When we get to Salento, I feel as if we’ve stepped back in time. The village can’t house more than a few hundred people, and his villa, which is several miles from town, is like a picturesque little farmhouse. I feel as though we’re in the middle of nowhere. Gianfranco was right—this is the place to totally decompress from the big city.

Our first day, Gianfranco takes us on a personal tour of the acreage, much of which is covered in grape vines, rolling hills, and trees.

While we walk, he leans over to me and whispers in my ear, “This is also beautiful under the starlight.”

I look at him, and he winks.

“Are you suggesting we take a walk at night alone?”

Gianfranco shrugs his eyebrows. “It would be magical, no?”

I smirk wickedly. “Very magical.”

I love the idea of walking the countryside under the many stars which must exist here, especially since the largest town is but a village—it probably doesn’t have any streetlights. Then my mind moves to thoughts of rolling across the grassy hillside with Gianfranco. Let’s see, I count. Now I’ve been tied up in a castle, tied up in a French flat, and now, perhaps on the Italian hillside.

We get back to his place and all take a dip in the pool. Aiden, Floriana, and I sit by the pool, where we can almost see the ocean. We’re far enough that it doesn’t feel all that close, yet we’re close enough for me to still smell the salt in the sea.

For the first time, Floriana sees Gianfranco in his bathing suit, and I think she’s as impressed as I was the first time I saw him. He doesn’t stay for long though, citing a little painting he needs to get done before he prepares our dinner.

He insists that we stay at the pool though, so I play in the water with Aiden before we both nap poolside. We wake to Gianfranco ringing the good ol’-fashioned dinner bell. He’s cooked spaghetti and meatballs, and he had journeyed down to the village to buy fresh bread and cheese.

After our meal, I put Aiden to bed. Floriana and Luther retire to their rooms as well, leaving Gianfranco and me alone. So we pack a bottle of wine, glasses, bread, and cheese, and walk to the hilltop just outside our dwelling to sit on the grass and gaze at the stars.

“Where did you get this house from?” I ask Gianfranco.

“It was a gift to myself. After I sold my first of many paintings, I bought it.”

“Why did you want it?”

“All my life, I have traveled around. I like my castle; it is where I come from. When I traveled around, I found places like this. Some in the south of France, others here. It is close to my home. I can travel here by car. It has hardly a person around.” He stretches his arm, waving across the land in front of us. “And I really like the sky. Maybe one day I will live here permanently and turn my grapes into wine.”

I moan delightfully, feeling the cool breeze against my face. “What fun it would be to drink your own wine.”

He leans forward. “Yes, is a nice thought.”

His posture remains taut, provoking a kiss. We stare at the stars for a while longer, and I share stories with him about my brother and Abby.

“They sound like wonderful people. I hope to meet them someday.”

“Me too.”

Over the next few weeks, we spend our days walking through the quaint village at the beachfront and in the water or at the beautiful beach. Sometimes, we don’t even go back to the villa. Instead, we rent a seaside cabana and swim in the ocean all day.

On our last day in Salento, Gianfranco takes me snorkeling. We end up on a very small charter boat with a guide who takes us to three different spots throughout the day, each having a different type of coral and ocean life. For lunch, the guide, Fernando, teaches us how to catch sea bass with our bare hands. Fernando skins our catch, cleans it, and cuts it up for lunch.

“Here,” he says, handing us both a piece on a cracker. “If you would like some lemon, I have it here.”

“Do you recommend it?” Gianfranco asks.

“I do.”

Gianfranco puts out his hand and takes a lemon wedge, squeezing it over the fish, and then takes a bite. His eyes brighten.

“Really, is it good?” This clearly surpasses my idea of eating raw fish as sushi.

“Is delicious.”

The guide hands him the next cracker with fish, and Gianfranco hands it to me. “One moment,” he says before squeezing another twist of lemon on it.

I take a bite. My back straightens. “‘Mmm, it is good.”

Gianfranco smiles at me.

We eat the rest of the fish and get back into the water. It’s only several feet deep, comfortably warm, and deep aqua blue in color over bleached white speckled sand. Gianfranco and I swim beside one another, and at times through schools of beautifully colored fish.

The next day we return to Naples, where we catch a small plane back to Bari.

After boarding our flight, I look at him. “Thank you so much for a wonderful two months. I never dreamed our trip would be so fun and fulfilling.”

Gianfranco kisses me. “You are very welcome, my love.”

I feel my eyes glisten with wonder. “And, truthfully, I could have stayed in Salento longer. I love your villa.”

“Oh.” His expression widens. “I am surprised. There isn’t much in Salento.”

“I’m surprised too, but I liked it.”

“We could have stayed longer if I didn’t have a meeting in town tomorrow.”

I kiss his cheek. “I know.”

“But we will return to Salento on the weekend, no?”

My smile widens. “That’ll be nice.”

Gianfranco kisses me again, stretches his feet, and puts his seat back. I fall asleep next to him, and the next thing I know, we’ve landed.