Chapter 32
This is the second morning in a row that I woke up to an empty room, but I’m able to brush it off a bit more easily this time because today feels a little like the first day of school.
It must be all the excitement and novelty of our inaugural tour.
It could also be Nico’s mom taking a commemorative photo of us outside of the B and B alongside the fleet of the shiny rented mopeds, his arm flung loose over my shoulder, our helmets dangling from our hands.
Nico had gotten me a thank-you gift wrapped in brown paper with a yellow ribbon around it.
He told me to open it afterward; it’s only something small.
I tuck it away safely in my backpack for later, but it takes every ounce of effort to not peel back a corner and peek.
I’m mostly curious—what kind of gift does a guy like Nico give? What kind of gift would Nico give me?
The truth is, today is a celebratory day, one you exchange gifts for. I haven’t told him yet, but I have one for him, too. And the way Nico is jittery with adrenaline and excitement only convinces me more that no one is dying for an adventure like he is, unwilling as he may be to admit it.
We’re ready. My backpack is bulging at the seams like an overprepared mom about to embark on a cross-country road trip.
We had even practiced a loose script, he and I, to talk about the landmarks and their history.
I have little to offer when it comes to historical facts and expertise, but comedy? I can bring that to the table.
It’s nearly time to leave, and the guests who signed up begin to trickle out of the B and B.
We’d generated more interest than expected with our strategically placed flyers—this tour is booked full, necessitating Nico to add a second that only has two spots left.
Everyone’s thrilled to have the chance to explore the peninsula from the convenience of a moped, circumventing traffic, being able to fly down narrow roads and pulling over at a whim.
All for the price of less than three hundred euro, a customer would get pastries, lunch, coffee, gelato, and the use of the moped for the entire tour.
It is a steal, if you ask me, and Nico’s still turning a pretty profit.
He’d been able to negotiate low rates for all the stops—an investment by the vendors as well, because it results in us literally delivering a dozen new customers to their door.
I am excited. It’s been rewarding, seeing this come to life, using my powers for good.
And it’s nice to have the reminder that I can still accomplish what I set out to tackle, and things do still go my way when I try.
Nico helps the tour group with their helmets, collects signed waivers, and goes over the safety protocol.
He gives the rundown in Italian, and then I do it again in English.
I’ll be riding out front with Nico, with the other mopeds following closely behind.
Everyone is loaded up and soon we’re off!
The moped lurches forward and I fling my arms around Nico, clutching him for stability, pressed together by the velocity.
Tendrils of my hair flutter back in the wind.
We hug the coastline. I glance behind me frequently, making sure we still have everyone.
One, two, three, four, five. With each curve, I lean closer, until my chest is glued to his back.
Nico takes one curve especially tight, and he puts a hand over mine to make sure I don’t fly off.
Or maybe just to reassure me that he’s got me, and it’s okay for me to get settled in.
We have over three hours of round-trip riding in our eight-hour day.
“You’re like Clooney!” I yell loud enough for him to hear.
He chuckles. “That makes you Amal.”
I laugh as my heart pings. Don’t read into it.
We’re going all the way south down to Ravello, with pit stops at a bakery in Positano, lunch in Praiano, and an early-afternoon coffee in Amalfi before finishing with gelato.
I let myself cling to him, let my fingers linger against the tautness of his stomach.
This won’t go anywhere. You’re being delusional again.
My chin is so close to his shoulder I could rest my head on it.
I close my eyes against his back, savoring the smell of Nico’s shampoo, cypress and vanilla, knowing it can’t last.
After a little more than thirty minutes, we cruise to a stop at our first destination: Positano.
Arguably the most famous of the towns along the Amalfi Coast, Positano delivers on its promise of beauty and culinary delight.
Like the other towns, homes are squeezed into the cliffsides, but where Sorrento is a little wild, everything here is immaculate.
Landscaping and florals are so pruned and pristine it’s like they were ripped out of a fancy homes magazine.
We park and secure our mopeds, leading the group down a winding cobblestone pathway until we reach the bakery, pasticceria La Zagara, right on time.
We’re escorted inside, past a glass display case overflowing with pastries.
They’ve reserved a section for our group on their picturesque patio.
There are twelve seats and place settings dotted on a long rectangular table beneath a pergola crawling with leafy vines.
In front of each chair is a plate with their famous lemon confection: the delizia al limone, a world-renowned dome of pillowy lemony perfection, consisting of a small mound of sponge cake filled with lemon custard, covered in lemon cream icing, all drizzled in limoncello syrup.
It’s everything I imagined a dessert on the Amalfi Coast to be.
Each bite is better than the next—creamy, light, tart but sweet. Perfect.
But as I watch the tour group chatter excitedly, I can’t help but think Mari and Anya would love this, exploring, helping Nico build this venture, this mouthwatering dessert.
All of it. I wonder where they are, what they’re doing, if they’re having as much fun as we are, even if my joy is imperfect. But I can’t stay sad for long, because—
“Take it easy Michael! We still have four more stops!” I cackle. One of our tour participants is using his spoon to scrape up leftovers from other plates.
Busted, Michael breaks out into a sheepish grin. “It’s too good to let it go to waste.”
I really can’t argue with him there.
People laugh and I steal a glance at Nico. This could not be going any better. People are having fun. They fawn over the pastries and line up at the counter to take a couple back with them.
A part of the tour we had both been committed to was making sure that everyone had some free time to explore.
So to stay on schedule, we instructed everyone to meet us back at the mopeds in forty-five minutes—long enough to take a leisurely stroll through the streets, snap a photo in the main square, pick up a souvenir or two.
But, as it always does when you’re living your best life, the time goes by fast and soon everyone had congregated back by the mopeds.
“All right, everyone. We are about to head out!” I gather the tour group together and, after a quick head count, we’re off again. “Hold on to your hats!”
This time, we have a short ride to Praiano, where we will stop at a café to get lunch. I’m looking forward to the chance for more closeness with Nico. I climb on the scooter after him and whisper, “How do you think it’s going?”
“Couldn’t be better. Thank you, Sora. For pushing me to do this.” And then his hand squeezes my bare knee. And when his hand is gone, the only thing I can think is how badly I wish he’d put it right back where it was.
“I only gave you the little nudge you needed.” I wrap my arms around him until my chin is resting on his shoulder, because it feels good, seeing that something I did could bring joy to a friend.
Is that what we are—friends? But before I can decide, Nico hits the gas and we are off, cruising along the coastline once again.
The water twinkles under the sun and I have one of those moments where you realize how fleeting perfection is.
I’m never going to be here again, at eighteen, on the Italian coast, behind a hot guy on his moped.
If Mari were here, she’d insist on taking a Polaroid so we could keep the image forever, but instead, I have to tuck the memory away as something that will fade someday.
I swallow back the bitter taste in my mouth.
She’d been right. I wish I could tell her that.
For a split second, I can almost imagine snapping a selfie as Anya rides behind us, Mari latched to her back.
The twenty-minute drive goes fast, and soon we pull to a stop outside the café—one of Nico’s favorites—where he will lead everyone inside to place their orders at the counter.
We’ll then have a walking lunch, eating sandwiches and slices of pizza while working our way through the village, where there are a couple of incredible boutiques we have picked out for souvenirs.
“You okay?” Nico asks as I secure the mopeds.
“Yep. I’ll be right behind you.” I’m smiling as I make sure the mopeds are properly locked. It’s been a really good day, the first time I’ve felt like this is truly a vacation. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and things are finally looking up.
I should have known this was too good to be true.
“Sora?” A familiar voice calls my name.