A Sicilian Summer

A nostalgic reflection of childhood and the bittersweet beauty of coming of age.

Last year, while working on my fourth novel, I Love You, Sunday Sunset, I found myself inspired to write a short story, titled The Runaway Prince. My goal was to bridge the gap between the first novel in the series, Gnight, Sara / ‘Night, Heck, and its upcoming sequel. I wanted to give readers something like a light snack before the meal—a little treat to enjoy while they awaited the sequel’s release. Writing love stories has always been my passion—romance, in particular—but this short story was different. It wasn’t about romantic love; it was about the unbreakable bond between two brothers.

Much like the first novel in the series, Gnight, Sara / 'Night, Heck which began as a short story that Mike Dee and I wrote in less than a week, The Runaway Prince grew into something more. It evolved into a novel which I’m currently working on, and the process of writing it coincided with a deeply personal reunion. After 30 years apart, I reconnected with a childhood friend, Neriz. We had parted ways at sixteen and lost touch, but fate brought us back together. Though our reunion was brief—she had to return to Stockholm—we promised to stay in touch. Anyway, we’re just 15 hours flight apart. We chat almost every day about the little things in life, and we’ve even embarked on a storytelling journey together.

Neriz is a talented writer in her own right, though her focus is on her successful cooking and recipe blog. Back in high school, we both shared a love for reading and spent most of our money on books. So, it’s no surprise that we both ended up pursuing creative passions—writing and producing—alongside our day jobs. While she doesn’t often write long stories, claiming she doesn’t have a knack for them, her notes and attention to detail were pure gold. We talked about my character as if they were old friends.

Married to an Italian, Neriz knew Ortigia—its history, its people, its soul. She became my travel guide, and without her, I couldn’t have brought Sicily to life in this novel. Her influence shaped one of my favorite chapters, A Sicilian Summer.

Of all the storytelling moments we’ve created, chapter five holds a special place in my heart—it’s my sweet spot, my gift to readers. A nostalgic reflection of childhood and the bittersweet beauty of coming of age. It’s the kind of memory that stays with you, even when time begins to blur the edges of everything else.

Steven (I Love You, Sunday Sunset) was just twelve years old when he moved in with the Archibalds after his mother’s death. It was there that he met his nine-year-old half-brother, Heck (Gnight, Sara / ‘Night, Heck). This chapter captures one of Steven’s most unforgettable memories—a moment that stayed with him even twenty years after he ran away, leaving Heck behind.

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CHAPTER 5: A Sicilian Summer

Ortigia, Siracusa, July 2006

Steven and Heck discovered they had more in common than just their cerulean eyes. They were adventurers. Summer camps weren’t just a once-a-year thing for them—they made sure to fill every summer with new experiences, new places, and new stories to tell. But this summer was different. This summer, they were seeing the world in a way they never had before.

It was the summer Helen decided to bring them along on her trip to Italy with her friends. Ortigia, the historic heart of Siracusa, was a dream. The air smelled of salt and citrus, carried on a warm breeze that whispered through the narrow, cobblestone streets. Pastel-colored buildings with wrought-iron balconies leaned toward each other like old friends, their shutters painted in shades of seafoam green and sun-bleached blue. The island was alive with the hum of life—vendors calling out in melodic Italian, the clink of glasses at outdoor cafés, and the distant cry of seagulls circling the turquoise waters of the Ionian Sea.

When the sleek black van from Noleggio con Conducente pulled into the driveway of what the boys assumed was their hotel, Heck leaned out of the window, his eyes wide with disbelief. The building before them was a sprawling villa, its sun-warmed stone walls draped in ivy and bougainvillea. The terracotta roof glowed in the late afternoon light, and tall cypress trees lined the gravel driveway like silent sentinels.

“Is this the hotel?” Heck asked, his voice tinged with awe.

“Yep,” Steven replied with a smirk, watching his brother’s expression with amusement.

Heck’s jaw dropped. “It looks more like Don Corleone’s hideout from The Godfather!”

Helen, seated in the front, laughed at her son’s frankness. “Well, it’s not a hideout, but it is one of the best places to stay in this part of town. And it’s owned by my dear friend, Teresita Bili. So, boys, behave yourselves, alright?”

