Piazza Bella - Aperitivo: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII
Piazza Bella - Antipasto: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII
I wasn’t sure if immediately apologizing to Salvatore was a good move, but since I had no romantic inclinations toward him, it couldn’t hurt. It was Monday, and by Thursday, I would be caught in a maelstrom day of days with Luca and Bella, joining them in a doctor’s meeting that might be the best or worst hour of our lives.
I wanted to rid myself of emotional baggage before that crucial clinic appointment, and ill-treating Salvatore was the number one problem playing on my mind.
As evening approached, the days had shortened, typical in the early winter. A chilly evening breeze pervaded, so I tightened my waterproof, fleece-lined jacket and zipped it. I hurried through rapidly emptying streets and across several Piazza, reaching Salvatore’s family restaurant in record time and with scant light remaining.
Their restaurant was surprisingly empty. A few Gondola and water taxi drivers hung out at the bar with other locals, drinking frothy lager while eating cicchetti, an arrangement of food served on small dishes similar to tapas or meze.
A tall, pretty girl, around twenty years old, wearing a waitressing uniform, saw me, smiled and waved, then wove a route from behind the bar counter that impressively dodged every stray hand that tried to pat her ass.
She dropped off two drinks at a couple’s table on the way and made straight for me, wearing a friendly smile. I took her hand when she offered it, shaking enthusiastically, matching her.
“You’re Carla.”
“Hi.”
“I’m Antonia.”
“Hello… you have me at a disadvantage. How do you know me?”
“I am Salvatore’s sister. You work with my cousin Maria, who says you are awesome. Tell me… have you come to chide my brother again?”