Ross nodded.

“There is an apartment a little closer to town in Grassina. It would be maybe a fifteen-minute ride by motorino to the center of town. There is also a villa near Impruneta that I have not seen but it sounds interesting. Afterwards, if you are not too tired, there is another place we might go and see. It’s on the other side of Florence in Fiesole. It is a little bit further drive but it is very beautiful in Fiesole. I haven’t seen the apartment myself but my partner says it is magnificent.” He took his jacket from the back of his chair. “Shall we go?”

Ross followed Luigi out to his car: a small, navy-blue Punto double-parked in front of the agency, with its hazard lights flashing.

Their first stop was in Chiocchio, a Chianti township about a half-hour drive from Florence. The road to the community was nicknamed la strada del vino (the street of wine), as for many kilometers both sides of the road were flanked by large, well-cared-for vineyards.

The rental property was a hundred-year-old summer cottage up a gravel drive lined with cypress trees and terra-cotta figurines. It had a large front porch that looked out onto a valley of vineyards and farmhouses and a small fishing lake, Lago Chiocchio. Next to the home was a limonaia, where lemon trees grew in terra-cotta pots for the winter.

There were no homes nearby and this bothered Ross. He wanted his privacy but not solitary confinement. In addition, the home was larger than he needed, with an expansive family room and three bedrooms. The owner was a barrel-chested man with a thick Florentine accent, who offered them Chianti wine until they relented and took a glass.

After touring the house, they walked around the side patio and Luigi pulled Ross aside. “I asked the owner if they had ever rented it for winter. He said they have not. The house is heated with gasolio—how do you say in English?”

“Diesel fuel.”

“Yes, diesel fuel is not efficient. This was built for a summerhouse, I think. I think it would be very expensive to heat in winter. And you would still be cold.”

Ross looked across the yard. The place was beautiful but not right for him. “Let’s keep looking,” he said.

Their second stop was closer to Florence, in a compact, busy township called Grassina. The rental property was new and clean, but its decor was modern European and lacked the rustic Italian feel Ross was looking for.

Their third stop was a villa near the Chianti township of Impruneta. It was in the countryside, away from the main thoroughfare and difficult to find. Luigi kept a hand-drawn map on his lap which he frequently consulted as he plied the wooded back roads, stopping, backtracking, then launching out again, each time asserting with certainty that he knew exactly where it was. He made several wrong turns before the road emerged from a forest into a large orchard of dusty olive trees. A posted, hand-lettered sign read “Villa Rendola, 1000 metri.” Luigi said, “That is the name of the place.”