Stella watched the brunette and Marco chat, her heartrate quickening.
The brunette ran a finger seductively along the top of the counter, stopping precariously close to the arm Marco was leaning on.
Stella’s skin suddenly prickled defensively from head to toe. Marco was sweet, kind and sensitive. Stella couldn’t picture him falling prey to these overt sexual advances. She had never thought of him as the Latin lover kind, with a reputation to boot. And yet, as she watched on, something inside her chest constricted. Could this confident, beautiful woman sway his desires? Despite herself, she suddenly felt protective over Marco. He washerfriend.Herwork companion.HerMarco – whateverthatmeant – and she didn’t want to share him with this woman.
Catching herself being judgemental about the woman’s sexual assertiveness – which also involved casting similar aspersions about her personality – Stella snapped back to reality.
What the fuck are you even thinking? You’re with Vincent! He’s crazy about you!
Suddenly, the loud, flirtatious laugh of the brunette filled the bar, and she threw her head back with a playful wave of her hand. Her girlfriends were entranced, looking on intently. ‘Ok, great,’ she said, handing the napkin to Marco over the counter. She suggestively raised an eyebrow in his direction before turning to re-join her friends. They gathered their belongings and went to exit, with Marco following them out the door. ‘Ciaofor now, Marco,’ were the brunette’s final words.
‘Ciao,’ he called down the street, before closing the door and flicking the snib. He killed the power to half the lights and the sound system, plunging the bar into deafening silence. He then began stacking the chairs, doing his best to manoeuvre around Stella by the wall.
Giuseppe had finished dismantling the coffee machine and was filling the spill tray with parts for washing.
Marco said, ‘Lascia stare tutto,Papà.’ He re-tied his apron. ‘Vai.’
Giuseppe paused for a moment, eyeing his son carefully. ‘Va bene. Pensaci tu, allora,’ he finally said, leaving it all in the kitchen for Marco to clean. Gathering his things, Giuseppe bid them both goodnight, leaving the duo alone in the empty bar.
Marco cleared the top of the counter and was now wiping it clean with a fresh dishcloth. Stella kept one eye on him while packing her own equipment away.
Masked by the new shadows of the darkened bar, his warm brown eyes were almost lost against his olive skin. So deeply, naturally olive, even in November. His mop of loose chestnut waves caught the kiss of the overhead fairy lights. She couldn’t blame the young women for the carry-on; Marcowasvery good-looking.
Am I allowed to think that?
Storage box in hand, Stella’s eyes flicked to the countertop as she walked past on her way to the office space.
The napkin was gone.
It felt as if the floor had given way beneath her, and her knees threatened to buckle under the weight of her sudden emotional tug-of-war.
Where is it? Did he take it? How did I miss that?
Why should you even care, Stella? Honestly.
She left her equipment in the small office space and returned to the bar, shoulders significantly tighter than moments before.
It’s in his pocket, duh! He’s going to call her. Don’t you get it?
Shaking her head, Stella tried to reset her mind and needed a distraction. ‘Can I help you before I go for the night?’ she asked.
Rinsing the dishcloth, he wrung it out, then headed to the back table to clear the dishes left by the ladies. ‘Tranquilla. I’ll be finished in a few minutes.’
‘Ok, if you’re sure.’ Stella threw on her coat and satchel, and was winding her scarf around her neck when she noticed one of her used blotting pads on the floor. ‘Oh, missed this one. Sorry.’ She ducked behind the counter to dispose of it, only to notice the napkin staring at her from inside the waste basket. Stella’s heart suddenly kicked back into gear, her face softening behind a sheepish grin. A jolt of something resembling joy sent her spirits high, just long enough for her to catch her breath.
‘Plans for tonight?’ Marco asked, returning from the kitchen and wiping his hands dry on his apron.
‘No, actually.’ Stella cleared her throat, returning to Marco’s side. ‘Vincent’s working on things at home tonight. Marcella will have just got home from work. Just a quiet one for me, I guess. You?’
‘Idohave plans, actually.’
What? But . . . The napkin . . .
‘I was hoping to do something with you.’
Stella didn’t know if it was because she was wrapped in her winter layers, or if it was the confusing relief she felt, but her cheeks suddenly warmed. ‘Really?’
‘Ti va?’
