Those Blue Tuscan Skies

by Marion Ueckermann

  “Pasta speaks of home and Mammà’s cooking, Michael. But pizza…it must be made to order. It must be eaten straight from the oven.” Sienna wagged her finger at him. “No take outs. And it must be made by a pizzaiolo using a woodburning pizza oven.”

  Michael frowned. “A pizzaiolo? I’ve never heard that term before.”

  “Simply a person who makes pizzas in a pizzeria,” Sienna explained. “Besides adding to the festive atmosphere in a pizzeria.”

  “Who would have thought there was so much to the humble pie that was pizza? I doubt I’ll ever be able to eat them the American way again.”

  Alessa restrained herself from clapping. At least he’d learned one thing tonight. Now if she could only get it into his thick skull that she wasn’t the woman for him. Heck, she wasn’t the woman for any man to fall in love with. Thanks to Papà, she was emotionally damaged goods.

  “Well come on, Michael.” Sienna pulled a third chair closer and patted it. “You need to be in this portrait too.”

  He pressed his index finger to his chest. “Me?”

  Sienna laughed. “Yes you. How many Michaels do you think there are around here?”

  This was Italy—probably dozens, although they’d be called Michele.

  Michael hesitated, his gaze flitting to Alessa’s disapproving stare.

  “And do take that mask off, so Guido can see your handsome face,” Sienna insisted.

  Guido? Must be the artist.

  Alessa’s head snapped to her sister and she spouted something in Italian. Clearly having him in the picture did not sit well with her. So having him without the mask was probably totally unacceptable.

  Sienna babbled back to Alessa. If only he’d taken Italian 101 back home—he’d so love to know what they were saying. Soon Guido was drawn into the sisters’ squabble as they both spouted instructions at him, hands flailing in the space above them.

  A plan forming, Michael stepped back to the artist, praying he could make the man understand what he wanted. His back toward Alessa and Sienna, he lowered his voice to a whisper and tried to explain what he thought would be an amicable solution that would satisfy everyone. He hoped.

  Guido’s face lit with a smile, and his head bounced up and down. “Sì, sì. Un’idea eccellente.”

  Sienna pouted as Michael settled into the seat beside her with the mask still firmly fixed to his face. He leaned forward to glance at Alessa seated on the other side of her sister. She offered both him and Sienna a smug smile. She’d won the victory. For now.

  Guido had worked for probably a half hour or more when he finally gave Michael the agreed signal as he removed the gray herringbone flat cap from his head. He set it down on the ground beside him. “Messa a fuoco,” he instructed, pointing at Alessa and Sienna and then at himself.

  Michael sneaked a peak sideways to ensure the two women were indeed focusing on the elderly man wielding the charcoal stick. Taking care not to alert either sister to his intentions, he raised the arm farthest from Sienna and slowly slid the mask upward to rest on top of his head like a pair of sunglasses. He lowered the limb.

  When Guido set his cap on his head once again, Michael propelled forward—head between his legs—and feigned a hearty sneeze. By the time he righted himself, an apology still warm on his lips, the mask was back where the two women had last seen it.

  “Finito,” Guido announced.

  Sienna catapulted from her chair and sprinted to Guido’s side. She stared at the sketch for a moment before slowly raising her gaze. “Despite the mask, it’s perfect.” Her mouth twitched with a restrained smile as her eyes locked on Michael’s.

  Alessa eased out of her chair then stretched her back. She ambled over to where her sister examined their portrait, and for a brief moment, Michael could appreciate Alessa’s long, tanned legs. He wished he could see the artwork, but from Sienna’s reaction, he had no doubt that Guido had managed to pull off a masterpiece, exactly as he’d envisaged.

  Alessa’s seeming disinterest vanished the moment her gaze fell on the artwork. Her jaw dropped, and as her steely blue gaze shifted to Michael, he prayed that he hadn’t made the biggest mistake of his life.

  “But that’s not— How did you—?” Alessa could kick herself for stuttering, annoyed that she was at a loss for words.

  “Such a brilliant idea!” Sienna clapped her hands together, which only served to fuel Alessa’s ire. “But, Michael, how did you communicate that to Guido?”

