In English, Francesca said, ‘Simona, let me introduce you to my cousin, Alessio. He’s visiting from Australia.’
Alessio read genuine surprise across Simona’s freckled face. ‘A cousin. Really?’ Her English was layered with thick Italian shadows, her pugliese syllables more pronounced than Francesca’s. ‘You never mentioned relatives in Austr—’
Alessio watched Francesca’s carefully blank face. ‘I’m sure I have. Alessio’s a second cousin. Here for the entire summer. He’s also a chef, so we are in fantastic company.’
Simona’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Was it a last-minute thing?’
Francesca seemed to falter for a split second. ‘Uhm. Sort of.’
‘Because you never mentioned it.’
Simona looked a little wounded, as far as Alessio could tell, so he jumped in to deflect some of the blame. ‘That was my fault. I sprang it on them. Managed to get some cheap flights.’
‘I see. And a love of food is clearly genetic, Chef!’ Simona’s eyes settled on Alessio, as if scouring his face for a family resemblance. Whether she found one or not, her expression cleared and she said, ‘Allora, welcome to the Impastino family!’
Alessio allowed himself to relax. ‘Grazie. I love it here already.’
Francesca beamed. ‘Simona is my best friend. We went to school together. With her older brother, Carlo, of course. Carlo is just as wonderful as Simona.’
‘Almost as wonderful as me,’ Simona corrected. ‘So, you are sleeping together, no?’
The way Francesca’s eyes widened behind her nonchalant laughter didn’t escape him. ‘Sleep together? We’re cou—’
‘I mean, stay together! My English!’ Simona’s eyes darted between the pair. ‘Scusatemi!’
Alessio laughed politely. ‘Actually, Francesca’s given me her entire apartment.’
‘I’m sharing with Nonna while Alessio is with us.’
Simona nodded. ‘Excellent. Bravi! I hope it goes well.’ She returned behind the counter and pulled a mound of cheese from the refrigerated display case. ‘Alessio, while you’re here you must try my cheese!’
‘That’s very kind of you. I’d love to.’ While Simona’s back was momentarily turned Alessio and Francesca shared a wide-eyed look which read, God, that was close!
Slicing the red-flecked, cream-coloured block on the large stainless-steel machine, Simona said, ‘Francesca, you’re responsible for teaching Alessio the ways of the town. And our stomachs.’
‘She’s doing a wonderful job already!’ he chimed in as Simona proffered him a slice of cheese over the top of the counter.
‘My pecorino fresco piccante. Don’t rub your eyes if you get the chilli flakes on your fingers, eh!’
Toothsome, matured to perfection. Still smooth.
Milky and rich.
Slight kick of the sheep’s milk.
Warmth of the chilli.
Sea salt.
‘That’s damn good,’ he said, accepting a second slice, while Francesca received her first.
‘Hmm. Brava!’ Francesca affirmed. ‘Buonissimo!’
‘Did you make this?’ Alessio asked, gesturing to the cheese on the slicer.
‘Sì. Most of the cheeses here. And some of the cured meats.’
Alessio nodded his respect. ‘It’s phenomenal.’
