Chapter 11 #2
They stank to high heaven of coconut sunscreen and cheap spritzes, aggressively checking Google Maps on their phones.
An old local man in a faded flat cap, wedged into the corner, seemed unbothered by the noise, reading a folded copy of Gazzetta dello Sport.
Meanwhile, a stylish young influencer type was precariously balancing a massive straw beach tote and a designer camera bag, trying, and failing, not to stumble into a group of vocal French backpackers who appeared done with the heat.
Every time the bus hit a switchback turn up the cliffside, we all shifted like sardines in oil.
Eliciting a symphony of curses, apologetic grunts, laughter, and frantic overhead-handrail grabbing.
The tiny engine roared as the vehicle tackled the terrifying turns winding up toward Anacapri.
We finally escaped the humid metal can at the summit.
The island was divided into three main sectors: Capri town, with the major port; Anacapri, high on the hill; and the rugged countryside.
Capri and Anacapri maintained a centuries-old rivalry over who was the definitive destination.
Separated from Capri by a treacherous twisting road, Anacapri covered the entire western half of the island, once populated by rugged mountaineers and farmers.
It was a different universe compared to the frenzied crowds pouring off the mainland hydrofoils.
Down below, tourists endured overwhelming lines for the funiculars, buying generic clothes printed with blue majolica designs while selfie sticks threatened to knock lemons out of the orchard trees.
Roxy pulled a dog-eared guidebook from her bag as we walked, her dulcet cadence cutting through my brooding thoughts.
‘Perched high over the sea, the town’s name originated from the Greek word anás, meaning above.’
‘Is that right?’ I muttered, still recovering from the trauma of the over-packed bus.
‘Listen to this,’ she continued, her eyes scanning the text. ‘They have annual religious festivals like Sant’Antonio’s procession and the Settembrata. Where the locals decorate the pavements with carpets woven from broom blossoms and flower petals.’
Still pissed off by the entire trip, I gritted my teeth.
Yet somehow as she went on, the melodic rhythm of Roxy’s voice began to soothe and relax me.
‘They even have olive groves that double as open-air modern art museums,’ she added. ‘And an eighteenth-century church with a world-famous mosaic floor.’
The town was remarkably laid back, spread out over a half-dozen narrow streets of local craft shops and promenade cafes packed with patrons.
Roxy stopped at a sidewalk display, admiring a trio of hand-painted ceramic salt, oil-and-vinegar canisters.
‘Angel, the price tag says twenty euros.’
I followed her as she approached the counter.
‘Ask if that’s for the set.’
‘Is the twenty euros for all of them, or for the individual pieces?’ Roxy asked the pretty clerk.
‘It’s for each of the three pieces, signora,’ the attendant replied with a warm smile. ‘A total of sixty-five euros.’
I leaned into Roxy and muttered.
‘I’m not cheap, Rox; I can get them for you at the asking price -.’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’ she murmured, arching an eyebrow at me, her lips twitching.
She smiled and placed my hand over hers, shaking my head.
I turned to the vendor and, switching to Italian, bargained for her.
‘Three for thirty,’ I growled.
We went back and forth until I got them all for 40 euros.
With a smirk, I peeled a few notes from my wallet and handed them to the seller.
Roxy clapped her palms together in glee, then, to my surprise, threw her arms around my neck and pressed her lips to my cheek.
She swiveled back to the clerk and counted out her change as I studied her, once again questioning the lurch in my heart when she hugged me.
The gut kicks weren’t new.
I’d experienced them a few times now, and I was freakin’ baffled by them when I was meant to be mourning my ex.
Damn.
I brooded over it, seeking the cause for what my twisted heart told me was cheating on Evangeline.
Still, the jolts continued every time Roxy and I brushed arms.
From when I helped her across the road to when the crowds forced me to place her in front of me for her safety.
Throughout, she shot me soft smiles, her eyes keen but her manner always so kind and sweet, as always.
I hardened my mask even more, trying to ward off her allure.
However, as the day wore on, I gave in and offered her a few quirks of my mouth, unable to help myself.
The Capresi merchants proved pleasant and devoid of aggressive sales tactics.
Still, the central square remained crowded.
The Piazzetta swarmed with bodies, strolling and dining on outdoor terraces.
We navigated the human maze until we got to the Anacapri Municipal Market.
The small local hub overflowed with vibrant fruits, leafy vegetables, and rounds of regional goat cheese.
We made our grocery selections, filling our totes with lamb, fresh tomatoes, garlic, and cured meats.
As we finished, I reached for Roxy’s elbow and steered her straight toward the line of taxis.
‘We’re taking a cab back,’ I insisted in a growl. ‘I’m not doing that hellish bus ever again.’
Her laughter rang out, and despite myself, I locked eyes with her and chuckled, my mood lighter than I expected.