Ah Firenze! In 2017, I spent five delightful days in this lovely city, staying at a great hotel located at the foot of the Ponte Vecchio. My niece was studying in Florence for a semester. She lived in an apartment across the Arno just around the corner from the Uffizi Gallery. Each day, we would meet up in the middle of the Ponte Vecchio. One afternoon, we popped into one of the jewelry shops on the bridge and my niece helped me select my beautiful peacock brooch. The photos below have inspired some details in a short story I am currently working on. Here is an excerpt of that story.

From the second floor lounge of the Hotel Firenze Pitti Palace, I watched the street below.  Tourists and Italian locals were striding up and down the narrow sidewalks, most headed in the direction of  the Ponte Vecchio.  Briefly, I wondered how many of them would be lured into one of the glittering  jewelry shops lining the bridge before they made it safely to the other side of the Arno.

Yesterday, after emailing  my final restaurant review to Gerald, my editor back in San Diego, I visited one of the shops that had an eye-catching display of gold and enamel brooches in its front window.  I had examined bejeweled cats, butterflies, and flamingoes, holding each one up to the lapel of my jacket.  Finally, I decided on a resplendent peacock that made me think of my morning stroll through the gardens at  the actual Pitti Palace.  I glanced down at the delicate pin now fastened to my  lime green sweater set and smiled.

Behind me the marble mantle clock struck three times.  Maude had said she should make it to the hotel by 3:15 or so.  She was notoriously prompt.  She would be here soon, unless of course her plane from Edinburgh was delayed.  

Maude and I met  in a public speaking course at Regent’s College back in 1998.  The two of us hit it off right away and she welcomed me into her London circle of friends. When my semester abroad ended, we vowed to always be friends and to really stay in touch instead of just saying we would and then not keeping our promise. Thank goodness we did. Maude was a dear and true friend.

As I peered out the window, scanning the sidewalk for Maude’s tall frame and long blonde braid, the  hotel’s resident gatto, Bella, jumped up onto the window seat and butted her head against my hand, demanding attention.  She was a dignified black and white tuxedo cat with a long plume of a tail.  

“Hello, pretty girl,” I said, reaching down to stroke her velvety head. “I wish my kitty Cinnamon could meet you.”  My fluffy orange cat was on vacation at my brother’s house back in San Diego.  Victoria and Angela, my nieces, I was sure, were taking excellent  care of her.

Bella leapt from her perch and sauntered out of the lounge, tail in the air.  I watched her go and then stood up as the doors to the elevator slid open.  An elderly couple stepped into the corridor. They turned to the right toward the guest rooms and I sat down on one of the plush armchairs facing the elevator.

Glancing at my watch, I crossed my legs and tried to relax. I couldn’t wait to spend a few days exploring Florence with Maude. She was a great traveling companion.  Over the years, we had taken a few trips together, beginning with a weekend in Paris at the end of my semester in London.  Maude and I had ridden on  the Eurostar train from Paddington through the Chunnel to the Gare du Nord along with our friend, Sebastian.

I cringed as memories of that mini vacation filled my mind.  Sebastian, who was kind, smart, funny . . . and yes, good-looking had been my first love.  Maude had introduced us at the beginning of the semester and Sebastian and I quickly became a couple.  Sadly, our romance came to a crashing halt during that weekend in Paris.

The clank of the arriving elevator pulled me away from my memories and seconds later, Maude bounded into the room.  Dressed in skinny jeans and a sleeveless, polka dot tunic top, with tendrils of long blonde hair escaping from her characteristic French braid, Maude looked more like a carefree college girl than a 34-year old wife and mother. Her sea green eyes lit up as she caught sight of me.

“Elizabeth Ann!” she cried, and tossed her overstuffed duffel onto the leather  couch so she could throw her arms around me.

“It’s so great to see you,” we said in unison and shared an ecstatic smile. 

All of the sudden, I felt 21 again.