The Magic of Florence

A Texan, studying finance in Florence for a short-term program. We got to talking ~ why we were here, what we were doing with our lives. He had been in Florence for three weeks and wouldn't leave until May.

Meanwhile, I had exactly one night left. Classic timing.

But something about our conversation just clicked. He asked if we should continue our conversation while walking. First stop: the Medicii Bridge. I don't research much before I visit a place ~ I like to think of it as living in the moment ~ but Mr. Historian? He had done his homework. I, of course, reaped the benefits.

Somewhere between a history lesson and a cobblestone street, he asked me to come with him to a designer boutique.

I had barely known this man for an hour, and suddenly I was playing personal stylist. But when a guy appreciates your style, who am I to refuse?

The way he bought that jacket? No hesitation. No checking the price tag. Just swipe and go.

Later, I found out why. His family? Oil and gas. His dad? Friends with Trump. But here's the thing ~ he wasn't just some trust-fund kid floating through life. He had an online company with his brother, several internships, and after Florence ~ a job already waiting for him at JP Morgan, planning to work in private equity and wealth management. Not bad. Not bad at all.

After walking, we decided to go to Piazzale Michelangelo to catch the sunset. He asked if I wanted pictures. He then asked if I wanted to have dinner. I said sure ~ why not. He made reservations. Good thinking. The place was full when we got there.

We were at Trattoria ZaZa, where conversation and wine blurred the lines of acquaintance and something more. He wasn't just intelligent ~ he valued intelligence. He was impressed by my English, which is flattering coming from a native speaker. He even pointed out that I use words most Americans don't even know.

And then came the moment that sealed it.

He laughed ~ not at me, but because he admired him too. Surprised that I knew Jordan. And not only that ~ he had actually met him. Excuse me??

“I'm so jealous. I could exchange lives with you.”

He treated me dinner. I treated us gelato. As he walked me home, he glanced at me and asked ~

“Are you open for a slight detour?”

He led me through the doors of a famous hotel in Florence, striding in like a regular. We stepped into the elevator and before I knew it ~ we were on the highest floor.

He had planned to surprise me with a table at the Grand Hotel's rooftop bar, but by the time we arrived, it was closing. So instead, we lingered outside ~ just the two of us ~ soaking in the view.

My kind of luxury.

He walked me home that night, a little quieter than before ~ and I could tell he was sad, just as I was. How short our time together. My Schengen days were nearing their end and I had flights booked. I had to leave Europe.

We hugged each other goodbye.

“I hope I'll see you again somewhere,” he said. “For sure,” I replied.