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to eat something first.  So when the bus reaches the downtown area, I disembark and hunt for a café. 
    It doesn’t take long to find since there’s practically one on every corner.
    I duck into one, a quaint little coffee shop with little bistro tables clustered on the sidewalk, and stand in line to order a coffee and a Danish.  I never feel quite human until I’ve had a cup of coffee in the morning and so while I stand in line, I tide myself over by inhaling the rich aroma of the freshly ground beans. 
    As I wait, I hear a couple of women murmuring behind me in the line.  They sound surprised and interested in something.  And I accidently pick out the words “Luca Minaldi” in their conversation.  This immediately snags my attention and I turn, only to find them watching the sidewalk.  I follow their stares and find Luca himself standing outside.
    My breath catches for a moment. 
    After my imaginary romantic interlude with him, I dreamed about him for most of the night.  So it seems strange and a little startling to find myself staring at him in person for the second time in as many days.  He’s standing in the morning sun, looking chic and rich and sophisticated in black slacks and a gray striped dress shirt, open at the neck.  He’s every bit as beautiful as he was in my head last night.  I don’t know what he is doing here now, but he appears to be waiting for something. Or maybe someone. 
    I can’t decide what to do. Should I approach him?  Thank him once again for killing the spider?  Thank him for his ‘participation’ last night?  I silently laugh at that one, imagining the look that would result on his face from that conversation.  I am surprised by how much I’d like to talk with him again. 
    As I’m pondering how to go about it, he turns and his dark, dark eyes meet mine.
    His head is slightly ducked as he looks at me from under his bangs and his face is expressionless, almost hard.  But his eyes….they are smoldering like nothing I’ve ever seen, like he knows something intimate about me, like he knows what I’m thinking.
    Like he knows what I was thinking last night . 
    My heart takes off like helicopter blades.  My lips part and I can’t decide whether to smile or call out, but then he turns away.  And he’s gone.
    I pay for my coffee and hurry to the door, but by this time, he is long gone, swallowed by the crowds that are milling about on the sidewalks.  I have no idea where he went but it is obvious that he didn’t want to stop and talk to me, regardless of what I saw in his eyes. 
    I don’t know what I did to offend him and I try not to allow my feelings to become ruffled because I don’t think I did anything at all.  He seemed fine when he left my house yesterday.  Perhaps he’s just having a bad day.
    I decide to sit at a little table rather than become jostled through the crowds, which would likely result in spilled coffee.  So, I sit and try to forget about Luca Minaldi snubbing me. I try and forget about the burning expression in his eyes.  I try to forget about my own traitorous and naughty thoughts about him.  It’s difficult, but I focus and eventually, I am distracted by watching the people around me. 
    And I remember why I love Malta.
    The people are so happy here, so laid-back and carefree.  They have a true southern European attitude, one that repels stress and embraces life.  I love it.  It is one of the reasons why I have such great memories of being here when I was a child.  Even as a kid, I felt the absence of worry and stress here in this beautiful place.  
    I sip at my coffee, which is delicious.  It is strong and perfect, with just the right amount of cream and sugar.  I rifle through my little notebook, the one that I carry everywhere to make notes about people’s personalities.  I’m not in the mood to speak with random strangers today but it must be done.  So I sigh and get up and start introducing myself to these happy