‘I’d love to.’ Dropping her things back on the table, she tossed her coat on the back of one of the chairs and allowed the peace to wash over her.
Now, what’s that all about, hmm?
Earthy, indulgent and sweet, the aroma of roasting chestnuts – one of Rome’s most familiar and comforting winter scents – imbued the air of Bar Luna e Lupa’s kitchen.
‘Can I ask you something personal?’ Stella asked, peeling the blackened shell from another chestnut.
‘Certo.’ Marco wiped his hands on his apron before reaching for another from the sizzling cast-iron skillet.
‘Are you happy here?’
‘Dove?ARoma?’
‘No, here. At the bar.’
‘Sì, of course.’ He splayed open the nut, popping half in his mouth. ‘Why do you ask?’
Stella gnawed on the inside of her cheek for a moment. ‘It’s just . . . well, I often wonder if this is enough for you.’ His puzzled expression prompted Stella to elaborate. ‘You spent years studying languages and literature, yet you spend your days pouringcaffé.’
Marco reached for another chestnut, handing it to Stella. ‘Attenta, it’s hot.’ He sucked on the tip of his thumb. ‘I am fulfilled where I am most useful. For now, that’s here at the bar. It won’t be forever. Just for a while, untildestinotakes me elsewhere.’
Stella gently blew on the chestnut sitting in her palm, shifting slightly on the bar stool. ‘And you don’t think you could be put to good use elsewhere?’
‘Sicuramente, sì. But Papàneeds me now. Here. We need to establish the bar properly before I can move on.’
‘He could hire help, you know.’ Stella glanced over the top of her glasses while using a tea towel to peel the steaming chestnut in her hand. ‘Just playing devil’s advocate here.’
‘I know.’ He dropped the last few cooked chestnuts on the island bench between them. ‘More?’
‘Please.’
Returning the dry skillet to the hob, he tossed in another handful of chestnuts. ‘You know what it is, Stella? It’sdovere.Dovereto your family,dovereto your legacy,dovereto your blood.Dovere.’
‘You also have a duty to yourself, though, Marco.’ She gestured for him to pass her another.
‘I know. It’s not that simple. Ignazio needs me here too. He’s like a brother to me,no? He is – was once, I should say – a very troubled, sensitive boy. That has never truly left him. He doesn’t cope well with change.’ He refocused his attention on Stella. ‘It’s not just about Papà. My duty is to both of them.’
‘Have you spoken to yourpapàabout this?’
‘No.’ He sighed. ‘Don’t worry about me. Iamhappy here.’
‘I can’t help but worry, Marco. You work ridiculous hours and you’re constantly run off your feet. I know, I see it every day. I am just saying you should think a little about what you want and need from life.’ She shook her head. ‘Christ. I’m starting to sound like Marcella.’
Marco laughed. ‘That’s not a bad thing.’ He tossed a handful of scorched shells on the pile between them.
‘I know. And she’s almost always right about everything, and that can get annoying at times.’
Suddenly, the heated exchange she had shared with Marcella outside the restaurant returned to her mind, forcing her to eat her own words. Marcellawasusually right about things.
She looked at Marco, so innocently peeling chestnuts, unaware of the strife her spirit had suddenly become entangled with.
There are good guys out there, Stella. This one is one of them.
She smiled, watching him practically throw one chestnut in the air because it was so hot. And it was then that she realised that Marco, no matter how lovely, how handsome, how desired by others, would always be a no-go-zone. Stella enjoyed their blossoming friendship too much. He was quickly becoming a steadfast beacon of hope and a much-valued source of trust and escape from crazy, wild Roma. So she shelved the previous confusion and jealousy, and returned her focus to the moment.
‘Thank you for worrying about me.Non ti preoccupare. I just go with life,’ he said.
‘I wish I had some of your unwavering faith.’
