The hours flew by and we were pleasantly tired and happy by the time we arrived at the restaurant that evening. I’d taken a bit more care with my appearance, pairing wide-leg black trousers with an emerald green top that gave a bit of sparkle to my usually dull brown eyes. I fluffed up my hair and added dangly gold earrings, then even spritzed on perfume.

After all, it was a nice restaurant. I had to look decent.

The restaurant held the perfect balance of charm and coziness. The dimly lit room added a touch of intimacy, and the gleaming wood floors, yellow paint, and stone wall added a dimension of Italian character. There was a hallway where an impressive variety of wines were stacked up, and the bar was bustling. A three-person band was setting up, and I noticed another table of about eight tourists next to us. We all waved at them and tried to engage in conversation, but they were all men and seemed super serious, frowning at our friendly attempts and pretty much ignoring us. Odd. I would’ve figured it was a business meeting, except the guide was talking loudly to them about the next day’s itinerary and wore a name badge that declared florence tours done right!

The menu was Florentine inspired and held an array of delights. Allegra and Mom convinced me to push my food boundaries again, and I enjoyed most of it, squishing my face up as I tried to decide with each new bite if I liked it or not. We feasted on tagliatelle with wild boar ragù and beef fillets in a rich truffle sauce. Mom chose the sea bass and swooned over our wonderful waiter, Rocco, who treated us like royalty and cleaned her fish tableside. The calamari was crisp yet tender inside, and the red wine was the color of rubies, with a heavy tannin and smooth finish that went perfectly with my beef. I didn’t worry about carbs or diets, allowing myself to eat whatever I wanted. The band played and the singer took requests from the guests, launching into familiar old ballads, American favorites, and of course, Frank Sinatra. By the time the berry tarts were served, our table was pretty much drunk and getting rowdier than usual.

Dana refilled her glass, and Rocco promptly brought another bottle. “Have you noticed those guys staring at us, y’all?” she said a bit loudly. “I’ve never seen people in Italy look unhappy. And they seem to be acting a bit assholery to the waiters. Are they not on vacation?”

Steve forked up a bite of his tart. “Darlin’, there are a lot of dissatisfied people in the world. They change their location or their relationships or their job, and hope they’ll be happy. But do you think they are? No. Why, you ask? Because happiness comes from within. It’s a lesson we all must learn in our own time.”