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black sandals. She glanced at her pitiful array of clothes hanging in the wardrobe and let out a sigh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d splurged on clothes. Apart from the fact that a decent boutique was towns away, keeping up with fashion really wasn’t her thing. If something still fit from three years ago, she’d wear it until it fell apart. It was as simple as that. She had a few nice dresses, four pairs of shorts, two pairs of jeans, the black pants she was in, a handful of t-shirts and jumpers, one pair of joggers, heels, and sandals, and that was it. The oversized wardrobe screamed out to be full but it was just never going to happen. She only had what she needed to have.
    Checking the carved, wooden wall mirror, Kate’s reflection shocked her. Who was this alien staring back? When had she become so tired looking? Had she aged overnight? Black circles under her eyes clung to a pale face while her hair lacked any sign of life whatsoever. Thank goodness it was dark. She needed to hide behind the mask of night to ensure she didn’t frighten the locals.
    She left the inside light on, flew down the stairs into the foyer, and eased out into the night.
    Vernazza felt alive on this particular evening. Diners casually strolled in and out of restaurants, revived from their afternoon siesta. Tourists, flocking in for the start of the festival the next day, filled the streets.
    The full-faced moon gleamed, sparkling like a giant diamond against the inky sky. Stars shimmered endlessly, blinking their eyes and keeping guard.
    Wandering past Mr. Matioli’s café, Kate was tempted to stop and indulge in his specialty, bruschetta, but the growing queue out the door had her rethink that idea. She loved Mr. Matioli. He epitomized the Italian man. Handsome. Distinguished. Jolly. Hard working and very likeable. She spotted him outside clearing some plates with his black, full-length apron on. His graying hair fell over his eyes as he worked. She hurried past so as not to get caught up chatting.
    Kate headed down to the Piazza Marconi by the harbor, deciding on her favorite seafood restaurant, Trattoria Gianni Franzi. The spaghetti pomodoro was to die for and she was salivating before even making it to the door. Famous for its seafood dishes, the recipes had remained the same for the last century. As a matter of fact, all the restaurants and cafés in Vernazza were Kate’s favorite. Each one had something unique to offer.
    It was about ten minutes before she proceeded up the queue to the counter. Kate surveyed the scene. Bottles of all shapes and sizes lined one wall, adding an old world charm to the small restaurant. Staff were all but running backwards and forwards into the kitchen, trying to keep up with the orders. The noise level would surely have broken the sound barrier.
    She’d really picked a busy night to be dining out, with visitors and locals packing the tables inside and out. During the cooler months it was inside dining only but when the patronage doubled, the canopied outdoor tables and white plastic chairs facing the unobstructed vast expanse of blue or in tonight’s case, ebony, were used.
    A flurry of aromas washed over Kate. Pizza. Pasta and seafood. Her stomach lurched in anticipation as she ordered, then searched for somewhere to sit.
    She spied a couple of middle-aged people getting up to pay their bill and nabbed the only remaining table outside before someone else did. She literally felt like she was dining out on the street as her plastic chair rocked unevenly on the cobbled road. The archaic, red brick building with green window shutters did a good job of hiding the hive of activity inside due to the flurry of orange and blue umbrellas practically on top of each other on the outdoor tables. The floors above the restaurant housed a quaint, small-roomed hotel with views to die for and the best of the town at its door. There was a “no vacancy” sign out front.
    Kate let her shoulders drop and