Page 7

Chapter six

Isabelle

I’m still obsessing over whether or not Kai still writes my initials on the inside of all his hats the next day as I push myself through lap after lap at the pool.

Somehow, I got lucky and Mom didn’t ask any more questions about my past connection with him.

The Tridents won the game, we went out with Tony for a celebratory dinner later, and I made my excuses as soon as we got home, disappearing into my room.

This morning, Mom and Tony were both gone when I woke up. I spent some time catching up on emails, and texting with Maria and my dad, before I came here.

I execute a flip-turn and push off the wall, my body instinctively knowing what to do. That’s what I love about swimming. I can shut off my brain and just let my body be in control.

Well, normally I can. Today, that subspace level of peace I normally achieve is elusive. I’ve been here for almost an hour and while my body is tired, my mind is not.

When I reach the other end, I grab onto the edge, gasping for breath.

I rip my goggles off my face and pull off my swim cap, dunking under to rinse my hair.

Then I push myself out of the water, gather my things, and make my way to the hot tub, which is thankfully empty aside from the older woman at the far end.

Sinking down into the warm water, I let my head fall back on the edge and close my eyes. My heart rate and breathing are returning to normal, but my thoughts are still spinning.

I know I won’t be able to avoid him while I’m here, and truthfully, I don’t know if I want to. Seeing him cracked something open in my chest, and I know I won’t be able to close the wound without talking to him.

Later, after I’ve showered and put some normal clothes back on, I’m driving my rental car through Vancouver back to Mom and Tony’s house when I pass the trattoria we went to the other day.

On impulse, I pull into an open parking spot and decide to treat myself to a solo lunch.

I used to do this once a month in Italy.

Drive somewhere, find a new restaurant, and eat by myself.

There’s something different that happens when I experience food without others.

My senses can fully engage, and I can take my time and appreciate the flavours and the skill that goes into even the simplest of dishes.

Basically, the foodie chef in me can live her best life.

And while Piatti isn’t a new restaurant for me, it is an unfamiliar one. And when Mom and I were here, there were plenty of items on the menu I wanted to sample. Maybe save some ideas to take back to Italy.

Pushing open the doors, I’m again greeted by that sumptuous aroma of Italian cooking. Garlic, tomatoes, olive oil, and a hint of smokiness that speaks to there possibly being a wood-fired oven in the kitchen.

I’m seated near a window in the back, surrounded by lush plants.

This time, I take a moment to look around, with a restaurateur’s eye, not just as a customer.

Brickwork on one wall, an open rack of wines on another, and warm tones of cream and terracotta with the pops of vibrant green from all of the plants.

The ambience is a wonderful blend of rustic, old-world charm with a modern edge that is somehow still welcoming.

With the repairs and renovations happening at the restaurant in Italy, I can only hope my boss Vito goes for a similar vibe.

The hostess pours some lemon water into my glass, and after thanking her, I take a long drink. I’m thirsty from my swim, and starving, so I immediately open the menu to begin perusing the offerings.

Finally, my brain shuts off from thoughts of Kai and focuses on my one true passion in life.

Food.

When my server returns, I’m no closer to making a decision. I look up at her with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. There’s so many things I want to try, I don’t know how to choose.”

She simply inclines her head with a smile of her own. “We get that a lot. Would you like some suggestions? Or I could send our chef out to help you decide.”

My eyebrows raise at the offer. Granted, it’s not that busy, being after what would usually be a lunch rush, but still it’s surprising to hear a server offer the chef’s attention so readily. “Oh no, I couldn’t ask them to do that.”

“Trust me, he loves it.”

“I can understand that, I love meeting customers as well.”

“Oh, are you a chef? Then I have to send him out.” She hurries off to the kitchen without giving me a chance to protest, so I fold my menu and wait.

Not for long, however. A minute or two later, a handsome man in a white chef's coat comes strolling up to my table.

“Welcome to Piatti,” he says with a warm twinkle in his brown eyes. He’s got a faint Italian accent that instantly makes me feel like I'm home. “I’m Gianni, owner and head chef. And I hear you’re having a hard time deciding what to order?”

I blush and take his outstretched hand. Then blush even harder when he lifts it to his mouth and kisses the back of it. “Yes, hi, lovely to meet you. I’m Isabelle.”

Gianni gestures to the chair across from me, and I nod my head. He sits down and folds his hands on the table. “My staff tell me you are having trouble choosing some food. You are a chef?”