  “Ah, Guido’s English very good—deal with plenty American tourists every day.” The artist’s shoulders shook as he chuckled.

  “So are your skills, Guido.” Sienna stooped to retrieve the backpack she’d carried. She pulled out her wallet and handed over the agreed amount of euros.

  Guido reached for his drafting brush—Alessa recognized the long, narrow artist’s tool from art classes at school. He carefully brushed away the loose charcoal particles before attaching the portrait to a board with artist’s tape. He picked up a can of protective coating, shook it, then began to spray.

  “You come back in one hour, maybe two?” he asked. “Fixative must dry first.”

  Sienna nodded. “Of course. We have about that much time to kill before dinner. When will you be going home?”

  “Eh, maybe nine o’clock, but I wait for you to come back.”

  As far as Alessa was concerned, it wouldn’t bother her in the least if Guido packed up right now and went home, taking the painting with him.

  A presence beside her startled Alessa. She glanced sideways then did a double take. Michael? He inched closer and his arm pressed against her shoulder, sending a jolt through Alessa. What was that? And how had he managed to creep up on her without her noticing?

  She’d been distracted by the charcoal sketch, that’s how, her emotions oscillating between sheer annoyance and the stark realization that the man who now sat between her and Sienna in the drawing—only his right eye and brow covered by the half-mask—was downright dishy.

  Stop it. She couldn’t stand him. He annoyed her immensely. She wasn’t attracted to him one bit. Nope, not in the least.

  Right…

  “That’s not the portrait we wanted.” In fact, what they originally had wanted was one of her and Sienna only. No good-looking, hunky strangers who wanted to marry you worming their way into the picture.

  “I think it’s turned out just fine” Sienna said.

  Alessa held her left hand in front of her left eye and stared at the painting. “But if I close the eye behind my hand, I see his face—well, the unmasked side anyway.”

  Michael lifted her right hand. Drat, there were those tingles again. Unwanted, just like him. “Ah, but if you use the other hand and look through the other eye, you will only see the masked portion. A win-win for you both, don’t you think.”

  Right, like she wanted to feel like a pirate, forced to cover one eye every time she looked at the drawing. She’d like to win-win that smile right off his face.

  “You know what? This would look great on your passage wall—smack-dab in front of the entrance to your apartment.”

  Alessa could feel her back and neck stiffen. Her sister had to be joking. She widened her eyes, looking askance at Sienna with disdain. “I think you should take it back to Australia…as a memento to remember this fun time.”

  Sienna nodded. “I should. But I can’t. It would only get damaged in the long journey. I seriously doubt the charcoal would take kindly to being rolled up, even if it’s had a spray or two of fixative. No, this belongs on your wall, sorellina. One day when you and Michael are old and gray and living at Villa Rossi, you can add it to Nonna’s art collection and reminisce on your falling in love.” Sienna’s mouth skewed as she clamped her bottom lip, trying to hide a smile.

  So her sister thought this was funny? Alessa was of two minds to just offer the sketch to Michael, seeing as Sienna couldn’t take it, and she didn’t want it. But what she wanted even less was a picture of herself hanging on Michael
Young’s bedroom wall.

  Chapter Four

  “I HAD SO MUCH FUN today, sorellina, but now I’m pooped.” Sienna kicked off her walking shoes. She placed them beside the console table standing against the wall opposite Alessa’s front door.

  Alessa was exhausted too. They were up quite early to do a little grocery shopping, and then after lunch, had spent the afternoon exploring the Colosseum. But it wasn’t the early morning, or all the walking and the talking that had drained her. She hadn’t slept well last night, thanks to a certain blond-haired man with striking blue eyes who had somehow managed to segue from the I-can’t-stand-him zone to the he’s-not-half-bad-to-hang-out-with territory without her even noticing. Now it was too late. He was there, and she had no idea what to do with him. She should never have agreed to let him join them for pizza. She should’ve known it would lead to trouble. After all, in Italy, pizza was for friends and lovers, wasn’t it? Perhaps that’s why she always avoided pizzerias on her dates.

  “Why don’t you have a shower, and I’ll whip up something light for us to eat?” Alessa’s shoes joined her sister’s.

