A Place in the Sun

by R.S. Grey

  Things might have been simpler if I knew how to get it all back, how to free my heart from its prison, but I didn’t have the key and I didn’t know the sentence. The more I tried to make sense of my feelings for Georgie, the more confused I became. I needed a bit more time with her. We’d only known each other for a few months, hardly any time at all.

  Just a short time before, I’d never wanted a Georgie in my life. I’d been perfectly content living out my days on my own. I had the villa and my repair work. I loved to fish and tend to the garden around my home.

  I had no need for love in my life. I’d experienced an abundance of it already, more than most people can hope to have in their entire lives. I’d counted myself lucky and I’d pushed the idea of finding someone else so far into the back of my mind that Georgie had taken me by utter surprise.

  Forgetting Georgie was clearly the easiest way forward. It was a well-worn path, flat and featureless, and I knew it by heart after five years of traversing it. I wouldn’t need to climb, wouldn’t need to fall.

  But it was too late; I already loved Georgie. So, I found a solid foothold, and I climbed.

  …

  I knew Georgie well enough to see that things had changed since our discussion the night before. Mopsie aside, she wanted to try to put the cat back into the bag, and I was too selfish to tell her it wouldn’t work. I wanted things to go back to the way they had been as badly as she did. No pressure, no future, no ultimatums, just an easy sort of life together. There was something off about her though, like I was watching a flickering projection of the way things had been before. She still smiled and laughed. She kissed me when I bent low to greet her hello in the morning, but her smile stopped at her cheeks and her eyes betrayed her unease. She’d pulled away and I was too scared to bring up the reasons why.

  Fortunately, our first guest’s impending arrival meant Georgie was flitting around making sure everything was set. For the time being, a discussion about our relationship (or lack thereof) would have to wait.

  “Georgie, it looks great. You can relax,” I assured her.

  She glanced over at me, as if only then realizing I was there.

  “I just want to check one last time!”

  She didn’t need to worry; the place was spotless. From the entryway to the bathrooms, every square inch of Il Mare had been fixed up and redesigned as a contemporary, clean space. She’d brought in new furniture for the downstairs common room and even purchased a massive oak table from a carpenter in Monterosso. With it on one side of the room and a couch and coffee table positioned on the other, she’d transformed the space so that it was functional and open. I was impressed.

  There was still work to be done, of course. I was outfitting a balcony on the top floor and touching up a few spots in the bedrooms on the second floor, but I promised Georgie I’d only work when our guest had gone exploring for the day. I could have rushed and finished up the work quickly, in a week or two, but I wanted to stretch it out as long as possible. If nothing else, it meant I had an excuse to spend my days as close to Georgie as possible.

  I adjusted my tool belt and was about to take the stairs up to the second floor to start working when the front door opened. It was our first guest, arriving a few minutes earlier than expected. I spun to greet her and then stopped short when my gaze caught on a man strolling through the doorway and lugging a heavy suitcase behind him. Georgie had said the first guest was a woman, hadn’t she? This was some posh bloke wearing trousers and a button-down with brown leather loafers. He had a well-made laptop bag hanging off one shoulder and a duffel bag clutched in one hand. With that amount of luggage, it looked like he was planning on staying on a while.

  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. Bloo
dy 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.”

  He nodded eagerly. “Sounds great.”

  It was settled after that. I showed Taylor up to his room to let him get unpacked a bit and then I agreed to meet him downstairs in half an hour for lunch.

  Gianluca was in the second-floor bedroom and just before I reached up to knock on the door, I heard him on the phone with someone.

  “We don’t need to make a big show of it. I’d rather just go to dinner.”

  The person on the other end seemed to disagree.

  Gianluca sighed. “Listen, if you’re set on celebrating my birthday, we’ll go out for drinks or something. Nothing major, right?”

  Birthday?

  He hadn’t said anything to me about it.

  He offered a quick goodbye to the person on the other end of the line, who I now suspected was Massimo, and then I knocked gently.

  “Come in.”

  “Hey.” I poked my head past the door and saw him hunched over a can of paint, mixing it as Mopsie played beside him, clawing at a wooden stirrer of his own. “Taylor wanted to go grab some lunch so I was going to take him up to Massimo’s restaurant. Could you manage to take a short break and come with us? He’s a food critic and I told him you’d know of all the good places to eat in Cinque Terre.”

  He frowned and glanced down to Mopsie and then to the open can of paint. “I ought to stay here for now. I just started and this paint will dry out if I leave it like this.”

  I almost asked about just putting the lid back on it, but I knew better. The paint was just an excuse.

  “Oh. Okay. Right. I’ll tell Taylor we’ll go another time then.”

  I made to back out of the room and he shook his head. “It’s okay if you go on with him by yourself, if you want to.”

  The fact that we were still on unclear terms made such a simple proposition seem wildly fraught with complications. We’d only made up the night before and I quite liked the peace between us, even if it was a bit fake.

  “Yeah, right. Still…” I didn’t finish the second part of my sentence: I’d rather not go without you.

  …

  I did end up going to Massimo’s restaurant that day, but it was by myself and for an entirely different reason: to plan a birthday surprise for Gianluca. It was his thirtieth, after all; drinks and a quick dinner wouldn’t do. He deserved a proper celebration and Massimo was fully on board with my plan. He promised to phone everyone and arrange the details. All I had to worry about was getting Gianluca to the train station on time.

  Easier said than done.

