Baci a Portofino

Chapter One - A Taste of Italy

As our plane touched down, I felt my face light up with excitement, I pressed my face against the window, anxious to catch a glimpse of Portofino. The scenery took my breath away from me, the sea more blue than a sparkling sapphire. The pastel buildings along the marina looked like something straight out of the postcards I see in the post office, but better. I quickly grabbed my camera out of my lap and snapped a picture, looking at the result. I could hardly believe I was here, at first I didn't want to believe it. The plane taxied through the runway and after a few minutes of waiting, the seatbelt signs switched off and we were allowed to exit the plane.

"Are you ready, Olivia?" My Mom said, her and Dad both looking at me eagerly. I nodded, and my father helped my mom out of her seat, I followed. He reached up his arms to grab our carry ons, and we got off the plane. It was almost dinner time, so we rushed through the baggage claim. We exited the airport, and there was a line of taxis, hard to tell which one we paid for. My father, still holding his suitcase, looked at his translator app and went up to one of the vehicles.

"Salve signore, stiamo cercando il nostro taxi. Siamo turisti." My dad said, his accent was very poor. The driver seemed to giggle a little bit, but maintained a respectful mask.

"Cosa? Oh, è americano. Are you uh, the Reid family?" The driver asked, his english broken. My dad nodded. "Ah hello! I am your driver."

"Great! Thank you sir." My father exclaimed, popping the trunk and putting our bags and suitcases inside. We all crammed into the car, my father didn't want to leave me and my mom alone in the backseat. As we reached the hotel, we barely got into the door and dropped our baggage off before we went right back out. I was eager to explore. My family and I headed straight to Cucina di Mamma, a charming little restaurant the taxi driver recommended to us on the drive. The air was full of a lingering aroma of garlic and fresh herbs, drawing me in like a magnet. As we stepped inside, I felt a wave of warmth wash over me. We were greeted immediately by a young waiter. I couldn't help but stare, his loose brunette hair framed his face. His warm brown eyes sparkled with a friendliness, and he wore a charismatic but casual smile that gave me butterflies. There was something effortlessly charming about him, from the welcoming handshake he gave to my father, to the confidence he exuded.

"Ciao, I'm Mariano; I'll be your server today. Follow me please!" He spoke enthusiastically, his accent accentuated his words. Mariano glanced at me before turning around and walking to a table. My mom elbowed me playfully and I shushed her arm away from me, barely containing a smirk. This restaurant was very well decorated, from greenery accenting the corners, to dull yet soulful lighting. We followed him, and he pulled out the chairs for my mother and I, gesturing for us to sit down. "Can I get you all started with drinks?"

"I'll have the nicest wine you've got," my Mother said vaguely, thrilled by the surprise of trying something new.

"Me too," my Dad chimed in, lifting his hand slightly. Mariano smiled and wrote it down. He then looked over to me, I was squinting, scanning the menu and failing to read. It was silent for a moment, I was trying to pronounce the names under my breath.

"Do you need help, miss?" He asked, raising an eyebrow with a slight grin.

"Oh–" I slowly looked up from the menu to see him, my mother, and my father all staring at me. "Yes please. I'm not sure what these drinks are."

He walked over to me and leaned closer, reading the drinks I was looking at. He put his finger on a section and pointed.

"The ones you were trying to read were alcoholic. I'm assuming you don't want those. These are non-alcoholic, like Italian sodas, iced tea, water, and shirley-temples." He affirmed, smiling at me warmly. My mouth was agape with realization, glancing at my dad to see him laughing at me.