“Posso prendere un caffé macchiato?” (“Can I have a macchiato?”), I said in a voice a decimal louder than my usual volume. I was standing at an angle in order to squeeze between two suit-clad men and a group of students at the bar. I was on my tiptoes and had raised my hand to get the barista’s attention.

I connected eyes with the barista who would later become, if you will, my barista. His eyes crinkled into a smile above his mask, and he pushed up his starched sleeves.“Certo, signorina” (“Of course, miss”), he said, immediately beginning to pull a shot of my post-pranzo pick-me-up.