Though she’s probably accustomed to tips the size of my monthly salary, I give her ten euros and a smile. When the door clicks closed behind her, I let out my breath and pop the prosecco. I carry a glass into the world’s best rain shower, then change into the silky peach hotel robe.

It’s sunset, and the view out the windows is astonishing—a horizon of full blue ocean and pink-hued, endless sky. I wander out to the terrace. A warm breeze rustles by, carrying the scent of wisteria blossoming in a great urn on the terrace next door.

Two flights below, a woman in a black bikini swims leisurely laps in the hotel’s infinity pool. Farther down, on the pebble beach, oversize umbrellas make multicolored rows. Bodies glisten on the sand. Sailboats dot the sea.

It’s the kind of overwhelming beauty that makes me feel a little lonely. I turn on my phone to let BD and Meg and Rufus know that I’ve arrived.

I laugh at the selfies I’d taken earlier in the airport lot. There’s one I thought was good, my face in the side mirror of the Ducati. But I see now how terrified I was. Half a day in Italy has already done wonders for my complexion, and my mental state. I’m about to snap a better photo of myself on the balcony now when an email appears on my screen.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: May 17, 7:06 p.m.

Subject: Three Things You’ve Been Waiting For

Dear Lanie,

I hope this finds you on a balcony at sunset, glass of prosecco in hand.

Please find herewith three things you’ve been waiting for. The first is an apology.

(Come on, you know you’ve been waiting for it.)

I’m sorry I was _______ the other night.

(I see you on that balcony, rolling your eyes. I spent twenty minutes searching for the most precise descriptor. Was I weird? Distant? Cold? Brusque? (Brusque was my top contender, and one you’d line-edit into oblivion.) Or perhaps, simply, blank? I defer to you.)

The truth is, when you came by my apartment, I was scared . . . about the other two things you’ve been waiting for from me. They are attached. Once you read them, I think you’ll understand.

Yours,

Noah

P.S. Regardless of how things turn out, I hope someday I’ll get to hear about your ride down the Amalfi Coast.

Regardless of how things turn out?

Then I read the names of the attachments. The first is titled “Chapter One.” The second—“NYT Op-Ed, run date 5/18.”

I click on the second attachment.