GerIta

Chapter 2

Me: "So there's a little bit of Christian stuff in this chapter if for some reason that concerns you, but it's really no big deal. It's just sort of mentioned here and in a few other places in the book. It's not really heavy or anything. And, yep, that's all I have to say here."

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Mr. Beilschmidt's house was lovely—so German!—and Feli was glad he was here, waiting on dinner to be finished, although he would have preferred to cook himself. And the brother that had been mentioned, he was a sweetheart, perhaps a little needy in the attention department, but he was funny and more outgoing than Mr. Beilschmidt. Actually, Feli was rather troubled by what to call him at first. Two Mr. Beilschmidts? But then he insisted on Gilbert, and Feli was a little surprised at first, but it wasn't that big of a deal, and he got used to it. Feli wondered when he would be able to call Mr. Beilschmidt by his first name and thought on that name, Ludwig, some more. The 'w' in it was delightful for accent reasons, but it wasn't Mr. Beilschmidt himself that would ever be calling it out, so that aspect of the name was mostly useless. And the rest of the name was kind of bland and...homely in the American sense. Feli sighed dreamily nonetheless at it—it would be an honor to get to know the man well enough to call him by that name.

Anyways, currently Gilbert and he were in the garden with the dogs, and Feli was learning that whatever Gilbert liked was awesome which was awesome to know since it explained that eyebrow twitch from Mr. Beilschmidt earlier, and did Feli mention the dogs?! They were darlings, and Feli already had all of their names memorized. Two German Shepherds, adorably if a tad on the cheesy side, named Hans and Gretel; one Rottweiler named Lutgard, which Feli was a little surprised was a girl's name; and one Pomeranian, a small, useless yippy thing that looked like it was more Gilbert's dog than Mr. Beilschmidt's. The Pomeranian was cutely named Marilyn, and it looked like a bit of American pop culture was to blame there. She was feisty and stubborn—did not want to play fetch with Feli—but she melted for a back scratch and from thenceforth followed him everywhere.

Gilbert was informing Feli on the Gothic style of their cozy countryside cottage while they stood next to some rose bushes in the garden which smelled divinely fragrant. Every second that passed only served to make Feli fall more in love with this place and his decision to come here. What a lovely country! Gilbert and he had already arranged for him to come back tomorrow. Feli didn't start work until the day after that, and he was free, and he was company-starved, and he would love to.

Mr. Beilschmidt popped his head out the back door, or, well, popped didn't really fit the personality of the man or how he actually more slunk out the door, but who cares? He gave the familiar lack of distance between Feli's body and Gilbert's a slow, definitely censorious once-over with his eyes and then seemed to notice that he'd had Feli's attention the second he'd come outside. The stiff German blushed in that way Feli could already tell was typical of him and then quickly called them to dinner in a no-nonsense tone like he hadn't just been trying to spy on his brother and his guest in the garden. He ducked back inside immediately afterwards, and Feli had to laugh at that, already following after his preferred German acquaintance, completely abandoning Gilbert who was still prattling on about something awesome behind him. Marilyn walked with speed on her tippy toes at his heels, and Feli held the door for her, cooing, "Won't you come in, bella Marilyn?" The dog seemed to approve of his attitude towards her.

Halfway on his way to the kitchen, which Feli had of course memorized earlier, he got it in his head that he was done going slow with Mr. Beilschmidt. Yes, Italians were often rather lazy and tardy and slow about things, but romance was one thing they were particular about. Relationships were the zest of life, and Feliciano was deeply interested in courting Mr. Beilschmidt into one. Make no mistake about it, though: this was all a whim. His feelings were a whim, and he wasn't serious about Mr. Beilschmidt or anything. He just wanted some company, to make out, make love, and cuddle a little or a lot—perhaps the German was into cuddling.