  “Don’t mind if I do. But something really light, please. I’m still rather full from lunch. In fact, I think I’m still full from those pizzas last night.” Sienna shook her head lightly and giggled. “Michael’s and my fault entirely for getting into such a lengthy conversation and placing our order so late.”

  “Sì. It felt like I was back in church.” Except, what she heard this time interested her—she didn’t feel the need to study the architecture of the pizzeria or count the bricks on the pizza oven. But she’d never let Sienna know that. Or Michael, for that matter. She’d pretended to be as disinterested last night as they come. What would they think if they knew she was actually looking forward to listening to his sermon in the morning? Or was it seeing Michael that she actually couldn’t wait for?

  Perhaps a little—no, a lot—of both.

  “Again, I’m sorry.” Sienna drew Alessa into a hug.

  Alessa nodded and pulled away. Sienna had apologized several times after they returned home last night, and a couple times again throughout the course of the day. And every time her sister brought up the subject, Alessa returned to the blond-haired, blue-eyed man that had gone from skunk to hunk in the matter of a single evening.

  This couldn’t be happening. She was attracted to him?

  “I won’t be long in the shower.” Helmet in hand, the backpack still on her back, Sienna turned toward her room. She paused and glanced back at the empty space above the console table. “You know, I still think that portrait of the three of us would look great hanging there. Maybe I can take it to be framed on Monday morning before I leave? A belated housewarming gift for you.”

  “Umm, that’s really not necessary. Besides, I didn’t have a housewarming. In case you hadn’t noticed, this place isn’t exactly conducive to entertaining—what with it consisting of only two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, and passage. Where would I fit a hoard of guests?” And truth be told, that picture was probably better off gathering dust beneath her bed where she couldn’t see it.

  After dumping her helmet and backpack in her bedroom, Alessa dragged herself to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, at the same time googling quick Italian meals on her cell phone. She scanned through a couple of options. One drew her attention—ground turkey Italian sloppy joes. Now why would a dish that originated in the United States suddenly make her mouth water? Seriously? He was invading her eating habits too?

  Nooo. This wasn’t fair. She loved her food.

  But she did have that pack of Italian rolls she’d bought that morning to get through before they went stale. As if that would ever happen. Even without her sister’s help, she’d be through them by Wednesday. Still, might as well use them while they’re fresh. Besides, thirty minutes from the refrigerator to the table sounded very appealing as a meal choice.

  Removing a pack of ground turkey from the freezer, Alessa popped it into the microwave to thaw. In the meantime, she diced an onion and cooked it in a skillet in olive oil. She added the defrosted turkey mince, oregano, red pepper flakes, and— Her hand paused over the skillet with the tablespoon of garlic. Nope. Not a good idea. She knocked the filled tablespoon against the tub of minced garlic, and the mixture plopped back inside. The last thing she and her sister needed at church tomorrow morning was to breathe garlic over new people they met.

  For sure, Michael will probably want to introduce them to some of his friends, wouldn’t he? Her being the woman he was going to supposedly marry one day. Ha. She shook her head, a smile teasing her mouth. She had to give him one thing, besides the overall package from head to toe scoring a perfect ten—the man had moxie. He said what he wanted to say, and that was that.

  Once the turkey was a golden color, Alessa added two cups of marinara sauce then stirred the mixture that had instantly turned a reddish-brown.

  The bathroom door clicked open. Wow, when her sister had said she wouldn’t be long in the shower, she’d certainly meant it. Alessa glanced back at the recipe. Simmer for eight minutes. Just enough time for her to take a quick shower too.

  She covered the skillet then dashed for her bedroom, retrieving her pajamas from beneath her pillow. By the time she returned to the kitchen, a soft white towel wrapped around her wet hair, the mixture was ready to be spooned into the hoagies—at least, that’s what the recipe called them, before translating the strange word into “Italian rolls”. The sound of a hair-dryer drifted down the passage from Sienna’s room. She would also have loved the luxury of drying her hair first, but the messy mixture would’ve spoiled if she’d overcooked it.

