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Please be atIl Giardinoin 30. Your father wants an update. -Bruno
It’s an unknown number, but it’s not uncommon for him to get a clean burner every few weeks.
I don’t typically jump to orders from my father’s lap dog, but I’m grateful for an excuse to get out of this conversation. Despite the amount of time that’s passed and all the bloody events that have transpired between our families, this plot still feels like betrayal, and it doesn’t sit well with me.
It’s a direct, premeditated, and unprovoked attack. If we get caught, it will be a blatant breach of our truce and I shudder to think about what will happen in retribution.
The Foxes aren’t known for second chances.
Opened before the urbanization of June Harbor,Il Giardinois one of the oldest restaurants in the city; it actually has a quarter acre garden in the back. To this day, they still use produce harvested from it and their outside seating is dispersed throughout the garden. So you can eat your Linguine alla Puttanesca next to the plant that grew the very same tomatoes on your plate.
In my rush to get out of the apartment, by the time I step out of the taxi, I am ten minutes early. From the sidewalk, I can almost imagine the place in its glory eighty years ago. Candles dot every red tablecloth-covered table, making the place glow without being too bright. The low, wooden rafters are exposed with a rustic charm and black and white vintage photos of Italy hang on the walls.
Maria waves to me from the hostess stand as I walk in. “Table for one tonight, Ef?” Despite the several other couples waiting for a table, Maria reaches for a menu to seat me right away. I can’t deny there are some perks of being a Luciano—I don’t think I’ve waited for a table once in my entire life.
“Two, my father is coming.”
“Inside or outside?” she asks while weaving between tables, me following behind her.
“Outside, please.” It’s a gorgeous evening, the temperature is cool enough to be pleasant, but not so cold I need more than a light, long sleeve.
As she leads me under an arching trellis of green beans to an empty table, my feet stutter to a halt, my heart leaping into my throat. I have to fight the urge to flatten myself on the brick pavers and hide behind the raised garden bed. Because through the climbing poles wrapped in green vines, I seehim.
Finn is sitting at a table by himself, eyes on a book in one hand while he takes a drag from a cigarette in the other. Despite being bombarded with pictures of him daily, I am not prepared for the pure feeling of suffocation I get seeing him in person.
Do I leave? Do I tell him to leave?My father is going to be here soon after all.
“Everything okay?” Maria’s voice shakes me from my trance.
“Hmm? Oh yeah, this is great.” I don’t bother to give her a fake smile to be polite, plopping myself down at the table trying to catch my breath. Finn doesn’t have any plates on his table, only an espresso cup and saucer, so maybe he is done eating and will leave before my father gets here.Here’s hoping.
Maria leaves me and it’s a good thing I know the menu by heart because I stare at it but can’t read a damn word. I pick at the corner of the menu just to have something to occupy my shaking hands.
The garden is surrounded by a brick wall and our tables are placed just in front of it, at the end of the rows of raised beds. There are no other tables in our row and goosebumps run down my arms, being as alone with Finn as I’ve been in a decade.
I can feel his dark presence, like a cloud floating in front of the sun creating an instant chill.Can he feel me like I feel him?
The smell of cigarette smoke wafts over to me and instantly transports me back to the night we climbed out on the roof and shared a cigarette while I taught him the constellations. I’ve smelled cigarettes a thousand times since, but for some reason that is the one memory the scent is intrinsically tied to. It makes something sharp in my chest pang.
I try to shrink myself in my chair, but I can’t look away. I’m entranced by the way his long neck bobs as he takes a sip and how the setting sun makes his cheekbones look chiseled and cutting. He flips a page, and his eyes flick up briefly and my heart nearly stops. Luckily he doesn’t notice me, and I check the time anxiously wondering when the hell my father is getting here. If it wasn’t a busy Friday night, I’d ask to move inside, but I already skipped a line of waiting guests.
A server comes out with a bottle of wine I didn’t order. “Compliments to your family,” he says and pours me a glass while I wait. I quickly empty it before pouring myself another. I jump when my phone pings with another text message.
Change of plans. He won’t be coming.
Thank god. I finish the wine that’s left in my glass before throwing my napkin in my seat and standing up to leave, thanking Mary, Joseph, and Jesus that I can leave before—
“Effie?” His voice is deeper than I remember but instantly recognizable.
I bite my cheek and consider running, but that would be suspicious as hell and I can’t pretend that a small part of me wants nothing more than to sit down at his table and pretend like the last ten years never happened.
I turn slowly and hope the mock surprise I have pasted on my face is believable. “Oh my god, hi. I didn’t see you there.”God, what a terrible line.
“Are you leaving?” he asks, ducking his head to get a clear line of sight through the web of beans.
“I was waiting for someone, but they canceled,” I say quickly and spin around hoping he’ll leave it at that.
“And you’re really gonna let thatbrunello di montalcinogo to waste because some asshole stood you up?” He nods to the half-drunk bottle on my table.
