Page 15 of My Lemon Grove Summer
‘It all goes to my legs. That’s why they’re so long.’ He sucks in a long string of spaghetti coated with pine nuts, lemon juice and Parmesan.
‘Good fork work. You’re a local already!’ Giuseppe tells him.
Lennie lets the pasta smack around his mouth, and the sauce makes his lips glisten. Again I wonder what it will be like to kiss those lips. Lemony is all that comes to mind at the moment.
Our pizzas arrive. Huge and thin, with tiny bits of charring at the edges where they’ve been pulled from the wood-firedforno. It is possibly one of the best pizzas I’ve ever eaten, I think, as I finally forgive Luca for making us move tables, and fall in love with the restaurant all over again. I look over at the other party. They are all focused on their plates of pasta and the serious business of eating.
Lennie has beautiful pork in a light sauce with green beans and potatoes cookedal forno. I have a taste, and he tastes my pizza, just as we’ve always done.
After the main course, those more valiant than me have ice cream. But I’m too full.
Then Luca arrives at our table with small glasses and two bottles.
‘Limoncello and crema limoncello!’ he announces, and moves around the table filling the glasses with either the clear lemon-scented drink or the creamy version.
‘Oh, lovely, is it home-made?’ Sherise asks.
‘Sadly no,’ he shrugs. ‘Our lemon orchards have seen better days.’ He glances at the table by the window and then away again, and I find my eyes following his and narrowing.
‘A toast,’ says Giuseppe. ‘To welcome you all. To the success of our relocation project.’ He looks at me and Lennie. ‘And to a wedding here in Città d’Oro. A real celebration!’ He lifts his glass. ‘In three months, when you decide to stay, and become official residents? Yes?’
Three months?! I practically choke. But we all raise our glasses and cheer. I sip the strong limoncello and swallow, my mind full of the evening’s developments. My wedding. Just before my fortieth birthday. Finally I’m going to have something to show for my life. I swallow again, and look at Lennie. Then briefly at Luca, and my stomach flips over and back again. I don’t need stomach flick-flacks; I need to build a future with someone, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.
‘To us, and to the wedding.Saluti,’ I say, and sip again. I really am getting married.
When we have all finished, Giuseppe pays the bill, then turns and nods to the man in the hat. ‘Buonasera, Romano.’
Romano nods in response, as do the rest of his table, then he looks at me, and once again I hold his stare.
‘Buonasera,’ I say, fuelled by limoncello. ‘I hope you enjoyed your table and your meal,’ and Lennie once again has me by the elbow and is guiding me out before my runaway mouth gets the better of me.
Later, I lie in bed listening to . . . well, nothing, apart from what I think might be Barry’s snoring next door. Lennie is sleeping in one of the bedrooms in the converted barn across the courtyard, and I find I’m relieved not to have to worry about us sharing a bed tonight.
I think about our housemates, and theBig Brothervoice-over comes into my head: ‘End of day one in theBig Brotherhouse!’ How did we all end up here? I wonder. How is the town going to take to us arriving? If tonight’s other diners are anything to go by, not very warmly. But Giuseppe seems determined that we should stay.
Hopefully tomorrow we can have a look at our houses. I’m dying to get stuck in. I want to start making a home for me and Lennie. Our home. Because, I think, I’m getting married. I let the fact sit in my brain, like the honey and cheese melting on my tongue earlier, enjoying the delicious sensation, and a smile spreads across my face. I’ve finally stepped out of the last-chance saloon and into the sunlight.
But as I fall asleep, it’s not Lennie’s face I see; it’s a stranger called Luca. A forbidden fruit; a very dangerous fruit indeed.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, it’s like I’ve woken up in the Albert Hall with a live concert going on around me. But I’m not at a concert. I’m in Sicily, with the sun creeping through the shutters along with a deafening dawn chorus. I stand up and go to the window, push open the shutters and stand and stare . . .
There’s a knock at the door. It’s Lennie, with bed hair, as always, carrying two cups.
‘One weak coffee, for the lightweights amongst us!’ he jokes, handing me one of them. He knows just how I like my coffee.
We stand by the window and stare at the neglected lemon grove and the birds flying in and out of the wild flowers between the trees. A butterfly flutters right past us.
‘I can’t help but wonder why no one’s looking after this lemon grove,’ I say. ‘Or any of the lemon groves for that matter.’
Lennie shrugs. ‘Maybe there just aren’t enough people. I mean, we’ve hardly seen anyone. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? We are the young people!’ And we both laugh.
‘The young engaged couple!’ I say, then think I should follow it up with something and slide my arm tentatively around his waist. It feels a bit odd, so I tilt my head and lean it against his arm, as I do when we sit next to each other on the settee watching old films. It feels affectionate rather than . . . sexy. He turns and slings an arm around my shoulder, moving us away from the uncharted territory of physical intimacy and back into best-mates zone.
‘So what are we going to do today?’ he asks.
‘I thought maybe we could try and get into our house.’ I lift my head and look at him excitedly. ‘We could make a start on what needs doing.’ I drop my arm from around his waist and sip my coffee.