As the van came to a stop, Heck stepped out first, followed by Steven. He turned to his brother with a dramatic flourish, his voice adopting a terrible Italian accent. “After you, Don Steven!”

Steven grinned and played along. “Leave the gun, take the cannoli,” he quipped, mimicking one of the famous lines from The Godfather. Both boys burst out laughing, their voices echoing off the villa’s stone walls.

They were greeted by a man in his fifties, dressed in a crisp white collared shirt tucked into beige pants that sat high on his waist, almost comically so. His silver hair was neatly combed, and his warm smile revealed a row of slightly crooked teeth.

“Benvenuta a Siracusa, Signora Helen,” he said, his voice rich and welcoming.

“È bello essere tornata, Elmo. Stai benissimo!” Helen replied, her Italian smooth and practiced. “Boys, this is Elmo,” she added, gesturing toward the man.

Steven and Heck exchanged awkward smiles and nodded politely.

"Questo è il periodo migliore dell'anno, Signora. Entrate pure, la Signora Teresita arriverà a breve," Elmo said, motioning for them to follow him inside.

As if summoned by her name, Teresita appeared in the villa’s grand lobby just as they stepped through the arched doorway. The lobby was a blend of old-world charm and understated luxury, with high vaulted ceilings, intricate tilework, and large windows that let in the golden Sicilian light. Teresita was petite, with almond-shaped eyes and long, almost-white hair braided neatly down her back. She wasn’t Italian, but Asian-American, her presence as vibrant and warm as the Mediterranean sun.

“So, this must be Hector Junior!” she exclaimed, pinching Heck’s cheek with a playful grin.

Heck flinched slightly, clearly annoyed but too polite to say anything. “Uh, just Heck is fine,” he muttered, rubbing his cheek.

“And this is his brother, Steven,” Helen said, her tone casual but firm.

Teresita’s eyes flickered with surprise at the introduction, but she quickly masked it with a gracious smile. “Well, it’s wonderful to meet you both, handsome boys,” she said warmly. “You’re in for a treat. Ortigia is magical.”

She clapped her hands together, her energy infectious. “Now, let’s get you all settled. Lunch is ready, and I’m sure you’re starving after the trip. Elmo, please take their luggage to the suite in the west wing.”

The boys followed Helen and Teresita into the dining room, their stomachs growling at the sight of the feast laid out before them. Platters of fresh seafood—grilled prawns, octopus drizzled with olive oil, and golden calamari—were surrounded by bowls of vibrant salads, crusty bread, and pitchers of freshly squeezed blood orange juice. The air was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of garlic, lemon, and herbs.

As they ate, Teresita regaled them with stories about Ortigia. “You see, this is still very much a fishing town,” she explained, gesturing toward the window, where the sparkling sea was visible in the distance. “The seafood you’re eating was probably caught this morning. The fishermen here still use small wooden boats, painted in bright colors, with white buckets for their catch. It’s a tradition that’s been passed down for generations.”

Heck, his mouth full of calamari, nodded enthusiastically. “This is amazing,” he said, his words muffled but sincere.

“I’ve never tasted anything like this,” Steven added politely, though he felt awkward, unsure of what to say in moments like this.

Teresita beamed. “That’s the beauty of Sicily. Everything here is fresh, simple, and full of life. Just like the people.”

“You don’t look Sicilian,” Heck blurted out, busy picking at the food on the table.

“Hmmm, Heck…” Helen warned, her tone sharp.

Heck shrugged. “It’s a legit question, Mom.”

Teresita chuckled, clearly amused. “It’s because I’m Filipino,” she explained. “But I’ve lived here for over thirty years.”

“Whoa! That’s ancient!” Heck exclaimed, his eyes wide, “You must be very … very old!” The table erupted in laughter, even Helen unable to suppress a smile.

After lunch, the boys wandered the villa’s grounds, marveling at the lush gardens filled with lemon and olive trees. The scent of jasmine hung in the air, and the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore was a constant, soothing backdrop. Heck couldn’t stop grinning, his excitement bubbling over with every new discovery.

