Cypress Row up the hill, past the cemetery to the big iron gate. Here’s a fob to open it, and you might as well hold on to this while you’re here so that you can come and go as you please. It’s about a two-minute walk from the gate. The family’s up there now, so the front door should be open. If it’s locked, just ring the bell. Maria will answer. She’ll take good care of you.”