I lean against the counter. “I’ve got time.”
And so the girl—Amanda—launches into the story of her current life. She only came here on a whim with a friend of hers but fell in love with Positano so badly that she didn’t want to leave. Her friend ended up going back home and she asked the owners of the hostel if there was any way she could work for them. They told her she could work the front desk full time in exchange for room, board, and little bit of extra money. She jumped at the chance, doing this all under the table, of course.
“So how long are you staying here for?” I ask her.
“I leave in a month. My three months is up.”
I make a frowny face. “That sucks.”
She shoots me an impish smile. “But I’ll be back. Alfonso is making sure of that.”
“Who is Alfonso?”
“The man I’m going to marry.”
And then she launches into another story, this one far more exciting than the last one. On her second week of working here, she ended up running into a local cop. He was hot. It was love at first sight. Now, with her having to leave the country (Americans can only be here for three months at a time), Alfonso is building a case to bring her back in seven months. If they can prove they are serious about each other and intend to marry one day, she can get a permit to work here for longer.
“Wow,” I tell her when she’s finished. “I was just saying this town was like a movie town and now this is like movie love.”
She blushes. “I know it’s rather fast. No one takes our relationship seriously, not even his mother. But I do love him, and he loves me, and I know this is the right thing to do. So why not take the chance, you know? If it doesn’t work out, at least I’ll have a hell of a story.”
“You already do have a hell of a story.” I’ll admit that even though I think it’s sweet and romantic, the jaded and cynical side of me thinks it’s a bit ridiculous that she’s doing all of this for a man, that you could even fall in love that fast. But that’s probably because I’ve been screwed over by men a few times already on my travels.
“See,” she says, pulling out her phone and showing me a picture. “This is Alfonso. You’d stay for him, wouldn’t you?”
I let out a low whistle. Alfonso is hot. Dark-skinned with piercing light-colored eyes. And he’s tall, too. Not that it’s too out of the ordinary—everyone warned me that Italian men are short and hairy, but so far that’s not the case at all.
“Nice,” I say to her. “Well, I wish you both the best and hope it all works out.”
She shrugs. “Life works out the way it wants to.”
“Uh-huh.” And then I remember the real reason why I came to talk to her. “Listen, I’m having some financial difficulties at the moment. You know, overdid it a bit in London and all that. Anyway, I was wondering if you knew if there was any work available for someone like me.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Well, there’s no work here.”
Relax, I think. I’m not after your job.
“Oh, I don’t mean here, per se. I just meant in town. Or in the area. Even Sorrento or Salerno.”
She purses her lips and thinks. “Well, there would be jobs in Salerno, but you don’t want to work there. Have you tried the English cafe down the street? Sometimes they need English speakers. There’s also a work-notice board they put up for foreigners. Usually the jobs posted are one-offs for guys, like a day spent painting a house or something like that. But sometimes you can get lucky.”
This sounds promising. “And it’s just down the street? It’s a long street . . .”
Amanda smiles and pulls out the hostel map and proceeds to draw on it. “Follow the road all the way to here and then take these stairs here. You’ll come to Bar Darkhouse. Beside it, kind of tucked in the back, is Panna Café. That’s the one.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, folding the map before shoving it into my bag.
I walk down the streets with an extra spring in my step. The air is fresh (when you’re not inhaling diesel fumes) and the sun is warm, baking my bare arms. I’m feeling a bit optimistic about the whole money problem now. If Amanda can find work here, I can too.
That should also mean that if Amanda can find love here, I can too. But thankfully, that is the last thing I’m looking for. I’ve had enough fun and heartbreak during this trip, falling for boys who either have their hearts set on someone else (like Josh in New Zealand) or who love you and have to leave you (like the Icelandic boy, Kel, whom I spent a sex-filled week with in Prague). No, the next guy I was going to fall for would be a Nor Cal boy when I returned home to San Jose. No drama, no heartache, no tragic goodbyes.
No fun either, I think to myself, but I quickly push that thought away.
The café is easy enough to find but it takes me a while to get there. The town is just so pretty and tightly packed that I want to linger in every single store. Eventually I find it and order an espresso at the bar. Unlike most cafes in Italy, this one actually has tables and chairs where you can sit down and sip your drink, obviously catering to tourists. But at this point I’ve gotten used to doing quick shots of coffee while standing up. It’s at least more efficient.
After I ask the British barista whether they are hiring and find out it’s a big fat no, she points me to the corner of the cafe where the notice board is. Though most of the postings are actually flyers for parties or advertisements for ceramic sales, there are a few work notices.
One of them looks fresh—none of the phone number/email strips on the notice have been taken.
It reads:
Need help. Want English speaking woman. Two children. Must be good to young children and help with language. Fluency needed. Italian is helpful to have. Please email Felisa. Locate to Capri.
I quickly take the notice off of the board before anyone else notices. Like hell I’m going to compete for this job. Even though I’m not really sure what it entails, other than possibly teaching English to two kids, or what it pays or if it includes room and board, I’m not going to give the opportunity up. If it doesn’t work out, then I’ll just put the ad back.
I immediately connect to the cafe’s Wi-Fi on my cell phone and shoot an email off to Felisa. I make myself sound as good as possible: graduated from college with an English degree. Worked as a receptionist for a prestigious company (before I was fired). Great with children (I think I baby sat once when I was fifteen). Willing to work in Capri, provided help with housing is included. Have spent a great deal of time building up life skills while traversing Southeast Asia. Knows how to bake a mean tiramisu.
That last part is a lie but I thought they might find it endearing.
I press send and then wait.
And wait.
And when I realize I’m not going to get a response right away, I head to the bar next door, taking the work notice with me.
About the Author
Karina Halle is a former travel writer and music journalist and the USA TODAY bestselling author of Where Sea Meets Sky, Love, in English, the Artists trilogy, and other wild and romantic reads. She lives in a 1920s farmhouse on an island off the coast of British Columbia with her husband and her rescue pup, where she drinks a lot of wine, hikes a lot of trails, and devours a lot of books.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Karina Halle
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First Atria Paperback edition March 2015
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Interior design by Kyoko Watanabe
Cover Design by Chelsea McGuckin
Cover Images by Simon Becchetti/Stocksy, Lorenzo Montezemolo/Getty Images
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-1-4767-9640-6
ISBN 978-1-4767-9643-7 (ebook)
Contents
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Map of New Zealand
Glossary of Māori Terms
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Acknowledgments
‘Racing the Sun’ Excerpt
About the Author