“Can you believe this place?” he said, turning to Steven. “It’s like something out of a movie.”

Steven smiled, watching his brother’s wide-eyed wonder. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It really is.”

Helen’s voice carried from the villa’s terrace, where she was sipping an espresso and chatting with Teresita. “Boys, Elmo can take you to the nearby town!”

“Coming!” Heck shouted back, already bounding down the steps two at a time. “Come on, Stevie!”

Steven followed, his pace slower but his curiosity piqued. When they reached the driveway, his eyes widened, and a low whistle escaped his lips. “Holy shit, Elmo,” he muttered under his breath.

Elmo stood proudly beside a pristine, beige Cinquecento Fiat 500, its rounded frame gleaming in the sunlight. The car was a relic of another era, its compact body and chrome accents a testament to Italian design. The interior was just as immaculate, with preserved tan leather upholstery and a dashboard that looked like it had been plucked straight out of the 1960s.

“Is this real?” Heck asked, his voice filled with awe as he ran his hand along the smooth curve of the car’s roof.

“A classic beauty,” Elmo said, puffing out his chest with pride. “Everything original, down to the last piece. She’s been in my family for decades.”

Steven opened the passenger door, marveling at how small the car was. “I feel like I’m stepping into a time machine,” he said, sliding into the seat. The interior smelled faintly of leather and engine oil, a comforting, nostalgic scent.

Heck climbed into the back, grinning from ear to ear. “This is so cool. I feel like we’re in an old Italian movie.”

Elmo chuckled as he started the engine, the Fiat’s distinctive hum filling the air. “Buckle up, ragazzi. Let’s go.”

The drive to the nearby town was like stepping into a postcard. The Fiat puttered along the narrow roads, its small engine humming as they passed picturesque scenes that seemed almost too perfect to be real. The walkway along the coast was lined with rusty railings in some places, their weathered charm adding to the town’s character. On one side, pastel-colored apartments with small balconies leaned toward the sea, their shutters thrown open to let in the salty breeze. On the other, the coastline stretched out in a jagged line of rocks, strategically placed to break the waves before they could crash against the walls of the town.

Steven leaned out the window, his eyes scanning the view. “Look at those rocks,” he said, pointing. “They’re like a fortress for the town.”

“Exactly,” Elmo replied. “They’ve been there for centuries, protecting the walls from the sea. The people here know how to live with the water.”

As they drove, they passed a man descending a set of stone stairs that led to a small sandy cove. He carried a folding chair and a bag, clearly heading for a quiet afternoon by the sea. Nearby, a weathered house with a faded Vendesi sign in the window caught Heck’s attention.

“Look at that place,” Heck said, craning his neck to get a better view. “It’s abandoned, but it’s so cute. Imagine living there.”

Steven smirked. “You’d have to share it with all those fat cats.” He pointed to a cluster of felines lounging in the sun, their tails flicking lazily as they dozed on the warm stone steps.

The boys were fascinated by the town’s old-world charm. They passed stone houses that still carried the traditions of southern Italy. In one, an elderly woman leaned out of an upstairs window, lowering a basket on a rope. A young man on the street below placed a loaf of bread and a bundle of fresh herbs into the basket before giving the rope a tug. The woman pulled it back up, her movements slow but practiced.

“That’s so cool,” Heck said, his eyes wide. “It’s like something out of a storybook.”

“It’s how they’ve done it for generations,” Elmo explained. “The older folks live upstairs, and the younger ones bring them what they need. Bread, fruit, fish—it’s all part of the community.”

Elmo eventually pulled the Fiat to a stop in front of a charming café with a hand-painted sign that read Billi’s Café. The building was painted a soft yellow, its shutters a deep green, and small tables with checkered tablecloths spilled out onto the cobblestone street. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wafted through the air.

“I’ll drop you off here,” Elmo said, turning to the boys. “This is one of Signora Teresita’s places. From here, you can walk around or borrow a bike from the backyard.”

The boys nodded, but as soon as they spotted a beat-up beige Vespa parked along with the bikes near the café’s back door, their eyes lit up.

