The road to Il Pontile ends at the water. There is no shop, no window, no sign on the gate. Nora Castellini works from two rooms above a boathouse, and the first thing a visitor sees is the jetty and the launch tied against it.
"People think the location is the romance," she says. "The location is the filter. Anyone who drives out here has already decided they are serious."
She has been trading for eleven years. The book runs to about forty pieces, which is small enough that she can describe every one from memory, and she sells roughly one a week. Both numbers have been stable for six years. Neither is an accident.
Il Pontile is a fictional dealer. This profile is placeholder copy, written to hold the slot until the next interview is published.
I came to ask her why she has never grown.