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myself. I thought of meeting Niccoló later. Would he like the skirt? Would he notice? Before I could think of anything else, the skirt was in my hand and my credit card was being swiped for the purchase.
    I headed out the open glass doors and stepped onto the curb. A large tour bus with tourists hanging themselves out the windows to take photos of the famous shopping district and the stone statue that stood to my left was stopped at the light. I crossed to the other side after it passed in search of a place to grab a quick slice of pizza.
    A small restaurant and bar was around the corner, appropriately named Yankee Bar. I’d heard about it in passing from other tourists. It was one of the few American bars around where you could order a drink in English without having to worry about whether the bartender understood you or not. The bar wasn’t what caught my attention. It was the sign on the dark wooden door about a bartender. They were hiring. I contemplated going in to make an inquiry. After all, managing a bar qualified me. Getting a job here would solve so many problems. More money meant more time…and possibly some more outfits, too.
    “Can I help you?” A twenty-something blonde man came to the door. His blond spiky hair was a contrast against his wire frame glasses and small build. I must have stood there a little too long since he noticed me. His American accent was welcoming.
    I nodded towards the help wanted sign.
    “You bartend?”
    “I used to. Now I manage a restaurant back in the States. What kind of money are the bartenders making here?” It certainly wouldn’t hurt to find out a little information.
    “Ahh, you’re American! Great! The clientele is a bunch of tourists and they tip really well. Most of the crowd is a bunch of trust-fund kids who travel around Europe on mom and dad’s money, so—”
    “Citizenship’s not an issue?” My eyebrows rose in question, wondering if that would be the thing to hold me back.
    He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “My name’s Matt. Why don’t you stop by on Thursday and we can talk about that and some other details then?”
    I took the card and slid it into my back pocket before I extended my hand. “I’m Dylan. And yeah, I think I’ll see you Thursday. Thanks again.”
    “See you Thursday,” Matt commented, closing the door to the bar.
    I wasn’t sure what my plan was, but I felt like I was getting closer to having one. I was convinced that if I could land a job bartending, I could stay in Italy longer. Plus, I still couldn’t get the idea of having some more clothes available to me. Back home I was a huge clothes junkie and living out of a suitcase with limited possibilities was putting a huge damper on my style.
    The leather skirt in the fancy boutique bag hung from my wrist as I continued down the street.
    I got back to the room around six and hopped into a shower. The hotel-supplied shampoo smelled like lavender and invigorated my senses as it worked into a lather on the top of my head. I grabbed my razor and managed an awkward pose in the shower to ensure that every inch of stubble was removed. Not that I expected anything other than conversation, but it still had to be done.
    I grabbed a towel and twisted my hair up to give it a chance to dry naturally before I took a hairdryer to it. The few steps over to my bed assured me that my outfit was ready to go. The black skirt laid there just waiting to be worn.
    The window across the room showed me that it was still light out. The sun was just starting to drop. Would Niccolò be up yet? Would it be rude to even ask?
    I managed into black panties and zipped up the black skirt that ran the better part of my left side. A black and burgundy print top hung off one shoulder and I stared down at my naked feet. Neither black boots, sneakers, nor brown sandals were good options. The brown sandals would clash, the sneakers would make me look like a tourist, and the black boots would