“The best restaurant in Positano” was, apparently, a tiny trattoria tucked down the end of a nondescript lane that looked to be in the middle of nowhere.

Jacopo led her inside a place called Delfino and introduced her to whom Colette guessed must be the proprietor, a stout woman with black hair interspersed with streaks of gray, who spoke a mile a minute.

One moment she was behind the counter listening attentively to Jacopo, and the next she had Colette swept up into a warm bear hug.

“Any friend of Jacopo is a friend of mine,” she proclaimed in Italian. Colette realized he must have conveyed that she spoke a bit of the language. “I am Mama Elene. I fix a wonderful meal for you. You sit over here,” she instructed, leading her to a small table outside on a rear terrace that opened up to breathtaking waterfront views framed by a brightly tiled church dome.

It was...heaven. Everything she’d dreamed about and more.

Colette curled her red hair around her finger as she looked out across the quintessentially Mediterranean landscape, while the warm Italian afternoon sun beat down on the parasol above.

Mama Elene was making her a shot of espresso while she mulled over the menu. Everything looked so delicious she didn’t know what to try. She wanted to sample it all.

Thankfully the effusive Italian woman was more than helpful in that department. She set the espresso before her and promptly made her suggestions.

Having settled on her order, Colette sipped her drink and watched people on the myriad streets and laneways below.

Were all Italians so effortlessly stylish? The women who passed by were so impeccably turned out that it made her regard her own attire with a frown. Tousled Italian locks blowing seductively in the breeze also didn’t compare to her hair in its neat but rather severe bun.

She tended to keep things casual with her jeans, floral blouse and ballet flats. Noelle was always telling her she had to try and make more of herself, but Colette was never sure what exactly was expected. She wasn’t the type to wear short-shorts or revealing clothing in summer like her sister. She just liked things simple.

Simple was safe and with all the turmoil in her life over the past few years, safe was exactly what she needed.

It wasn’t long before Mama Elene was bringing out her primi choice: arancini. The fried cheese and rice balls were crunchy on the outside and gooey rich on the inside.

On the first bite, a string of cheese stretched from Colette’s mouth to the remnants on the fork. She chuckled as she caught the runaway strand, looking up just in time to find a pair of dark eyes boring into her gaze.

A handsome Italian man of about her age was standing at the espresso counter nearby, his face propped on an elbow as he leaned against the dark wood.