“I wanted to have fresh breath when I arrived.”

“I hear that,” she said. “There’s so many hot men in this city, sometimes you just never know when you’re going to fall on one of their mouths.”

I laughed, scrubbing my face with my hands and trying to will some energy into my body. “I’m not falling on anyone’s mouth. What I need right now is a shower, and then a bed.”

“Nope,” she said, standing up and grabbing her wrap. “What you need right now is some water, something to eat, and then a good long walk to get your blood moving. Get changed and be fashionably comfortable. The only cure for jet lag is to get on Roman time as quickly as possible. Let’s go!”

* * *

WITH FEET NOW CRADLED by comfortable shoes, a face freshly washed and moisturized, and hair swept back into a ponytail, I stepped back out onto the cobblestones with Daisy, and out into a different world.

A caramel-colored door. An awning of crimson and cream stripes. A wall the exact color of the inside of a nectarine. The teeniest balcony I’ve ever seen crammed full of flowers and herbs, a kelly-green potato vine spilling over a shiny azure ceramic planter and racing with blush and baby pink creeping phlox to get down to the cobblestones below.

The cobblestones. What a difference thirty minutes can make. Now that I could see them, could really see them, it was charm central. Speckled and mottled, gray and brown shot through with the tiniest of opalescent sheen every now and again, they were arranged unfailingly in tiny rows and untidy corners, ebbing and flowing as the ground had likely rolled over the years since they’d been laid down.

I hadn’t noticed earlier that Daisy’s street ended just outside her apartment. Around that last bend, with the narrowest of steps going up, up, up, then out of sight, the apartment shared a small courtyard with a few other doors. Countless bicycles and scooters were parked along the narrow street, and in the center were enormous stone planters filled to bursting with red geraniums, raspberry dianthus, orange coleus, and more of that greenest green trailing potato vine.

“This is beautiful,” I breathed, turning 360 degrees and seeing awesome in every direction.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” she said with a grin, looping her arm through my elbow and tugging me down the charming street, away from the courtyard.

And onto another charming street, and another, and another. We twisted and turned, the street not seeming to follow any sort of pattern or grid. I saw everything I’d missed on my earlier death march, this time seeing the then-quiet streets begin to rally and liven up for the day. We passed the Metro stop and headed a few streets past. Everywhere there was action—a horn honking, a bike passing, a scooter scooting—and under it all just a buzz, an undercurrent of energy, even on a quiet Sunday. Cafés were opening up, people crowding into what looked like standing-room-only coffee shops, drinking their tiny coffees while talking loudly and using their hands more than I was used to.

My head turned constantly, swiveling back and forth, not wanting to miss a thing. The fact that I resembled an owl, and most assuredly a tourist, didn’t faze me a bit. I was perking up, my feet didn’t hurt so much, and now that I was out and about, I was . . .

“Famished. I am absolutely famished,” I cried, not wanting to move past the window I was currently staring into. Breads, crusty rolls, thin flat pizzas, and sweet and tempting pastries all crowded onto little trays and into pyramids, begging me to walk right in, sit right down, and cram everything into my mouth.

“Only another block or so,” Daisy assured me, tugging once more on my arm to lead me in the right direction. “I know exactly what you need.”

Ten minutes later I was sitting at a corner table in a café situated at the corner of Incredible and Wow. The shiny coffeemaker behind the bar was bigger than a Fiat, and actually looked more powerful. And speaking of powerful. “That’s heaven,” I sighed, sipping a screaming hot cappuccino, full of frothy foam. “Oh damn, that’s heavener,” I moaned, every nerve ending I had sizzling and snapping at the wonder that was the pastry I was eating. “Please tell me again what this little croissanty thing is?”

“Cornetto,” Daisy said, her American tongue hidden completely inside this delicious word. “Technically that one is a cornetto alla crema.” Jesus, she even rolled her R’s. “I thought you could use a hit of custard.”

“I could use several hits of several somethings,” I moaned again through my cornetto alla whatever. “How late are you keeping me up?”

“Until normal bedtime. I’ve already got plans for you tonight.”

“Huh?” There may have been a crumb or five of cornetto alla spittle clinging to my lower lip; she handed me a napkin. “Seriously, plans tonight? Couldn’t I officially start my vacation tomorrow?”

“Vacation nothing—this is a lifestyle, Avery. And tonight, we celebrate your first night in Rome.”

“Should I even bother trying to get out of this?”

“You can try, but it won’t matter. It’s no big deal, really, just a little dinner with some of my friends, some people from work.”

“Just dinner?”

“Just dinner. Everyone’s excited you’re here, they wanted to have a Welcome Avery party.”

I sipped my cappuccino, humanity seeping back into my bones.

Just a dinner. A party. For me.

“If you’re gonna keep me up tonight, I’m gonna need another one of these.” I sighed, pointing at my cup, then at the cornetto crumbs on my plate. “And another of these. Make sure you roll those R’s for me.”