“Hey, Elmo!” Heck shouted. “Can we use the Vespa instead?”

Elmo hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “You can, but return it before sunset. Your mama will meet you back here.”

“Deal!” Heck said, already running toward the Vespa. Steven followed, grinning as they climbed onto the scooter. Heck took the handlebars, and Steven hopped on behind him, holding on as they wobbled down the narrow street.

The boys quickly abandoned the adults’ itinerary, zipping through the labyrinthine streets of Ortigia like locals. The warm Mediterranean breeze whipped through their hair as they navigated the cobblestones, the Vespa’s engine buzzing like a contented bee. They passed children playing soccer in small piazzas, their laughter echoing off the stone walls, and old men sitting on benches, gesturing animatedly as they argued about politics or the weather.

At one point, they stopped to watch a group of kids eating fichi d’India, the prickly pears that grew wild along the sides of the road. The boys had seen the fruit before but had never tried it. Following the locals’ lead, they carefully peeled the spiny skin to reveal the vibrant, juicy flesh inside. The flavor was delicate, a mix of pear and peach, and the juice dripped down their chins as they devoured the fruit.

Nearby, two teenage girls with dark hair and sun-kissed skin giggled as they watched the boys struggle with the sticky juice. They whispered to each other in Italian, their laughter carried on the breeze. One of the girls, bolder than the other, walked up to Steven and kissed him lightly on the lips before darting back to her friend, both of them dissolving into laughter as they ran off.

Steven stood frozen, his face a mix of shock and embarrassment. Heck’s wide-eyed grin quickly turned into teasing. “Dude! You just got kissed! How was it?”

Steven blinked, still processing. “Uh… I don’t know. It was… weird.”

Heck rolled his eyes dramatically. “Weird? That’s all you’ve got? How does it taste like? Man, I can’t wait to be taller and older.”

Steven laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t taste a kiss, Heck. You feel it.”

“Whatever,” Heck said, rolling his eyes again. “You’re just saying that because you don’t know how to explain it.”

Steven laughed harder, the awkwardness melting away. It was his first kiss, and though he wouldn’t admit it, it was a moment he’d never forget.

“This is amazing,” Heck said, his voice muffled as he took another bite of the prickly pear, the girls and the kiss already forgotten. “Why don’t we have these back home?”

“Because we don’t live in paradise,” Steven replied, gesturing to the sparkling sea that stretched out beside them.

The Vespa buzzed along the coastal road, its small engine humming as the boys rode past fishing boats bobbing in the harbor. The brightly painted hulls reflected in the clear, turquoise water, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that danced with the gentle waves. Fishermen sat on the docks, mending their nets with practiced precision, their sun-weathered faces calm and focused. The boys waved as they passed, and the fishermen waved back, their smiles warm and welcoming.

“Stevie, look at that!” Heck shouted, pointing to a small shed perched on the rocky coastline. Its bright red door stood out against the muted tones of the stone, and it sat just above the shimmering blue ocean, as if daring the waves to reach it.

Steven smirked, leaning forward slightly to be heard over the Vespa’s engine. “Wanna skinny dip?” he teased, the suggestion meant as a joke.

But Heck, who was driving, slammed on the brakes with a mischievous grin. “Let’s go!”

“C’mon, that’s a joke, man!” Steven protested, laughing nervously. But Heck wasn’t listening. He was already off the Vespa, running toward the stone coast and stripping off his shirt as he went.

“Stevie! C’mon! It’s deserted!” Heck called over his shoulder, his voice full of excitement.

Steven hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. Then, with a resigned laugh, he gave in and chased after his brother. By the time he reached the water’s edge, Heck was down to his underwear and diving into the warm, crystal-clear sea. Steven followed suit, the water enveloping him like a second skin. It was cool and refreshing, the perfect antidote to the Sicilian sun.

They swam and splashed, their laughter echoing off the rocky cliffs. The world beyond the horizon seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of them and the endless blue of the sea. For a moment, it felt like they were the only people on earth.

“This is the best idea you’ve ever had,” Steven admitted, floating on his back and staring up at the cloudless sky.

“Told you!” Heck replied, grinning as he treaded water. “You’ve gotta trust me more, Stevie.”

