Lessons Learned, Healing Hearts

A War Between Sicilian Cooks (Chapter 15)

Pulling everything Piero had asked for from the fridge, Marlow checked the bread box.

"Ughh!" she groaned. "Between school and chauffeuring you three around, I haven't done any grocery shopping. I'm out of bread, but I do have English muffins. We could make breakfast sandwiches instead."

"We?" Piero asked. Taking the bag from her, he made it clear that HE was the only one cooking. "Do you have a glass about this big?" he asked, forming a circle with his fingers.

"A glass? Why?"

"I'll show you."

Marlow handed him a tumbler, matching the size he wanted. With her elbows on the counter, she watched with a mix of curiosity and suspicion as Piero cracked an egg into the hot pan, then placed the glass over the top to keep the egg white from spreading.

"You know, there are moulds that do that same thing?"

"Yes. But don't tell Ignazio."

"Why not?"

"He thinks his way is the only way to make eggs that perfectly fit on an English muffin." Twisting the glass, Piero repeated the process two more times.

"Hmm," Marlow said, impressed despite herself. "Well, look at that."

Banished from the kitchen, Marlow took her glass of orange juice to the deck. Sitting at the table, she enjoyed the morning breeze, cool and pine-scented, as it curled around her like a favourite hoodie. A world away from the congestion of downtown, this was what she craved after a hard day: the hush of trees, the smell of the earth.

Hearing a lot of banging of drawers and cupboards, Marlow called out, "Do you need help?"

"No, no," came Piero's voice. "I'm almost done."

Inquisitive about how things were going, she tiptoed toward the screen door and peeked inside. There she watched as Piero, bent over slightly, fully immersed in the task at hand, put the final touch to his masterpiece. When he looked up, she scurried back to her chair, feeling like a guilty teenager caught spying on her crush.

"Breakfast is served," Piero said, stepping outside to join her.

"Wow, this looks amazing," Marlow said, accepting her plate with a grin.

Arranged like a piece of art, slices of strawberries, bananas and orange segments framed an open-faced egg sandwich. Topped with tomato and a slice of cheese, the top half of a toasted muffin leaned like a hat at an angle.

"Wait," Piero said, gently pushing down her fork. "Ignazio always claims he's the better cook. I want to send him a shot of our breakfast." Stepping in behind Marlow, Piero leaned his face in close. Holding up her plate, Marlow smiled at the camera, cheeks warm from more than just the sun.

"Saluti," Piero said, settling into the chair across from her.

Clinking her glass against his, Marlow kept his gaze as she took a sip of her juice.

"Do you and Ignazio compare your cooking a lot?" she asked, assembling her breakfast sandwich. Pressing down, a small amount of golden goodness oozed onto the plate, and she licked her lips, visibly eager for that first bite.

"No. Ignazio is the better cook. He likes to experiment with food. Me? I stick to what I know." Piero watched her closely, waiting for her verdict.

"Yum, so good!" she exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand. "My compliments to the chef."

Piero exhaled, relieved. "I'm glad you like it."

Their conversation fell into an easy rhythm, as if they were regulars just sitting at a small café enjoying the start of the morning. Her hand drifted to his forearm, and many times, he leaned closer, casually rubbing her back. Had they been observed by a stranger; it might have been easy to think they were already a serious couple.