An ugly buzzing sound was messing with her reverie. She squeezed her eyes more tightly closed, but the buzzing didn’t stop. Grumbling, Cass got up and followed the sound to the front door. “Hello? Charlie Goodwin’s residence?” she said into the intercom.
A chuckle on the other end, familiar even though it was muffled. “That’s how you answer your door?”
All thoughts of sleep were gone, and Cass was grinning with delight. “Miguel!”
“I have a food delivery for you from Fabrizio, who watched yesterday’s show and declared you looked like you haven’t been eating enough vegetables. Or meatballs. Or fettuccine. Or grilled octopus. He insisted I deliver it to you personally. Can I come up and drop it off?”
It took Cass a few attempts to figure out how to successfully buzz him up, but soon he arrived at her door, laden with bags of food.
“Fabrizio may have gone overboard,” Miguel said, before looking at her with concern. “Feeling alright today? How’s the head?”
“Oh, totally fine. I’m just tired. Oh my goodness, how much food did Fabrizio send?” She took one of the bags from Miguel; it was heavy. She carried it into the kitchen. He followed and put the other bag down on the countertop.
“I can’t possibly eat all this food by myself. Why don’t you stay and eat with me?”
“It’s really just for you.”
“Miguel, I could barely lift that bag. I think there’s enough food here for ten.”
He laughed. “Well, there were two daily specials I knew you would love, so I had to get both. Plus, an appetizer. And a salad. And then Fabrizio had two desserts he really wanted you to try . . . There, I’ve given myself away. It wasn’t Fabrizio who wanted to send over the food. It was me who wanted to bring it to you.”
She laughed, then put her hand on his arm. “Please, join me? I’d really like it.” He shrugged and grinned and she realized with gratification that this was what he had been hoping for. He wanted to spend time with her just as much as she wanted to spend time with him.
She set Charlie’s small table with place mats, cutlery, and a candle.
“I’m afraid I don’t have anything stronger than sparkling water,” she said, emerging from the fridge with the bottle in her hand.
“That’s okay, it’s a work night,” he said.
“Yeah. For me, too.” She put two plates down and he started opening containers. A delicious aroma filled the space.
“What’s this one?”
“Fabrizio’s pasta alla chitarra with mackerel ragù. He only makes it in December, when he can get the mackerel at its freshest. He’s a perfectionist, as you may have noticed. It’s incredible, so I had to get it for you. Once in a lifetime experience. A must-try.”
Cass smiled. She loved that he cared about food as much as she did. Together, they opened containers and put them on the table, Miguel explaining what each one was as they did.
There were wild boar meatballs in a fresh marinara sauce （“He grows the tomatoes in his own little hothouse behind the restaurant”） and tagliatelle with black truffle sauce （“The wild boars are the ones who actually dig for the truffles . . .”）。 The grilled octopus was simply prepared with salt, pepper, and olive oil （“He boils it with wine corks to give it the most delicate flavor possible, and insists the corks come from his best wine only”）， as was the salad she had so enjoyed the last time they were there, too. As they ate and chatted about the ingredients and flavors, she marveled at how comfortable she felt with Miguel, how natural all this felt.
She was stuffed and happy when they made it to the desserts. Fabrizio had sent mini Cassata Sicilianas, which were sponge cakes moistened with fruit juices and liqueurs, layered with sweet, creamy ricotta and studded with candied fruit that reminded her of Starlight Bread. There were also babas—small yeast cakes saturated in syrup and rum and filled with cream. Cass took a heavenly bite of the rum cake, then stared down at her plate, lost in thought as the happiness gave way to a bittersweet sense of melancholy she wished would go away.
“Everyone has a different reaction to the desserts at Fabrizio’s,” Miguel said, watching her. “But I’ve never seen anyone look quite so sad.”
She shook her head. “I promise you, I’m happy. I’m just thinking about how much work I still have to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“I test run the recipes for the next day’s show every night at home, just to make sure there are no kinks. And I still have to do that.”