These people have become like family to me. Il Mulino has given me a sense of belonging, and they have taught me so much in just a few short months: the importance andenjoyment of the simple things life has to offer; good food, wine, conversation, music, friendship, and family.
Luigi leans across the table and pinches my cheek.
‘It is not goodbye,cara, justarrivederci. There is always a job here for ourpiccola inglese.’
‘Grazie, Luigi,’ I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.
‘And if you need anything, anything at all, you just call yourZio Luigi.D’accordo?’
‘D’accordo,’ I say, giving each of them a hug in turn.‘Now I really should be going. My train leaves in six hours.’
Francesco picks up my bag of goodies and opens the door.
‘Prego.’
When I try to take the bag from him, he says matter of matter-of-factly, ‘I walk with you.’
Our footsteps reverberate along the deserted pavement. He stops suddenly, gazingup at the low-hanging, milk-bottle-top moon.
‘Look!Orioneand here,l’Orso, the Bear.’
‘Where?’
He takes my hand and guides it towards the diamond-filled sky. I can feel his eyes on me. My heart quickens.
He keeps hold of my hand until we reach the bicycle rack. He places my bag in the basket while I put on my helmet and flick on my lights.
‘Buona fortuna. Good luck,’ he saysholding my gaze with his dark, soulful eyes.
‘Grazie. Arrivederci,’ I reply, smiling up at him, doing my best to sound Italian and cool.
I go to shake his hand, he takes it and kisses it gently, then leans towards my face. I close my eyes, waiting to feel his lips on mine.
‘Eii!’ he cries as his nose bashes against the peak of my bike helmet.
We both collapse into uncontrollablefits of giggles and mydolce vitamoment is lost.
He waves me off and calls out ‘Sogni d’oro!’, his voice echoing as I freewheel down the hill.
After that near-kiss, the cold night air wakes me abruptly from golden dreams of constellations, moonlight, and a certain dishy, cheeky Italian teacher who has taught me to laugh at myself again.
