‘Keep thecafféflowing, and anything choc-hazelnut, please!’
‘Caffé. Nocciole. Done!’ Marco beamed and they shared a laugh.
Emerging loudly from the kitchen was Giuseppe. ‘Is that Stellina I hear?’
His question, of course rhetorical, was answered with a warm bear hug. Stella could get used to this kind of constant love and affection, something she missed living so far from home.
‘CiaoGiuseppino. What do you think of the design?’ She gestured for Marco to pass him the sketchbook.
‘Mamma mia! You are so clever.BravaStella!’
Marco explained the design to his father, using the same terminology and description Stella had. All the while, Stella couldn’t help but study his face, his smile, his genuine love and passion for the bar. He was just so lovely. Reminded of the concerns Vincent had raised, Stella decided to take Marco out to get to know him better.
Once Giuseppe retreated to the kitchen, she said, ‘Hey, can I buy you a gelato? A good excuse to spend some time getting to know each other.’ She packed her sketchbook away, returning the pencil to its elasticated loop. ‘It’s quiet now. What do you think? Before the afternoon rush?’
‘That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard. Ever.’
They sat in front of the Pantheon, a gelato each in hand, laughing and chatting as if they had been friends for years. Stella had opted for her usualnocciola, whereas Marco had settled onzabaglione.
‘You have simple yet classic tastes.’ She gestured to his ice-cream choice. ‘Does that go for everything in your life?’
‘There is nothing wrong withzabaglione.’ He took a long lick, exaggerating his delighted facial expression. ‘Che buooooono!’
‘No, seriously?’
‘Of course. My favourite ice-cream flavour is an old-fashioned egg custard. I like simple things. Simple pleasures. Call me an old man, I don’t care. You,’ he pointed to her hazelnut, ‘like to play it safe. You like safe and . . .’ He was searching for the English word and settled on, ‘. . . uncomplicated.’
‘I do not!’ She continued to lick the melting droplets away from her fingers. ‘I just happen to likenocciolathe best.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with playing it safe. The reason, though, intrigues me.’
‘The reason for what? My desperate never-ending search to be safe, comfortable and secure?’ She gestured melodramatically, enacting a damsel in distress, collapsing on his shoulder.
‘I think . . . you have been hurt. Or have experienced some kind of loss.’ His statement wasn’t accusatory, nor was it meant to shock her. It was just an idea he had, something he had long suspected since their initial meeting. He pinned it down to her incredible humility and sweetness, and her warm, kind heart.
Stella was quiet and righted herself. Continued licking of the ice-cream enabled her to keep her mouth busy, not needing to immediately defend herself.
Noticing the change in her energy, Marco said, ‘It’s ok, I’ve been hurt too.’ He licked again, buying himself time to gather his thoughts. ‘I was raised by mynonni, mostly. Mymammadied when I was a baby. She was sick.Cancro.’ He couldn’t look directly at Stella. Instead, he gazed out at the Pantheon, trying to distract himself from the burning sensation itching away at the back of his eyes.
Stella put her arm around his shoulders. Her eyes welled up with tears, so moved by this unforeseen revelation. ‘Marco, I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s ok.’ He took a deep breath, suppressing his emotions. ‘I miss her every day, even though I didn’t know her. It’s stupid.’
‘It’snotstupid.’ She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I lost my dad too.’
‘Oh, Stella. When?’
‘I was only ten. He also died of cancer. I don’t remember a whole lot, to be honest. I just remember spending lots of time in the hospital. Perhaps I blocked a lot of it out.’
He turned to faced her. ‘I’m so sorry,cara.’
‘I have this image of him sitting up in bed in the hospital, eatingbignè di San Giuseppe. Like, a whole tray of them. They were his favourite treat, so people kept making them and bringing them in. The cream-filled ones.’
‘Eh,sono buonissimi.’
‘Yep. No wonder he loved them.’ Stella’s watery eyes crinkled with her smile. ‘And his name was Giuseppe. Just like yourpapà.’
Marco gave a chuckle. ‘That is fantastic. You know, they are usually only eaten—’
