‘Yes. Your first sourdough. For tomorrow’s breakfast!’ She got up and bounded into the kitchen with a renewed energy.
Matthew’s eyes followed her, and he caught himself smiling. If anyone was going to domesticate him, it would be Sarah.
dodici
Matthew looked lovingly at the toasted slice of sourdough in his hand before taking a delicious first bite. The yeasty tang offset by the sweetness of themarmellatawas a winning combination. Easing back in his chair with his legs outstretched, his feet, just like Sarah’s, perched on the courtyard ledge overlooking the valley. Matthew reached forward and took his coffee from the ledge, enjoyed a sip, then let it rest in the palm of his hand. He relished the slower start to the morning.
Gazing at his watch, he said, ‘Back in Singapore, I would’ve already had two client meetings by now. Perhaps three.’
‘On a Sunday morning?’
‘You don’t make partner by sleeping in, I’m afraid.’ He took another bite and sighed contentedly. ‘I could stare at this view all day.’
The morning mist had started to recede and Fiorellino was once again visible across the valley.
Sarah, cradling a coffee in her lap, scowled. Looking down at her legs, completely bare from the knee down, she said, ‘They need a shave. Already.’ And she tried to fold one on top of the other so that Matthew couldn’t see.
‘So that’s what I could feel last night. I thought those were razor blades in the bed. Phew.’ He threw her a cheeky grin and took another sip of his coffee.
Sarah scoffed. ‘Excuse me, Mr Snores-A-Lot. You sound like a bloody freight train! Rattling and wheezing away five inches from my face.’
‘I’m exhausted,’ he laughed. ‘You’re probably snoring too, only . . .’
‘Only you’re asleep snoring, so you can’t hear it!’
Both laughed.
‘Seriously, though. Who cares about your legs? I don’t. You have lovely feet, by the way. Is that weird to say?’
Sarah splayed her naked toes out in front of them on the ledge. ‘First of all, thank you for the compliment. And no, it’s not weird.Yourtoes, on the other hand,’ and she gestured to his, ‘are a little scary-looking.’
‘I know. Especially that one.’ He pointed to the big toe on his right foot. ‘Gym accident. Dropped a 10 kg plate on my foot a few months ago. The big toe copped it the worst, but they’re looking much better now. They were black and blue for weeks. No breaks or fractures though.’
‘Now I feel bad.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I was quick to judge your feet based on appearances alone. I didn’t know their life story.’
‘We have plenty of time to get to know each other’s bodies.’
Sarah’s eyes widened. ‘Is that so?’
‘You know what I mean . . .’ he brought the cup to his lips to muffle his next comment, ‘. . . Ms Farts-In-Her-Sleep.’
She gave him a swift shove in the shoulder as best as she could from her chair. ‘Like you don’t fart?’
‘I do. And I own them. Proudly.’
‘Christ, isthismarriage?’
‘Warts and all, baby,’ he teased, leaning forward to place his empty plate on the ledge. ‘Just be yourself. That’s all we can ask.’
Sarah smiled at his comment before pulling up the rose gold bumblebee pendent on her necklace and holding it up for him to see. ‘Bee yourself,’ he read aloud. ‘That’s sweet.’
‘Mum and Dad gave this to me for my twenty-first birthday, before I moved to Sydney.’ Just as she was about to recount the story, her phone chimed. ‘Who’s bothering me at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning?’ She reached forward and plucked her phone from the ledge. ‘Oh, it’s Margherita.’
Buongiorno. Would you and Matthew like to join us in the piazza for caffé? It might be a good idea. See and be seen. Marghe. Kisses.
