Chapter 45
“Are we all taking a first bite, except for Alex?” I glance around the patio table, knife poised over the cake plate.
It’s cooler in the shade, though the day is warming and promises to be a scorcher in a few hours.
Nicolo is sitting directly across from me, looking relaxed.
He meets my eyes, arches a brow, and nods. “I’m in,” he says.
Nonna is sitting to my right, clutching her rosary, and Violetta—in her usual black dress—sits ramrod straight next to Nicolo, her mouth a thin line. Alex is standing back from the table, phone in her hand, documenting the occasion.
“I will try the cake,” Violetta says stiffly.
“As will I,” Nonna says. “It’s never too late to glimpse your happiness.”
“But what if our happiest moment is behind us?” Violetta asks, looking uneasy. “Do we see nothing at all?” She sips her espresso and frowns.
“The cake shows you the happiest moment of your life that is still to come,” Nonna explains.
“Hopefully, we have all already lived many happy moments. The cake simply shows us a glimpse of the happiness still awaiting us.” She speaks calmly, but she’s worrying the rosary beads between her fingers. She’s nervous, I realize. We all are.
“Bene.” Violetta nods, satisfied. “What are we waiting for then? Allora!”
“I’ll start recording when you cut the cake,” Alex tells me.
With her hair slicked back in a high ponytail, and wearing a new black-and-white-striped Breton-style shirt, she looks a little more Milan and a little less NYC today.
She also looks happy. She’s been texting nonstop with Tommaso all morning, grinning as she does so. It’s cute.
The cake sits in the middle of the table in front of me, waiting. I count my breaths for a few beats, trying to calm my nerves. Alex has her camera raised, ready to record everything.
Mustering my courage, I cut thick wedges, lift out the golden triangles, and slide each piece onto a small plate.
Nonna passes the plates around and hands out forks.
I gently poke my wedge of cake with my finger.
It is moist with a beautiful crumb and the smell is subtle but enticing.
My heart flutters with anxiety and excitement. What will I see?
“I think someone is coming up the drive,” Nicolo says suddenly, cocking his head to listen.
Just then the familiar rattle of the Fiat Panda sputters up the lane and a moment later Lorenzo pops into view. We all pause as he parks the Panda and gets out. He is wearing a pair of dark blue work overalls and a fisherman’s cap. He has smudges of grime on his face and looks exhausted.
“Lorenzo.” Nonna calls out a greeting, waving him over. “Vieni qui. Come here. There is cake.”
Lorenzo lifts his hand in greeting. “A moment,” he calls. “Let me get cleaned up. Don’t wait for me. Continue.” He disappears into the stable, presumably heading to his apartment.
“We will save him a piece,” Nonna announces, then nods to me. “I don’t think he cares about the first bite. He thinks the cookbook is all nonsense anyway. Juliana, let’s get started.”
“Okay.” I stare down at the slice of cake in front of me. Alex presses the record button on her phone and aims it at me, stepping a little back from the table.
“Here we are, about to try the first bite of the Orange Blossom Cake,” she narrates. “Is everybody ready?”
“Get on with it,” Violetta mutters, giving the phone’s camera a narrow, suspicious look. She stabs her fork into her cake and cuts off the tip of the wedge.
“Jules, will you count for us, from three?” Nonna asks, sharp eyes on me. She’s holding a forkful of cake. So is Nicolo. I neatly slice off the tip of my cake and spear it on my fork.
“On the count of three,” I tell them. “We’ll taste the first bite all at the same time. Uno…due…” And then I pause before tre. “Wait, do you hear that? I think someone else is coming up the driveway.” I can hear the motor purring up the hill.
“Madonna!” Violetta exclaims in exasperation. “What now? I’ll be dead and gone to my eternal reward before we take this first bite.”
A gleaming black sedan noses its way up the lane and into the courtyard.
“Who’s that?” Alex asks. She keeps filming.
The sedan halts in the middle of the courtyard with a crunch of gravel. One of the back doors opens and a man emerges. A golden-haired man with a familiar gait.
“Drew?” I drop my forkful of cake. What in the world is he doing here?
