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SeeingElio cook for Luna makes my insides feel squishy and warm.
He’s so handsome. Seeing him try to make grilled cheese, and failing miserably, should make him less so.
It doesn’t.
If anything, it makes him sexy in a human way. Now that he isn’t the obvious lord of the castle, totally in command at all times, he seems softer. More relatable.
More… accessible.
No. Not accessible. You can’t access him.
Plus, I’m still pissed at him for the stunt he pulled on the beach. Scaring the heck out of Luna and me wasn’t a good move, especially when he didn’t have any information, or any useful leads.
Still, his apology was kind of nice.
Okay.
More than kind of nice.
Very nice.
Eventually, Elio is able to produce a passable grilled cheese, and I make a couple more because I’m hungry and I can’t wait for him to take forever to make multiple.
There’s some light conversation between us, and Luna fills the silence by telling us all kinds of random things. Nonna Francesca almost walks in to the kitchen, but I see her back out at the last minute, a smile plastered on her face.
Bless her.
I’m actually very appreciative of the fact that she’s choosing to leave us alone. Would our food be better if Nonna Francesca makes it?
Absolutely.
But then, the little bubble around us would be broken.
And I’m kind of reluctant to let that happen.
By the time we’re finished, and the kitchen is passably clean again, Luna is yawning.
I give her a kiss on the head. “Time to go to bed, munchkin?”
“No,” she says sleepily.
I laugh. “Yeah, I think it’s time.”
“Can your friend come read me a story?”
Both Elio and I freeze.
Guilt clutches me. Normally I’m fine with other people doing the bedtime routine. Both Gia and Nonna Francesca have done it a couple of times since we arrived in Italy, and truly, I’m not one of those people that has to control every second of my child’s bedtime routine. Luna likes having guests do it, and it’s never thrown her off like it might for some kids.
But this is not just a random person.
This is Elio.
Her… father.
He looks at me with so much hope in his eyes, I’m sure that I’m going to drown under the guilt.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “You have to ask, but if it’s okay with him, he can read you one story.”