There’s something about Gianni that makes me relax, despite our unorthodox meeting.

I can sense a food lover in him, and he’s got a warm, unthreatening vibe.

“Yes,” I admit, glancing down at the menu.

“To both. There’s so many dishes that look incredible.

And I do cook. At a restaurant in northern Italy, actually. ”

Gianni leans back and whistles. “Well. I’ve got a true cuoco in my midst. Now I have to impress you!”

I wave away the compliment with a shake of my head. “No, you already did when my mom and I came earlier in the week. That’s why I came back, there were so many things I wanted to try.”

He claps his hands and rubs them together. “Then you must let me make you a tasting platter. Please.”

I don’t bother to hold back my smile at his obvious enthusiasm. “That sounds amazing, thank you. I’d be honoured.”

“No, no. The honour is all mine.”

“What honour is that, my love?”

Another man’s amused voice has me looking to the side, to see a smaller man wearing pressed slacks, a dress shirt, and glasses walking over. Gianni jumps out of his seat and takes the other man's hand, pulling him in for a kiss on the lips.

“This beauty is Isabelle. She cooks in a restaurant in Italy and I’m going to make her a tasting platter. You should join her, mi amor .”

His partner looks at him with a smirk. “Gianni, you haven’t even introduced us and you want me to be her lunch date?”

Gianni turns to me and I’m so taken by the two of them, their obvious love and warmth, I can feel my grin.

“Isabelle, meet Paul, the love of my life and my favourite person to cook for. Please, let him sit with you so I can spoil you both.”

“How can I say no,” I tease, stretching out a hand to Paul. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Paul takes Gianni’s seat across from me, accepting a sweet kiss from Gianni before he takes off back to the kitchen.

“Sorry if he came on a little strong. He has a way of doing that,” he says, murmuring his thanks to the server when she brings him some water.

“No, it’s fine. Reminded me of my family in Italy. Everyone is your friend, and if they like your food, they’re family.”

Paul chuckles. “Yep, sounds right.”

We settle into an easy conversation, getting to know each other.

I learn he and Gianni have been together for six years and married for three.

He’s an architect at a local firm but also helps with the business side of the restaurant.

Gianni is the second-generation owner of Piatti, his father having opened it over twenty years ago after moving his family to Vancouver from near Rome.

“He works too much, but he loves it. The kitchen is his home,” Paul says, before taking a bite of focaccia.

I nod and swallow my own bite. “I know that feeling well. My boss is the same, and truthfully, I can be as well. My nonna taught me how to cook and she always said there’s no problem that can’t be solved by baking bread.”

Paul laughs just as Gianni comes over with a massive tray filled with small plates. “You two are definitely meant to be friends, he feels the same way.”

“What way is that, mi amor ?” Gianni asks, setting down the tray on a stand and unloading the plates that are filled with simmering dishes of pasta, seafood, vegetables, and so much more.

“How many times have I woken up in the middle of the night to find you in the kitchen, working something out in your head by making pasta or sauce?”

“Too many to count. Food doesn’t judge or talk back. It simply allows creativity and love to flourish and turn into something beautiful.”

I bring my hands to my chest. “I love that.”

Gianni gives me a grin. “You and I are going to be good friends, Bella. Can I call you that? It fits, you are so beautiful.” I manage to nod, but then he claps his hands and barrels on. “Excellent. But now, you must eat.”

Two hours later, my stomach is as full as my heart, and I’m exchanging long hugs and plenty of kisses on the cheek from both Gianni and Paul. We’ve made plans to get together on Sunday when the restaurant is closed, and Gianni all but begged me to join him in the kitchen soon.

I drive back to the house with a smile on my face. My solo lunch adventure did not turn out the way I expected. Instead, it was so much better.

It would seem that when I go back to Italy, I won’t just be leaving my mother and her new husband here in Vancouver. I’ll be leaving several new friends as well.

Oh, and the former love of my life.

Can’t forget that…

At the house, I go straight up to my bedroom. I’ve refused to give in to temptation for days now. And I can’t any longer. Whether it was seeing Paul and Gianni so happy with each other, or something else, I don’t know. But I need to know what I missed over the last eight years.

Half an hour later, my heart is aching when I throw the phone down on my bed. I can’t believe what I’ve seen.

Impulsively, I pick my phone back up and open a text thread to Willow to get the information I need. Thankfully, she doesn’t ask questions, simply sends me the address I want.

A few minutes later, I’m putting my shoes back on and heading out.

It’s time to get some answers.