He lifts his hand in a half wave. “Hey, Jules!” he calls, grinning and walking toward me, arms spread wide. “Surprise!”
Across the table, Nicolo sits up straight, his expression shifting from intrigued to wary in an instant.
“Your housemate Drew?” he says. “Why is he here?”
“I have no idea,” I murmur to Nicolo, then say brightly to the group, “One minute, everybody. Sorry for the delay.” I clatter down the uneven stone steps to the courtyard.
“What are you doing here?” I demand in astonishment as Drew grabs me in a hug.
“We came to see you, silly. Since you weren’t answering your phone.” He places a smacking kiss on my forehead.
I pull back quizzically. We? Who’s we? Did he bring Desiree Reyes with him?
I glance around, then back at Drew. He is tanned and dressed in shorts and a casual salmon colored T-shirt, wearing a straw fedora and a pair of his vintage Adidas.
He smells like Drew, like Tide laundry detergent and Speed Stick with a hint of sunscreen.
At that moment, Lorenzo saunters out of the stable, giving Drew a curious look as he heads up the stairs toward the patio table.
“This is Drew. A friend from back home,” I call out to him in explanation.
“Ciao,” he says amiably. “Welcome to Italy.”
Violetta and Nonna are watching the scene unfold with identical looks of skepticism.
Alex appears to still be filming. A car door slams and I peer around Drew to see Keith, hands in his pockets, looking around the farm with a dispassionate interest. What is he doing here?
Has he reconsidered interest in The Bygone Kitchen ?
Suddenly, I hear a throat clear.
“Buongiorno,” Nonna announces, although it doesn’t sound exactly like a welcome.
More like a warning. She comes down the steps and stops at the bottom, drawing herself up to her full height, which is still pint-sized.
She looks regal and stern, if diminutive.
“I am Bruna Costa, and this is my home.”
Keith moves toward Nonna, his hand outstretched, a professional smile plastered on his face, but Drew beats him to it. He lets go of me and grabs Nonna’s hand, pressing it between his own.
“Nonna Bruna!” he says, giving her his most boyishly charming smile. “I’ve heard so much about you from Jules. I’m sorry we just showed up like this, but I had to come see this famous Nonna that Jules loves so much. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Drew.”
Nonna’s stony demeanor softens a little at his words, although her eyes on Drew’s are sharp and searching. “You are welcome here, Drew,” she says, patting his hand. “Our door is open for any friend of Juliana’s.”
She casts a speculative glance at me. Drew beams at her and she smiles back, a touch tight-lipped. I get the feeling she is not pleased about something. Behind me, Keith clears his throat. He approaches, hand outstretched.
“Mrs.Costa, I’m Keith Garvey. I’m a talent scout for television shows…” He is speaking slowly and strangely loudly, as though he assumes Nonna is hard of hearing.
Nonna does not take his hand. Her stony expression slips back instantly. “Oh yes, I know who you are,” she assures him. “The man who rejected my Juliana’s show.” Then she turns around and motions to Drew, completely ignoring Keith and leaving him standing there with his hand outstretched.
“Sorry about that,” I murmur. I don’t want Nonna to alienate him in case he comes bearing good news. Keith doesn’t appear to hear me.
“Come.” Nonna motions to Drew. “We are about to enjoy a slice of cake. You look as though you’ve had a long journey. I will make you a coffee.” She leaves Keith standing there in the gravel courtyard looking confused and ushers Drew up the stairs toward the patio.
“Um, can I get you an espresso?” I ask Keith.
He waves off the offer. “I’ll hang back for a minute.
” He looks nonplussed. Alex and Nicolo are standing at the top of the stairs as we go up.
Alex is filming everything with a look of avid interest on her face.
Nicolo, on the other hand, has his arms crossed, his expression guarded.
He steps aside to let Nonna and Drew by, but the glance he gives Drew as he brushes past is anything but friendly. Drew doesn’t seem to notice.
“Lorenzo, no!” Violetta’s sudden scream pierces the air. We all freeze, staring at Lorenzo, who is standing with a puzzled expression on his face, his fork raised over a slice of the Orange Blossom Cake. A slice that is now missing one big bite.