‘And this is?’
‘A special treat for today. I bought these especially for you this morning from apasticceriain Testaccio. Some of the best in Roma.’ His lips curled into the most delicious smile, tinted with a contented air of satisfaction. ‘Open it. Enjoy them.’
Stella accepted the small parcel and sat down at the closest table. It was at that moment that an elderly couple stepped foot into the bar, making their way to the counter. Marco immediately snapped back to a more professional mode, straightening his apron upon returning to the till.
Slipping a paint-stained finger under the tape, she peeled it back, tearing the paper end as she did so. She slid her hand into the bag and withdrew a gold rectangular cardboard plate with scalloped edging. Atop sat the plumpest, most moreish-looking trio ofbignè di San GiuseppeStella had ever set eyes upon.
Stella’s gaze immediately flicked to Marco, who was dropping coins on the change plate. They locked eyes, and Stella could read the joy in Marco’s face seeing her so taken by the surprise.
He smiled humbly, as if to say,All for you.
With her shoulders curling under the weight of Marco’s incredibly thoughtful gesture, Stella seemed to shrink. Eyeing the crispy golden pastries dusted with icing sugar, her tastebuds responded on cue, filling her with the desire to consume them all in one unladylike gulp.
Grazie, she mouthed across the bar as Marco set to work making the couple’s coffees.
He returned with a silent,Prego, before making small talk with his customers.
Stella took the firstbignèand brought it to her lips. That sweet, vanilla-tinted doughy aroma assailed her senses. And it brought with it memories of home. Of her life in Melbourne. And of her father.
While she wanted to keep the welling emotions at bay, she was unable to contain the tears which gathered in her eyes. Not enough to break loose and fall, but just enough to cloud her vision and cause her to blink.
It was then – as Marco set a small espresso down beside the golden tray, and his hand found the crest of her shoulder for a reassuring squeeze – that Stella accepted that Marco, unlike so many of the men who had walked into her life, wasdifferent.
Finally, allowing herself that first bite, Stella realised just how important Marco and Bar Luna e Lupa had become. She felt safe. She felt at home.
Then, before she could allow herself to dwell on the fact, the timely reminder of her Roman expiration date returned to taunt her.
Time here, in this little bar, with her new and wonderful friend, would likely come to an end.
Down went a secondbignè.
And with it, her restless melancholy.
‘Who gives a shit? We’re outta here tomorrow morning,’ said one of the three young ladies sat at the table in the far rear corner of Bar Luna e Lupa.
‘If you don’t ask him, Tay, I will,’ replied the blonde.
‘You’d sleep with just about anyone, Kate,’ the brunette laughed. ‘Fuck it. I’m going for it.’ This was met with playful giggles and naughty banter. ‘Hand me that napkin, will you?’ Withdrawing a pen from her handbag, she scribbled down her name and phone number and folded the napkin in half. ‘I’m gonna get me some.’
‘You only live once, Tay,’ cheered the redhead.
Stella tried her best to look inconspicuous while packing away her equipment at the wall, but she didn’t like the way the young women were talking about Marco. Lusting after him so openly, as if he were a piece of meat.
‘He’s fit,’ the blonde said, leaning back in her chair, craning to get another look at Marco, who was busy serving at the counter.
‘I can’t watch.’ The redhead covered her eyes with both hands, peeking through a gap in her fingers.
The brunette zhuzhed her hair and bit down on her lower lip, calling some extra blood flow to her perfect pout. Confidently, she sauntered to the counter, flashing her girlfriends crossed fingers behind her back.
Marco showed his last customer out and flipped the sign on the door toCHIUSOas he prepared to close the bar for the night.
‘Uhm,mi scusi?’ the brunette interrupted coyly, pivoting for a moment to serve her friends a juicy grin.
Marco turned with a polite smile. ‘How was everything? Can I get you something else before we close? Adolce?’ He gestured to the glass display to his right, holding the last of Ignazio’s tempting creations.
‘Thereissomething I wouldn’t mind, actually,’ she said with a not-so-subtle inflection.
It was at that precise moment that a Vespa roared down Via dei Giubbonari, completely muffling the conversation between the pair. Then, to Stella’s frustration, Giuseppe smacked the coffee machine tamper hard against the bench to clean it of residual coffee grounds. He flicked the switch and steaming hot air rumbled through the pipes, resulting in a spluttering cacophony.
