The next day, I leave my balcony-turned-office to go for a drive. I need to clear my head and I’ve yet to go to an Italian grocery store. It feels like an oversight.
On the few international trips we went on when I was a child, my parents and I would always make time for a grocery store. We’d go aisle after aisle and pick out things we’d never heard of to try.
So I do the same here. I spend almost an hour in a grocery store before heading back to Egeria. I have to take two trips from the car to the kitchen to carry in all the bags.
I set them down on the kitchen island. The plastic is flimsy, and the corner of a cardboard box has already pierced it.
I’ll pack tote bags next time.
There’s a small radio in the kitchen that Antonella keeps on when she’s in here. I turn it on, and Italian music starts to play. I sway along as I start unpacking. There are at least three things I want to try right away.
Italian grocery stores might be the best I’ve ever been in.
“Where,” a voice asks, “have you been?”
I turn to see Rafe standing in the doorway. He looks over the kitchen island at the veritable banquet of things I’ve bought.
“I stole your car again,” I say.
“It’s not stealing. You can use whichever car you want.” He lifts up a box of a cookies I’d never seen before. “You bought these?”
“Yeah. Are they good?”
“They’re fantastic. We used to take these out on ski trips. They were individually wrapped back then.” He puts the box back down. “Did you buy the entire store?”
“No. But I just realized I hadn’t been to a single grocery store since I came here, and I want to… well, buy Italian food. Eat my way through the country.”
He holds up a bag of chips with a smile. “So you started with this?”
“That’s a flavor I’ve never heard of before! And I’m notonlydoing snacks. Don’t complain, or you won’t get one of those nostalgia cookies.”
“Nostalgiacookies,” he repeats. He looks over the haul, turning a few things over. “And you’re listening to… is thatVolare?”
“I’m embracing the culture.”
“You’re married to a Swiss man, not an Italian one,” he says. Something about those words makes my stomach warm.
“Yes, and when we go back to Switzerland, I want to do this too,” I say. “I only got to try a little bit of chocolate last week.”
He comes to stand beside me, close enough that our hips almost touch. I’m sorting through the fruit I bought and he watches me do it.
“You’re wearing my vest?”
“Yes. Told you I wanted to try one. Doesn’t it look good with shorts?” I smile at him. “Are you terribly annoyed at me?”
“Yes,” he says easily. “I’m livid. There’s not a single part of me that finds the idea of you walking around in my clothes a turn-on.”
The music picks up, and my heart with it. “That wasn’t the desired effect.”
“I know. That’s why I’ve kept it to myself.” He reaches past me to grab a small black jar. “You bought squid ink?”
“Yes. Anything that was new for me, I bought.”
“I could use this for pasta.” He turns it over and then looks up at me. There’s something in his dark-green gaze that makes me feel light. Like I could do anything. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
“Here?”
“Yes. Outside, on the terrace.”