Steven rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, sure. Until your next ‘brilliant’ idea gets us grounded for life.”

Heck splashed him in response, and the two dissolved into laughter again.

When they finally climbed out of the water, dripping and exhilarated, they were met with an unwelcome surprise: their clothes and the Vespa were gone.

“Shit,” Steven muttered, his heart sinking. He scanned the area, hoping to spot the culprit, but the rocky coastline was empty. “What now?”

Heck, ever the optimist, burst out laughing. “Guess we’re running back naked!”

Steven groaned, running a hand through his wet hair. “You’re insane. The café is miles away.”

“Then we’d better start walking,” Heck said, already wrapping his arms around his torso in mock modesty. “C’mon, Stevie. It’s not like anyone’s gonna see us.”

Steven hesitated, glancing at the long stretch of road ahead. The thought of walking barefoot and half-naked under the blazing sun wasn’t exactly appealing, but there wasn’t much choice. With a resigned sigh, he followed Heck, their bare feet slapping against the hot pavement.

The first few minutes were awkward, both boys hyper-aware of their lack of clothing. But as they walked, the absurdity of the situation began to sink in, and they couldn’t stop laughing. Every time a car passed, they dove into the bushes, their laughter muffled by the rustling leaves.

By the time they reached the outskirts of town, red-faced and exhausted, they were a sight to behold—two boys in their underwear, sunburned and covered in dirt, their hair still damp from the sea. Elmo spotted them while running an errand and pulled over, his laughter booming as he stepped out of the car.

“Madonna mia! What happened to you two?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Long story,” Steven muttered, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Elmo opened the trunk and pulled out a blanket, handing it to them with a grin. “Here. Cover yourselves before you scare the locals.”

Heck took the blanket and draped it over both of their shoulders like a makeshift cape. “Thanks, Elmo. You’re a lifesaver.”

Elmo chuckled, motioning for them to get in the car. “Come on, ragazzi. Let’s get you back to the café before your mama starts to worry.”

When they returned to the café, Helen and her friends were sitting at one of the outdoor tables, sipping espresso and chatting in a mix of English and Italian. The moment they saw the boys, wrapped in a single blanket and looking thoroughly disheveled, the women burst into laughter.

“What on earth happened to you two?” Helen asked, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Heck grinned, clearly unbothered by the teasing. “We went for a swim, and someone stole our clothes and the Vespa.”

Helen raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching as she tried to suppress a smile. “And you thought it was a good idea to walk back like that?”

“Did we have a choice?” he shot back, his tone dry but good-natured.

“Sorry, someone gotta pay for the Vespa,” Steven said apologetically.

Teresita leaned forward, her laughter bubbling over. “Oh, never mind, your mama can absolutely pay for it. This is too good. I wish I’d been there to see it.”

The teasing lasted for the rest of the afternoon, with Helen and her friends coming up with increasingly ridiculous nicknames for the boys—“The Sicilian Streakers” being the favorite. But Steven and Heck didn’t mind. It was one of those moments that would live forever in their shared history, a memory they would always carry.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the villa was bathed in the warm glow of twilight, Steven and Heck sat on the terrace, watching the stars begin to appear. The air was cool and fragrant, carrying the scent of jasmine and the distant sea.

“Today was insane,” Steven said, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the sky.

“Yeah,” Heck agreed, a contented smile on his face. “But it was awesome.”

Steven glanced at his brother, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You know, you’re not so bad, Heck.”

Heck grinned, nudging Steven with his elbow. “You’re not so bad yourself, Stevie.”

For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, the bond between them stronger than ever. The world around them faded away, leaving only the stars, the sea, and the promise of more adventures to come.

[ Photos / NBilli)

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Justine Castellon is a brand strategist with an innate ability to weave compelling narratives. She seamlessly blends her professional insight with her passion for literature. She writes about her journey as a writer in between poetry and short stories. She is the author of four novels –– Four Seasons,  The Last Snowfall, Gnight Sara / Night Heck and I Love You Sunday Sunset.

(Twitter/X @justcastellon) (Facebook / Instagram @domesticatedwriter)

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