might not to pull her into his arms and kiss her.
âDid you get back to sleep?â She went straight to the coffee machine and began preparing a fresh cup of brewed coffee.
âSlept right through till just now.â
âThatâs good. Iâve made a batch of corn fritters. Would you like some?â
He laughed. Sheâd cringe if she found out what heâd been eating for the past eight months. A simple boiled egg would be a step up in comparison. Just the sound of corn fritters had his mouth salivating. âYes please.â He pulled back one of the heavy chairs and sat so he could watch her work her magic. The flowers heâd given her were now arranged in a large crystal vase at the end of the table. He was glad she hadnât thrown them in the bin. As far as he was concerned, it was a good sign.
The fritters looked as perfect as the meals on the front cover of one of those fancy Gourmet magazines Rosalina used to leave lying around. Sheâd topped the fritters with a fried egg, tomato relish â no doubt homemade â a healthy serve of sliced avocado and a scattering of herbs sheâd twisted off the plants in the kitchen window. Archer wondered if heâd woken up in heaven.
They ate the meal in relative silence. Neither of them brought up last night.
âWhat are you doing today?â She stood and reached for her empty plate. âIâm off to work in half an hour. I can drop you at the train station, if you wish.â
He stood up and reached for her arm. âCanât you take the day off?â
She shook her head. âIt took me too long to get this job. I canât afford to lose it.â
âI was hoping youâd take me to the church.â
She slipped out of his grasp. âMaybe later.â She frowned. âMeet me at Café Acquacotta at three.â She scribbled the address on a slip of paper. âHere.â She shoved the paper in his hand, then turned his shoulders and practically shoved him out the kitchen door.
Archer made his way back to his cottage, fell onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Rosalinaâs beautiful breakfast sat heavy in his stomach. It was the biggest and definitely the most delicious meal heâd had since sheâd last cooked for him.
Heâd eaten more than he needed though, and it took all his might to get out of the bed again. Archer threw his phone into his pocket and headed to the car. With the key in the ignition, he pressed the button to roll the top down. He put his glasses on and cruised down the driveway. Three roads led out of Signa. He chose one at random. Soon he was winding his way through Tuscanyâs chequerboard pastures yet, despite the wind in his hair and the relaxing drive, he struggled to drag his mind away from Rosalina. She was a fascinating woman, but being with her was dangerous. He needed to be strong, for her sake.
With carefree meandering, he found himself at the medieval town of Siena. He parked the car at the base of the cliff, and rather than using the crowded elevator to reach the top, he tackled the stairs. It was a decision that had his knee in throbbing agony by the time he reached the piazza. While he did admire the medieval character of the surrounding buildings, he refrained from visiting any of them. Instead, he chose the nearest restaurant, sat at a small round table and ordered Bistecca alla Fiorentina with a glass of local red wine. Crowds of tourists explored the hilltop village around him and he prayed heâd never look as ludicrous as some of them did. The rare T-bone steak was delightfully rich and so tender he barely needed his knife to cut it. Whilst it was excellent, the dish still didnât have a patch on the one Rosalina had made for him once. The hours slipped by quickly and when it was time to go, he was once again consumed with the prospect of meeting Rosalina.
As per her earlier suggestion, he parked his car at Villa Pandolfini
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley