““Here,” he says, removing my camera from its dry home and handing it to me to turn on. “I want to take a picture of you.” I spin all the way around to fully face him, my back to the village, and smile. He takes way more than one, zooming in and out, aiming up and down, every possible angle and frame width. He mumbles a few things in Italian between shots, and judging by the look on his face, he’s up to no good. Is this why he wanted me to wear my sundress? The temperature is suddenly roasting, my cheeks blazing. There’s a reason I like being on the other side of the camera. Finally I put my hand out in front of my face. “Okay, okay. I think you got enough.” He sets it down in his lap and cocks his head to the side, studying me. “You could belong here,” he says, his tone surprisingly serious. I turn from him and look back at the cluster of buildings, one on top of the other. A beautiful and unique place to visit, but to live long term? “I don’t know about that,” I say. “This could be your life.” He spreads his arms out as if to encompass the whole of Cinque Terre. And him.””
