"There is a bus," he said carefully, "but it stops running at nine. It is now — " another look at the clock — "eight forty-seven."

I kept staring.

He had the grace not to smile.

"There is a hotel in Praiano," he said, "ten minutes down the road. I can call them."

"Yes," I said. "Please. That would be — yes."

He called. He spoke. He listened. He hung up.

"Full," he said. He said it with genuine apology in his face, like it was his fault. "There is a festival this week in Praiano. Every room."

I picked up my spritz and took a long slow sip.

"Okay,"...