AJ stops at a red light, flashing his turn signal to the car behind us as he fiddles with the radio.
"Hey, mom's home tonight, we're all having dinner together. Six o'clock okay, don't be late Em, she really wants to see you." He smiles over at me before turning his eyes back to the road; my brother, the ever-safe driver who won't take his eyes off the road for longer than two seconds.
"Yeah, I'll be there. Doesn't she have a night shift though?" I ask, confused. My mom's schedule is all over the place, I don't think she's had a regular sleeping pattern in six months. It's a big deal when we all get to eat together.
"Only at two, so she's got time."
I nod in understanding, leaving the conversation to fall as I look out the window.
It's an early morning in Toronto- the sun has just barely peaked out over the horizon of towering buildings, basking the sky in shades of pink and orange. It's rather pretty, minus all the moving cars- speeding to get to work before the rush hour hits. The wind blows, ruffling the trees that line the streets, and making pedestrians pull their coats tight around them, shielding their bodies from the cool, Saturday morning air.
AJ pulls down the familiar street that holds The Belmonte Café, stopping out front so I can get out.
"I'll walk home okay? See you tonight bro!" I call, running to reach the side walk and enter the warm building.
"Love ya sis!" He calls, rolling down his window.
"Love you too!" I shout as he drives away, honking the horn twice in recognition of my words.
I push open the faded blue door of the café, instantly being engulfed in warmth from the blazing fire, crackling in the hearth. I head behind the counter, making my way to the lit kitchen, visible from the doorway. I hear Matteo's familiar voice from inside as he curses in Italian, and I smile at the thought.
After dropping off my stuff in the cupboard and grabbing a new apron, I enter the kitchen, where I find a cursing Matteo running his hand over cold water at the sink.
"Forno caldo maledetto, pezzo di merda! Male come l'inferno," He trails off, mumbling English profanities as he examines his hand, which is a bright pink.
I rush to his side, pushing his hand back under the stream of cold water.
"What happened?" I exclaim as I reach for the first aid that Helen keeps in the cupboard under the sink. Pulling it out, I open it, reaching for the bandages and ointment. After turning off the tap, I gently grab his hand, dabbing it dry with my apron.
"I was pouring hot water into a mug for some coffee when the phone rang. I wasn't expecting it, jumped and accidentally got water on my hand." He explains.
I nod in understanding, rubbing the ointment into the wound. He inhales a sharp breath through his teeth, hissing in pain and I wince, sending him an apologetic smile.
"Sorry. I just have to wrap it up." I unroll the bandages, wrapping it neatly around the pink, enflamed skin of his hand, and hold it in place with a safety pin. Satisfied with my work, I start putting the supplies away, until his uninjured hand reaches out to stop mine. I glance at him confused by the amused expression on his face.
"Thanks Emma, see, menomale che sei qui ." He has a teasing smirk on his face, obviously noting my frustration at the foreign language.
"M-matteo where's th-the-" we both turn at the sound of the cut-off male voice, and the oncoming footsteps that come to a standstill at the kitchen doorway.
YOU ARE READING
Love, Emma
Teen Fiction"E-Emma? It's okay y-you know. I-I'm used to i-i-it." "You shouldn't have to be, some people disgust me, the nerve of them." "I can't blame t-t-th-them, I m-mean l-l-l-look at m-me." He sounds so defeated, even though I can tell he's trying to hide...
