He glanced up and saw me, letting out a puff of air.
“This is Il Mare, right?”
I realized I hadn’t greeted him, just stood there staring at him in disbelief.
“Right, yeah. Are you Taylor?”
He grinned. “That’s me.”
“Taylor is here?!” Georgie called from the top floor. Her light footsteps hit the stairs and then she was there, gliding into the space like a breath of fresh air with Mopsie following after her. She was wearing a light blue dress that morning and it complimented her skin so well. She looked radiant.
“You must be Georgie,” Taylor said, stepping forward with an appreciative smile.
“I am! It’s so good to finally meet you. Did you get in all right? Here, let me get that duffel bag for you.”
He protested, insisting that he could carry it.
She laughed. “Right, well, let me get you checked in then.”
She moved around the front desk and started typing on the small laptop she must have purchased sometime in the last two weeks.
“You’re actually my first guest, so you’ll have to bear with me here.”
Taylor didn’t seem to mind. He moved right up to the other side of the counter and beamed down at her. “No problem. I’m more than happy to be your guinea pig.”
She glanced up at him through her lashes. “You’re from the States, right?”
She’d picked up on his accent.
He beamed. “Seattle.”
“Oh right! I remember you mentioning that in an email. I’ve always wanted to visit there.”
He never took his eyes off her as she worked through the list of things she needed to collect: a credit card to put on file, a copy of his passport…it seemed to drag on forever. I could have left, but I was rooted to the spot, watching their exchange. I tried to see him through her eyes, something I wasn’t very accustomed to. I supposed he was decent looking. He’d done his blond hair like I used to when I worked for the finance firm, all slicked back and unnatural. He had a crooked smile and expressive eyes. He seemed like the type of man girls usually fancied, but what did I know?
“Oh, here, let me find it,” he said, digging into his laptop bag for something she’d requested. He pulled out his wallet and a worn paperback, setting them both on the counter to continue digging.
“Is that Oliver Twist?”
“Yeah. Favorite of yours?”
She blushed. “Haven’t read it. It’s on my list.”
“I’ll loan it to you after I’m finished. Everyone should read it at least once.”
“I’d love to borrow it. It’s actually a mandatory part of British citizenship to read all of Dickens, and that’s why I’m here—I’ve been exiled,” she joked.
The American bloke was enamored by her, and why wouldn’t he be? Georgie was more than any man could hope for in life. To have her love and attention was like standing beneath the scorching sun on a summer day: suffocating and sustaining all at once.
He handed her a piece of paper and she started typing something into the computer.
Mopsie meowed by my feet and I glanced down to see the kitten pawing at my jeans.
“He really likes you,” Georgie said, eyeing me from beneath her lashes.
Taylor frowned. “Oh. Is it a resident?”
Georgie beamed, proud of the kitten we still hadn’t agreed she could keep.
“Yep. His name is Mopsie.”
His mouth twisted in a sort of frown. “I’m allergic to cats.”
Brilliant, I thought. It was decided: we’d keep the cat.
“Oh.” She frowned. “I should have anticipated that. We’ll keep him out of the common areas and all that. If you feel your allergies kicking in, we’ll move him to Gianluca’s villa for the duration of your stay.”
He seemed fine with that compromise and went on, saying he wasn’t really that allergic, though I’d caught a few sniffles. Good boy, Mopsie.
She continued checking him in. I had work to do, but instead I watched this odd exchange take place, trying to squash the burning feeling in my lungs.
“Well if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room!”
“Great. The place looks fantastic, by the way. Did you design it?” he asked, lifting his bags and flexing the bicep on her side. Bloody hell, what a wanker. I’d seen enough.
“Let’s go Mopsie.” I clicked my tongue and patted my thigh like I was dealing with a dog. Surprisingly, Mopsie listened, following after me as I took the stairs two at a time.
TAYLOR WAS A food critic for a prominent American magazine. He’d told me the name, but I’d promptly forgotten. He seemed eager to explore Vernazza and told me as I finished checking him in that his plan was to spend a few weeks in Vernazza and use it as a home base to explore the surrounding towns and villages.
He was working on a restaurant guide for the Italian Riviera, which sounded so posh and exciting. I told him about Massimo’s restaurant. He seemed keen on profiling something outside the square and a little off the beaten path.
“I’m always on the lookout for hidden gems. Should we go there for lunch?” he asked, his face lighting up with boyish charm.
“I’d love to! Let me go see if Gianluca could join us. He’s just up working on a few last minute repairs upstairs.”
“Oh? Gianluca?”
I nodded. “Yeah he is…well…” It took me a second to realize he wasn’t asking me to define my very confusing relationship; he just wanted a general idea of who Gianluca was in relation to the bed and breakfast. “He’s the man who was here when you walked in. He owns this place actually. I think you’ll really get on with him, and as a local he’ll be able to recommend loads more restaurants than I can.”