She waves when she sees me. “Ciao!” she calls, unleashing a torrent of Italian. Noticing my confusion, she points at me. “Mariana?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I—”

“Sorry,” she says in English, more slowly. “I thought you were my afternoon reservation. What can I do for you?”

“Do you take walk-ins?”

She clicks her tongue and looks down at her watch. “Usually, we are booked at least a month in advance. But today, my party is late. You are in luck. I’m Cecilia.”

“Lanie.”

She holds out a harness to me. “Are you ready?”

I hesitate for a moment and then step into the harness, let Cecilia tug and tighten a dozen different straps. I summon the hang-gliding scene in Fifty Ways, the commitment the characters make as they leap into the abyss.

They can’t see where they’re going, but it doesn’t stop them. They have each other and the wings of love to lift them.

I look down at the wooden ramp under my feet. To call it rudimentary would be a compliment. Ten feet long, it starts in mud and ends in clouds. This is what we’ll run off the edge of together.

Vertigo grips me, and I have to look away. It seems suddenly, urgently mad that anyone runs off this cliff with only a thin yellow sail between them and death.

“What do you think?” Cecilia asks me, bringing me back to the cliff. “Do you really want to do this?”

“ ‘Life’s greatest mystery,’ ” I say, “ ‘is whether we shall die bravely.’ ”

“I love that scene,” Cecilia says, securing my harness tightly at my hips. She hands me a helmet, makes sure I thread the strap through tightly. “I love all of Noa Callaway’s books.”

“Me too,” I say. “I’m . . .” In love with him! “I’m Noa’s editor in New York.”

“No!” Cecilia squeals. “I would say I’m her biggest fan, but my boyfriend is even more crazy for her books. Tell me what she’s like in person?”

I’m relieved to know the op-ed hasn’t made its way to every corner of the world yet. I think about how to answer Cecilia’s question, and the words that come first feel right.

“One of my favorite people in the world,” I say. I give myself goose bumps, but Cecilia doesn’t notice.

“I’m in town for the launch of Noa’s new book,” I say. “It’s tonight in Positano, at the Bacio hotel. You should come. Bring your boyfriend. I’ll put you on the list.”

“We will come!” she says, and tugs the last ropes tighter.

She takes my arm, leading me to the cliff’s edge. Now she attaches both our harnesses to the metal inner frame of the glider.