“It’s not,” I say, shaking my head a little too vigorously. “Forget about it, Mum. I just got the proposal and it made me pause, that’s all.”
“Because, Olive, it’s notthatbig. You break it down into small steps. Plan everything. You just need to take your time, do the research, and then... leap of faith.”
Time and bravery, I think to myself.
AFTER AN HOURof attempting to write about our bike ride, and then fussing over the draft of my Catania story, I head downstairs to find Leo flicking through the channels on the TV with a bottle of wine. When he sees me, he turns it off.
“You can watch something,” I say, picking up the open bottle and making my way toward the kitchen to get a glass. “Don’t mind me. I’m just looking for wine.”
Leo springs up to help.
“Stay put,” I say. “You look relaxed.”
“That I am,” he says, sitting back down, before shooting me a look. “Mostly.”
The proposal. My heart squeezes. I am going to have to give him something.
“I’ve read it,” I say quickly.
“And?”
“It’s good. Youknowit’s good,” I say, smiling wryly. “You could probably get investment to start it yourself somewhere.”
“That’s my plan B,” he shoots back, plucking a kalamata olive from a small ceramic bowl before placing his drink back down on the coffee table.
Must not give him too much hope.
“I don’t want to drag this out,” I say. “But I do need time to think it through, talk to some people, and I have alotof questions.”
“Why don’t we go over it together?” he says. “I could cook for you. Some of the dishes? I know we’re going to Liguria in a few days, and we should make time to do it before we get to Roger’s.”
My dad’s best friend, Roger. Another emotional tidal wave to get through.
“Yeah. Let’s do that,” I say, nodding. “You cook for me, I’ll get my questions together, and at the very least I can give you real, thorough feedback.”
I reach for my glass and smile to myself.
“You’re considering it!” he exclaims. Then he narrows his eyes on me. “Aren’t you? This isn’t a no. I think if it was a no you’d tell me right away.”
“It’s not a yes,” I say, folding my arms, feeling myself tense.
“Sorry,” he says, raising both his hands. “I want you to know, it won’t change what I think of you, Olive, if you decide to sell.”
I look over at him and smile gratefully. Although I’m not sure it’s true. How can it be?
“I wonder what Dad had in mind,” I say wistfully, staring out the huge windows into the darkening sky outside. “Was it as simple as, if he gives me the restaurant, I drop everything and take it over?”
Leo leans forward.
“You asked me once if your dad ever talked about you,” he says. “And I want you to know that he did. Olive, he had a folder of all your press clippings in the office. He framed that one you wrote about Le Grappa.He used to read lines out from it all the time. One line I will never forget: ‘Le Grappa is cosplaying as an Italian eatery wearing cheap Prada knockoffs.’”
I wince, and then my breath catches in my throat as the information starts to sink in.
“And he...” Leo stops for a moment, seeming to consider whether he should continue talking.
“Go on,” I say.
“He had a picture of you next to the red kitchen clock.”
