Once inside, I step into the old-fashioned elevator through the two little doors and press my floor number. The lift roars to life and I drop my head back against the glass-and-wood-lined wall.

Yes, Kara. You just curtsied.

I wake up the next morning feeling sluggish and go directly to the pizzeria around the corner to get breakfast. I greet the middle-aged female storeowner and place my usual order, asking for a small slice of pizza marinara in my self-created mixture of Italian, English and sign language. I think she’s used to me by now but finds me tedious. I grab a bottle of water from the display fridge as she wraps my pizza in thick white paper and hands it to me with a strained smile. I pay for my food and exit the store.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I barely wrote. I’m restless and agitated, enough so that I decide to punish myself by skipping my sightseeing trip this afternoon in favor of an extra writing session. If I get something done, I’ll treat myself to a gelato.

By the way, the chocolate is better here. It just is. I managed to find the authentic gelato, the kind that is stored in metal tins and covered with matching metal lids and, no joke, I felt like I’d died and was then reborn with the sole purpose of eating more gelato.

With the promise of elevated ice cream somewhat easing my pessimistic mood, I walk back into the courtyard with more pep in my step. That pep vanishes, however, when I find that my cozy little bench is occupied. Occupied by none other than the redhead from yesterday, who is now sitting quietly, eating a large slice of pizza.

I walk over to stand in front of him, blocking his light just as he did to me the day before. “This scene feels vaguely familiar,” I say.

He glances up at me with an unconcerned look. “Mi dispiace, no English.”

“Well played.” I sit down next to him and rip open the paper that is keeping me from the carbohydrates I so desperately need.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says as I take my first bite. “I thought you didn’t speak English.”

I nod and chew until I’m able to talk. “I may have been faking that a little bit.”

“Really? A little bit?”

“Just a tad.”

“You may not believe it, but after hours of thought and multiple diagrams, I managed to piece that mystery together for myself.”

“What a letdown. And here I thought I committed the perfect crime.”

“It couldn’t be helped. I watched an impressive amount of Inspector Gadget growing up, so detective work has always been a keen interest of mine.”

“You’re an Inspector Gadget nerd? I can only hope that you’re referring to the original cartoon and not the movie.”

“Do I look like a monster?”