Free Luscious by Amanda Usen

softly. No chance of failure here.
    The herb garden at the side of the house was well-tended and neatly labeled in English and Italian. Only an idiot could fail to bring back the correct varieties. She picked until the bowl was full. He hadn’t told her how much to gather and she wasn’t about to go back into the kitchen to ask.
    She moved down the row and began plucking the blooms from lavender gone to flower. It was too pretty to ignore and would look lovely as a garnish on his gelato. A drizzle of lavender honey would be perfect too, but she stopped the thought. Not her job, not her problem. She was just the herb girl. Still, she’d leave the flowers in the kitchen and see if they appeared on the table. She sighed, resigned to kitchen scut work while Alessandro looked down his Roman nose at her.
    The sun was just beginning to drop as she turned back toward the kitchen door. A glass of wine sounded like heaven, but she didn’t dare treat herself until the herbs were chopped. She entered the kitchen and set her bowl down on a workstation. Cutting boards, spatulas, tongs, towels, and wooden spoons were neatly lined up on a shelf under the counter. She reached for a towel, wet it, and laid it on the table underneath her cutting board to keep it from slipping. Then she pulled open the drawer in front of her, knowing without a doubt she’d find a razor-sharp chef’s knife. Her mother thought of everything.
    She set to work stripping rosemary leaves from stems. The sharp piney scent mingled with the smell of warm sunshine and reminded her of Sean’s aftershave. Heat rose to her cheeks as she began to chop. Of course he would have to smell like something edible.
    When the rosemary was finished, she used the flat of the blade to scrape it into a ramekin. She began to strip the leaves from the parsley stems. When she had a fluffy pile in front of her, she compressed it into a tight bundle and began to chop it into bits.
    Alessandro entered the kitchen and paused beside her, just inside her comfort zone. She glanced at him, then back at her cutting board.
    “You are as talented as your mother claims,” he declared.
    She kept her head down so he couldn’t see her roll her eyes. It was freakin’ parsley, after all. When she had her expression under control, she looked up at him but she kept her knife moving swiftly and evenly through the parsley. “Thank you. Perhaps you’ll find some use for me,” she managed to say without irony.
    A sound drew their attention to the back door. Joy raced through her when she saw her father.
    “Papà!” Olivia dropped the knife on the cutting board and launched herself at the man coming through the door.
    She buried her face in his shirt. He held her tight as she tunneled into his arms. He smelled like sweat and earth, like wine and sunshine on clean skin. Oh, thank God, he was here. She hadn’t known until this minute she needed him, hadn’t known she needed shoring up until the dam broke and she finally wept on his shoulder. Chuckling softly, he drew her sobbing toward the back door.
    The feel of his wide palm patting her back made her cry harder. How many times had he comforted her after some childhood disaster? How many days had she come home from school and told him all her miseries while he made her a snack in the kitchen at the restaurant? If only her current troubles could be so easily cured with a big plate of spaghetti. Her stomach rumbled.
    Her father looked over his shoulder. “We’ll have espresso and biscotti,” he said to Alessandro.
    More tears came to her eyes when her father treated her like an honored guest. “I have to finish the herbs, Papà.”
    His laugh was full of disdain. “What are you going to do with the herbs, cara , wash them with your tears? Cook if you like but leave the herbs to Marco, our dishwasher. He doesn’t have enough to keep him busy at the moment.” He led her out onto the back patio to a padded wrought-iron lounge chair. He sat,