Page 27 of My Italian Roommate

MALLORY

It’s the third day of our trip to Italy. Mario suggests that we tour the village and have lunch on the beach. We’ve spent most of our time here with his family. I adore them all but it will be nice to spend a day alone with Mario.

“Do we need to borrow a car or call a taxi?” I ask, unsure of where we’re going or how we get here.

“No, we’re going to take those,” he says, pointing to a pair of bicycles standing beside the gate.

“Bikes? A race car driver on a bicycle?” I tease him.

“What? You don’t think race car drivers ride bicycles? Just try to keep up, little girl.” He races me to the gate and hops on the teal-colored bike, leaving the yellow one for me.

We ride down the winding road for about two miles before the village comes into view. Here the street is lined with boutiques, shops, and cafes. Its beautiful, rustic charm is a lot to take in.

“This place attracts a lot of attention in the summertime. A few weeks from now, the village will be filled with tourists from all over.”

“Is that why the children are taught to speak English so well?”

“That’s exactly why.”

We browse the shops and Mario stops to buy me a bouquet of flowers and a loaf of freshly baked bread. As we continue on our tour, he takes me into a boutique and buys me a wide-brimmed hat. He places it on my head and says, “Now you look like a real Italian girl.” I turn to the side, place my hand on my sunglasses, and strike a pose. Mario lifts me off the floor and spins me in a circle. I laugh and think to myself that this might just be the best day of my life.

Our next stop is a small café where Mario orders a tray of meats, fruit, and cheeses to go. He selects a bottle of wine from the chiller and adds it to the order as well.

“We’ll need to go back for the bikes and ride to the beach,” he tells me.

“Good thing they have baskets,” I tease.

We ride our bikes to the stony pebble beach and park them at the bike rack. He collects our bread, wine, and food tray and leads me out onto the sand.

“There’s a picnic pavilion a little way ahead,” he explains.

The beach is almost deserted. There’s an older gentleman on the shore with a fishing pole and a pair of younger boys pushing their jet skis out into the clear, blue water. The sun shines brightly in a cloudless sky above us, and I have to ask myself if this is a little piece of heaven.

We arrive at the picnic pavilion and begin to eat. Mario pops open the wine and says, “Sorry, we have to drink out of the bottle like peasants.”

“That’s alright. I have no complaints. This has been an amazing day.”

“I aim to please, princess. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He holds the bottle up to my lips and I take a mouthful of the sweetest red wine that I’ve ever tasted.

As we sample our flood plate, the old man’s dog enters the pavilion, checking to see if we might have a scrap for him. Mario calls him over and gives him a long scratch on the head. The scruffy dog holds out its paw. Mario takes it in his hand and shakes it. “Nice to meet you,” he says and tosses the pup a piece of cheese. It takes the offering and scurries back to its master.

“You like dogs?” I ask, pleased to see this side of him.

“I love dogs. Do you like kids?” he asks me.

“I love dogs and kids. Your nieces and nephews are very sweet children.”

“What about kids of your own?” he asks.

“Well, I haven’t really thought about it much, but when I was young, I always imagined that one day, I would be a mother.”

“How many kids did you imagine having?”

“I don’t know. Maybe two, I guess.”

He grins and says, “Or four?”

“Four?”

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