As Marco made his way behind the counter, Stella set about removing her coat. She dropped it on the back of Marco’s chair, glancing down at the bookmarked paperback by his empty espresso cup. ‘Il Grande Gatsby,’ she said, giving a firm nod of approval. ‘A classic if ever I saw one.’
‘One of my favourite works of fiction.’
‘It certainly suits your jazz vibe aesthetic.’
He laughed, pouring milk into the steel jug to heat. ‘Una cioccolata calda, va bene?’
‘Ooh, yes please,’ she cooed, making her way to the wall. Though her cold-stiffened fingers weren’t feeling particularly nimble, she knew that once she got them started the rhythm and blood flow would follow.
While Marco prepared her drink she stood back to assess her handiwork to date. She felt proud of herself. There had been significant progress. Outlines and shading marked the spaces yet to be filled by the icons of Rome. It looked hopeful. Almost joyous. Bar Luna e Lupa’s mural was slowly taking shape, which was more than she could say for the other project in her life. The job search.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked, noting her stillness as she observed the wall.
Don’t bring up the job stuff now. You’ll kill the mood.
‘Nothing.’
‘Hmm?’
Stella scowled in defeat over her shoulder. ‘Nothing to worry you about.’
‘I am happy to be worried, Stella.’ He tapped the jug on the countertop to settle the milk, then proceeded to pour it into the mug he had set aside, already featuring several generous tablespoons of melted chocolate. Stirring it, he reached for a jar of chocolate shavings by the coffee machine and dotted them across the top of the foam.
Marco made his way around the counter to Stella and handed her the mug. ‘Eccola,’ he said, placing it in her still cold hands. ‘This will warm you.’
‘Grazie, Marco.’ She smiled, but was stopped from dipping for a first sip by a firm grasp on her arm.
‘Aspetta!’ he warned, dramatically withdrawing his left hand from behind his back. ‘Not withoutthis. . .’ Marco dropped a toasted hazelnut to the foam. It bobbed for a moment before sinking to the chocolate-laced milk below.
Oh my God. He actually. . .
Stella’s expression blossomed from surprise to delight, causing her cheeks to immediately flush.
. . .remembered.
‘That’s the best thing I’ve seen all week,’ she gushed.
Marco mimed a brow wipe. ‘Meno male! You made me promise, everything choc-hazelnut.E allora. . .’
‘Bless you, Marco,’ Stella said, leaning across and planting a kiss on his cheek, a move that came naturally to her. ‘You’re just so sweet.’
‘I try.’
The fact that Marco remembered the choc-hazelnut comment and acted on it in thoughtful ways meant the world to Stella. She was a lover of small unseen gestures, and things that had ‘in-meanings’ that only make sense to a select few. Andthiswas one of those moments.
In unison they both turned to face the wall, with Stella now sipping from the mug. ‘Oh, it’s very good,’ she said, licking the foam from her lips.
‘Good.Bevi.’
A silence filled the space between the pair and the mural. It was comfortable, with neither feeling the need to disturb the peace with a comment or idle chit chat.
Another wave of soccer supporters passed by the front of the bar; their impassioned cries melted into the general street chaos and the city’s nocturnal noise.
‘Marco, why was it Roma in the end for you and yourpapà?’
‘To open the bar?’
‘Yes. Honestly, Roma is just one huge throbbing metropolis. It could have easily swallowed you whole. Why here?’ She turned to face him, taking another mouthful.
