Page 85 of A Place in the Sun
‘I see.’ He sips the wine.
I look sideways at the rucksack. Of course it’s not Stella’s. It’s Giovanni’s.
‘We’re going to stay friends, but I can’t go back to the past,’ I say, sipping my wine. My cheeks are flushing and I’m not sure if that’s from the wine or how I’m feeling about Giovanni.
‘I don’t think Sebastian is the problem here,’ he says, looking straight at me. ‘I’m not Marco, Thea. I’m just Giovanni. A burnt-out chef whose fire has been reignited since you’ve been around. You’ve lit up the whole place. But I can’t stay to watch you be here and me not able to love you. It’s best I move on. La Tavola is safe in your hands. I’d like to try to tell other towns how they can set up a community kitchen. Roll the idea out.’
‘So that’s it? You’re leaving?’
He gives a little nod.
‘But …’
‘I know that’s not easy for you. But if it helps, we’re all about the experiences we’ve had, where we’ve come from. The past is a part of who we are now, and where we’ll go in the future. I won’t forget this time.’
He moves towards the door, picking up his rucksack.
‘Wait!’
He turns back slowly. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I do know what Marco would tell me to say. Not to lose someone important in my life. To seize the day. To enjoy the moment, and the journey, for as longas it lasts. And he’d say I made the right decision last time, choosing him, that I should follow my instincts this time too. And he’d be right. What am I scared of? Of loving again? Marco is part of my past, my children’s life, but he’s not here now. I am, and so is Giovanni. A lot has changed. Having Stella in our lives for starters.
‘Your pasta. It’s … too salty!’
He turns further towards me. ‘Too salty?’
I’m gathering confidence. ‘It needs more pepper!’
‘More pepper, you say?’ A smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘Let me try it again.’ He marches back into the kitchen and picks up a fork. ‘The pasta is not too salty, and it has just the right amount of pepper. Here, try!’ He twirls a forkful and holds it out to me. Slowly I open my mouth, put my hand over his, and I’m trembling. This is me taking a gamble, a chance … a second chance on love.
He feeds the pasta to me. I close my mouth. He slides out the fork and watches me eat.
Slowly I chew. ‘You’re right. I can taste it now.’
‘My secret ingredient?’
My eyes are filling with tears.
‘It’s made with love.’
And a single teardrop spills, a teardrop of surprise, trepidation, excitement, and the thought of losing something that I never thought would come my way again: love.
‘I know you’re not Marco.’
‘He was your husband, Thea. He’s part of your life. But that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed a future too.’
He’s not Marco, and he’s definitely not Sebastian. It’s not a safe, secure future.
‘I think we could run courses here for people, carers, and patients who suffer from dementia so that food can take them back to their happy place. And for young people too, young men like Alessandro, who are going down a wrong path. Food can help them find their way back on track. And for the bereaved, to remember their past and let it be part of their now, celebrate what they had and who they are today.’
‘You’re quite something, Thea. It’s exactly what this place should be about. Sharing the recipes and love. It’s not about the food on the table,’
‘It’s about who you share it with. And I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be sharing it with than you,’ I say, suddenly feeling as if I’m standing in front of him completely naked, as vulnerable as I’ll ever be. ‘This works, the two of us together. Sharing our skills and our past …’
He looks down at me. ‘You and me, together?’ He smiles slowly.
I nod, matching his smile.
‘A new beginning for all of us, here, at La Tavola, where our past and our future met. I don’t want to do this without you, Giovanni. You are the heart of this place. But we could do it together.’