  For now, she made one sloppy joe for each of them, with still plenty of mixture left over. She’d definitely have another. Sienna?—she’d be surprised if her sister even finished half the roll. She topped the mince with provolone cheese, and then shoved the rolls into the microwave for a few seconds to melt the cheese. She’d just garnished the rolls inside with freshly chopped parsley and set them in two side plates, when Sienna strolled into the kitchen.

  “So, what’s for dinner?”

  “Ground turkey Italian sloppy joes,” Alessa replied, hoping her sister wouldn’t make the American connection. But when Sienna started to hum “The Star-Spangled Banner,” Alessa’s cheeks warmed.

  She spun around to the kettle, her back toward her sister. “Caffè?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Behind Alessa, a chair scraped on the wooden laminate flooring. “Mmm, it looks and smells delicious…not exactly a light meal, though.”

  “Then just eat half,” Alessa retorted, annoyed that Sienna had started humming again. She flipped the switch on the kettle before turning around slowly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

  “It’s all right.” Sienna held out her hands to Alessa. “Should we pray for the meal?”

  Probably should. Alessa had never made this, so she had no idea what it would taste like. Especially without the garlic—such a vital ingredient in Italian cooking. But there was no way she was going to church tomorrow all garlic-breath. And it wouldn’t matter how many times she brushed her teeth, or how many breath mints she swallowed…garlic had a knack of sticking around the next day. No way was she taking a chance. Michael Young or no Michael Young.

  Sienna took a bite. She chewed the mouthful, then swallowed. “Hmm, delicious. So rich and tomatoey. But, something seems to be missing.”

  “Garlic. For obvious reasons, like us going to a new church tomorrow.”

  Sienna smiled. “Right… Good thinking.”

  After dinner, they curled up on Sienna’s bed and chatted for hours.

  When her sister steered the conversation toward Michael, Alessa pushed upright and crossed her legs. “Hey, remember that gangly teen with a mop of dark curls on his head and a serious case of halitosis who had a major crush on you?” She leaned over and grasped a pillow closer, placing it neatly on top of her legs. She let
her elbows sink into the soft surface.

  Sienna pushed up onto one arm and laughed. “Oh. My. Word. Yes! How could I forget him?—the first boy to have a crush on me. At least that I was aware of. Although his name does elude me for the moment.”

  Alessa brushed away the cobwebs in her mind. She snapped a finger and pointed at Sienna. “De Luca—”

  “That’s right…Luciano De Luca—the oldest son of one of Papà’s farm laborers. Didn’t that family have something like fifteen kids? I think they popped a new one out every year after Luciano’s birth.”

  Alessa giggled. “Remember how we used to call him Luca De Luca because it rhymed.”

  Sienna flopped down onto her pillow, her titters joining Alessa’s. “Oh my, poor boy had such big plans for a future with me. How well I recall the day he’d been bold enough to declare his undying love—even though we hadn’t exchanged much more than a couple of waves in passing.” She exhaled a sigh. “Working side by side on the farm for Papà—not the kind of future I ever envisaged.”

  “Or Luca the kind of guy,” Alessa added. Hmm, maybe Luca was the reason she was so OCD about good oral hygiene. Michael had nice teeth behind that wide smile that filled his face.

  Focus!

  Sienna rolled onto her side and stared at Alessa. “Is Michael the kind of guy for you?”

  “Pfft.” Alessa’s fingers wrapped around the corners of the pillow. She lifted it and thwacked her sister’s side. “Enough boy talk; I’m off to bed. We’ve an early morning again because you want to go to church.” She uncurled her legs and swirled around. Soles touching the floor, she pushed to her feet as something soft whacked her in the back. She stumbled forward a few paces before pivoting.

  Sienna knelt on the mattress, pillow in her hands, ready like a baseball player to take a swing.

  “Oh, so it’s a pillow fight you want?” Dodging Sienna’s blow, Alessa lunged for a pillow and landed a blow across Sienna’s back. Her sister fell forward onto the mattress, and Alessa took the opportunity to jump onto Sienna’s back and declare herself the winner of their pillow fight. Sienna was laughing too much, it seemed, to care. Good thing, because she didn’t feel like cleaning up feathers from a burst pillow if the fight were lengthy.