The shutters stay closed until four. The light crosses the floor in honey-colored bars and finds the wine bottle that has been waiting in the shade since noon. Ninety watercolor-inspired illustrations move through that afternoon: villas stepping down the cliff in terracotta and cream, bougainvillea spilling over every wall it can find, a weathered blue boat in water clear enough to show its shadow.

The food anchors it. Branzino with charred lemon, biscotti beside a small glass of vin santo, three scoops of gelato losing to the heat. A waiter crosses a sun-bleached terrace with a tray of glasses. A nonna leans out her window to call to someone she has known since the war.