Chapter One #4
And what a journey it had been, with each of her footsteps — some heavy with heartbreak and others light with joy — giving her an opportunity to carve her own unique path.
With the warm embrace of the Mediterranean sun on her skin and the taste of salt on her lips, her spirit soared higher, untethered and free, ready to embrace whatever serendipitous tides were to come.
Although she’d become a little more sceptical as the years passed, she still clung to her dream of great love, one as enduring and steadfast as the Amalfi cliffs.
‘Mi amore,’ she mused, rolling the word around her tongue like a cherished delicacy, ‘where might you be hiding, huh?’
There was no hint of impatience in her voice, only a playful curiosity about the grand design of the universe that she hoped, with every fibre of her being, was working in her favour.
She prayed there was a tapestry being woven from the threads of her life, guiding her to a man who would provide a bond so profound it could transcend time itself.
Maybe it would be Jay.
And maybe it wouldn’t.
But at the very least, she had to believe soul-deep love would happen.
As she continued her leisurely stroll, the cobblestones beneath her feet seemed to whisper secrets of age-old romances.
Each of her steps felt like a dance, as if she were waltzing through history and writing her own story into its books.
She briefly imagined herself a vessel, sails unfurled to catch the winds of fate, heart open like the vast horizon before her.
And with her dreams cradled gently in her chest, and the warm Italian sunshine kissing her freckle-dusted cheeks, imbuing her with a glow and an unwavering trust in tomorrow, she knew that somewhere amid the turning of the earth, and the ebb and flow of the tides, magic awaited her.
And she, a young woman with an open heart and lots of love to give, with eyes ablaze and soul alight, was more than ready to meet it.
That night, with Suzanne still tucked up in her bed, sound asleep, Zara decided to leave her best friend to rest and instead take herself out on a date.
She’d take Suz back some pasta and vino to have in her room.
Sliding gracefully into the corner table at the quaint trattoria just downstairs from her hotel, she smoothed a hand over the red-and-white checked tablecloth.
As she settled in her seat, a buoyant man with a salt-and-pepper moustache greeted her like an old friend with a warm Buona sera before he went on to explain that a waiter would be with her soon, to bring her wine and take her food order.
His voice, rich as aged balsamic and infused with memories of home-cooked meals, instantly put her at ease.
She glanced over the extensive menu — antipasto, primi, secondo, contorno, insalata, dolce — as the tantalising aroma of garlic and fresh basil drifted from the kitchen, and with each inhalation of it, her heart swelled with gratitude for this moment.
Italians knew how to do so many things well and dining out was definitely one of them.
She might have been eating alone but she certainly wasn’t lonely.
Surrounded by the lively hum of conversation and clinking glasses, how could she be?
She unfolded her crisp white napkin onto her lap, then her gaze wandered to where the setting sun painted the sky with vibrant strokes of tangerine and lilac, as if Amalfi itself was raising a glass to toast her health and happiness.
As promised, a spritely waiter approached her table, his smile genuine as he poured her a complimentary glass of red while he recited the specials.
But she longed for none of them. The pappardelle al limone was already dancing on her palate like the first summer rain on parched earth — invigorating, refreshingly alive.
Listening attentively, then memorising her gastronomic wishes, the waiter scooted off to fulfil them.
With a satisfied sigh, she rested back and raised the glass of ruby-red chianti to her lips, silently toasting to the unexpected encounter with a very charming man, and to the hidden alleyways of her heart that longed to be explored.
As she savoured each sip, she couldn’t help but think of the enigmatic stranger from the ceramics shop whose easy charm had sparked something dormant within her.
How foolish she’d been not to slip him her home phone number.
But then again, why hadn’t he taken the lead and given her his?
Maybe he already had a love interest, or maybe he was married with kids.
And in that case, she wouldn’t be interested. At all.
Sometime later, after indulging in a delicious bowl of lemony pasta followed by an equally tasty, and very strong, tiramisu, she prepared for bed in the cosy room above the trattoria.
As she slipped beneath the cool sheets, her weary body sank into the soft embrace of the plush mattress.
From outside, she could hear the soothing rhythm of waves murmuring secrets to the shore in a lullaby that beckoned her towards dreams teeming with possibility.
And as she teetered on the edge of reality, her thoughts drifted to Jay Maverick once more.
His handsome features were etched behind her closed eyelids like a beacon in the nebulous realm between wakefulness and sleep, and with a wistful sigh, she imagined what might have been and what still could be, if fate allowed it.
There was something magnetic about him that felt oddly familiar, as if they’d already shared a previous lifetime.
As if they were destined to be together for another.
What a beautiful thought. And with that heart-tingling acknowledgement tucked deep within her soul, a seed of longing took root, watered by hope for a love that could withstand the test of time.
‘Perhaps, one day,’ she whispered into the darkness, ‘our paths will cross again. But until then …’ With that tender bit of hope held closely to her heart, she let go of the real world and drifted into sleep, her spirit soaring towards tomorrow with enthusiasm and fearlessness.