  The morning of his birthday surprise, I woke up feeling like I needed another ten hours of sleep. I could barely pry my eyes open and when I did, I spotted Gianluca across the room, pulling on jeans and buttoning them at his waist. What a beautiful, beautiful sight. His tan skin was on full display, and his hair was all mussed up from my hands the night before. Still, the sight couldn’t rouse me from bed. I felt like a ton of bricks were weighing me down. I’d stayed up the night before tossing and turning, worrying over every little detail of his birthday. I wanted it to be special for Gianluca, but now I found myself wishing I’d managed a minute or two of actual rest. I needed it for the day ahead.

  “I’ve seen you staring at me. You can’t go back to sleep now.”

  I’d managed to pull the sheets back overhead, burrowing myself under the covers. I felt kitten paws on my stomach and glanced down right as Mopsie circled round and curled into a ball.

  “Mopsie and I have reached a majority decision that we deserve a bit of a snooze.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Mmhmm. Also, Mopsie has requested a hot cup of tea with two sugars.”

  Gianluca laughed and finally managed to pry the blanket from my hands, tugging it down to expose my naked torso. I always started the night with a full pajama set, but Gianluca somehow managed to strip me as soon as I hit the bed. Very inconvenient, really, as it got quite cold at night.

  “Rise and shine, both of you.”

  I grinned. “I know what today is.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s your birthday,” I said with a wide conspiratorial grin. “I heard you chatting about it on the phone a few days ago and I have an entire day planned for us.”

  His brows arched in surprise. “Have you?”

  I grinned and sat up, reaching to the side table to pull out a little paper birthday crown I’d made for Mopsie the day before. I had one for me as well. We put them on (Mopsie chewed on his) and then I sang Gianluca “Happy Birthday” so loudly and off-key that a shout came from the square in Italian.

  “What’d they say?” I laughed.

  “That your singing is beautiful and they’d like you to continue all morning.”

  “Well sorry for them because we’ve got to be at the train station in”—I glanced at the clock beside my bed—“ten minutes!”

  “What? Are you mad? I haven’t even had breakfast.”

  “It’s all been taken care of, birthday boy. Now get on and get dressed in something more outdoorsy. No jeans!”

  A few minutes later, we were on our way. I still felt a bit off, tired and achy, but my head felt fine. I knew some caffeine would help, and fortunately, Massimo was standing on the platform with two cups of espresso for Gianluca and me. Surrounding him was our small group of friends. We’d invited Paolo and Matteo, Sofia, Massimo, Kat, and even Taylor. I hadn’t expected him to show up, passing along an invitation as an afterthought, but he reached out and gave Gianluca a big pat on the back as we arrived, excited to be included in our activities for the day. I felt glad I’d invited him. I knew firsthand how lonely you can get traveling by yourself.

  “You’ve done all this?” Gianluca asked once he’d gone around and greeted everyone in the group.

  I smiled. “Massimo helped as well.”

  “Where are we going?”

  I’d planned a hike between two of the seaside villages in Cinque Terre: Riomaggiore to Manarola. There was a popular trail between them called The Way of Love that wound right along the coast. It had amazing views and wouldn’t be too much of a trek. We’d stop for lunch in Manarola and then spend the afternoon wine tasting.

  Unfortunately, I was shite at planning and hadn’t thought to confirm that the trail was indeed open. Apparently during the massive storm a few weeks earlier, a good bit of the trail had become impassable. They’d closed the whole thing for repairs and the group of us were left at the entrance, facing the DO NOT ENTER sign and then turning to one another with awkward smiles.

  “It’s no problem. Let’s take the t
rail through the national park,” Massimo said, pointing back toward the train station. “It’ll still take us to Manarola and it leads right through the mountains. It’s a bit harder and most people prefer the easy stroll along the lover’s trail, but we’re all young and fit. It should be fine. Plus, the views are second to none.”

  I looked to Gianluca; after all, it was his day. He nodded and smiled. “I haven’t done that trail before. It’ll be fun.”

  Oh how very, very wrong he was.

  We started out on a lovely path, winding along old houses and blooming hydrangeas. We even stopped for a group photo or two with the sea at our back, but while the Via dell’Amore forked off and remained relatively flat, this trail was laid directly up the steepest part of the mountain. A quarter of the way up, I genuinely wondered whether scientists had missed this peak when deciding that Mt. Everest was the world’s tallest.

  And then we hit the first set of stairs.

  Yes, stairs. On a hike.

  They’d been carved from the mountain and they stretched up as far as the eye could see, like some kind of sick analog StairMaster.

  “It won’t be bad,” Gianluca promised, coming up behind me and pressing his hand to the small of my back. It was meant to be encouraging, his hand there, but in the end it was more of a nudge than anything else. I should have bowed out from the start. I’d worn Converse instead of proper tennies. I’d assumed we’d just be walking, y’know, on a flat surface, but by the time we’d made it up a hundred or so stairs, the backs of my heels were already rubbed raw.

  Lovely.

  Paolo and Matteo lead the group at the front, taking the stairs two or three at a time like they were part mountain goat. I had a feeling they were trying to impress Sofia, who was right behind them with Massimo and Kat. Gianluca, Taylor, and I made up the rear, and the longer we hiked, the more distance fell between the three groups. I couldn’t even see Paolo and Matteo anymore. Taylor and Gianluca were doing their best to hang back and wait for me, but I felt embarrassed and told them to go on.

  They swore they didn’t mind hanging back with me as I rested, but I knew they were both wishing they didn’t have me as a dead weight. I’d always assumed I was pretty fit. I’d swum a ton since arriving in Vernazza and walked everywhere, but I’d yet to train my body for this.