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He set the bags down at the door and pulled a large chain of keys from his pocket. “I have not missed a single day,” he boasted proudly. The sun was just beginning to light the city and my mouth unhinged slightly as I took my first look around. Barga was nestled in the mountains, and the architecture alone took my breath away.
“This place is beautiful.”
“It’s old. There is far better
countryside further south.” Donato turned to see my full hands. “You did not have to help.”
I shrugged. “I really don’t mind.”
“You are kind, Bella.” The man had just called me beautiful, and I felt anything but. I was a mess from head to foot. My hair was an unkempt rat’s nest. A far cry from the polished professional I was mere days ago.
The bakery had an intimate feel. Once through the doors, we walked past several small tables situated closely together so that anyone who dined there never really ate alone. Brightly colored paintings covered every inch of the walls. The residual smell of baked goods invaded my nose and had my mouth watering. We walked past a service counter and glass case to a large kitchen with a huge wooden countertop. We set the bags down, then we walked back to the truck to grab the rest. Once unloaded, Donato pointed toward the restroom. After I took care of business and thoroughly washed my face, I entered the kitchen to thank him.
“Thank you so much.”
“Come sit . . .”
He’d already forgotten my name. “Taylor.”
“Taylor. I had a red-haired wife once. She was very full of life.”
“I’m pretty boring.”
“So you say.” He gave me a wink. “Come sit. I make you breakfast.”
I was at ground zero. The circumstances couldn’t be better. I had no doubt a man who lived in Barga for fifty years knew of Daniello. Even if I wasn’t at the right bakery, I was in the right place. If I played it right, I had a small chance at the element of surprise.
“As long as I’m not intruding. I would love breakfast.”
Once Donato had situated his supplies to suit his workspace, he washed his hands and threw an apron in my direction.
“You help.”
“Oh. Sure.” I slipped the apron on, tied a bow at my back, and secured my hair in a knot.
“Wash hands.”
“Yes, sir.”
I washed my hands and joined him as he flicked flour all over the counter.
“Let us make a mess.”
“I’m good at making messes.”
Donato kept at his task as he planted his hands in the bed of flour and shook off the excess. “Everyone is good at something.”
“I warn you now, I have never baked.”
“Ah, but today you will, Taylor.”
My heart seized at the subtle similarities in speech of my new friend and my lost lover.
Donato studied me.
“It has been a long time since I had a beautiful woman to help me in the kitchen.”
“Thank you.”
