Cecilia shook her head no after Tom asked if she spoke English.

His disappointment doubled for two reasons: First, he needed to know how to get to the Prato Centrale station before he missed his three o’clock flight in Florence; and second, when their eyes met Tom felt a cementation deep in his gut and knew in an instant Cecilia was his soul mate.

For her part, Cecilia only continued to smile at Tom as he starred at her with his brain whirring in an infinite succession of possible next moves.

“Mi dispiace,” she said, and took up his hands in hers for emphasis. The moment they touched Tom felt every sordid detail of his life click into place. Cecilia dropped his hands as if they were a live wire and looked up at him in surprise.

It was as if he were seeing clearly for the first time in his life—Cecilia’s honey-colored eyes shone brightly against the aqua-blue of her flower-patterned dress. It felt as if a déjà vu was playing out in front of him, yet the sensation of this possible new adventure felt so new and fresh.

At the word “adventure” Tom remembered his watch.  It was 11:17 am—it would be a miracle if he made it to his plane back home to the States. What terrible luck.

“Chi sei?” Cecilia asked slowly with her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“No English? Not even a little? …Piccolo?”

Celia shook her head vehemently and in a rough accent said, “No Englesh.”

Tom rubbed his forehead and started to pace—what the hell was he going to do? Was his gut reaction to this girl wrong?

 He stopped and felt it again—no, he was different now. He thought about all the past women in his life—from the meaningless flings to the committed relationships—and not one of them came close to the sensation Cecilia gave him.

 “Treno?” Cecilia asked, her voice timid as if begging him to reconsider his initial question to her.

Tom exhaled and dropped his backpack. “No, no treno.”

A smile crept across her lips as her black hair and linen dress billowed in the breeze. In that moment, Tom wished for so many things, but mostly he wanted to be wearing something better than his dust-caked jeans and stained white t-shirt.

That’s the funny thing with wishes, he thought, we usually go for the ones that have the best odds of coming true.

A decision then snapped in his mind. He took her hands again, and was relieved when she entwined her fingers with his.

Tom searched her eyes, trying to determine the best thing to say.

He settled on a simple question, “Amore?”

She nodded eagerly, “Si, amore.”

Tom nodded and kissed her. That was as far as his plans had taken him—and that was as far as he needed to go.