Willow bit into the crisp shell of the honey and pistachio biscotti. She hadn’t had breakfast, thinking she would grab something from the market, but the smell of her own homemade, freshly baked goods wafting through the car was too tempting.
She pulled down the driver’s side visor, checking her face in the mirror. Her make-up was strategically applied so that it didn’t look like she had any on, and her hair was tousled in a just-out-of-bed fashion. Willow had read somewhere that this reminded men of sex and, therefore, they found it very, very attractive. She brushed the remaining biscotti crumbs from her lips and rummaged around in her bottomless handbag to find lipstick – her favourite Chanel red, a gift brought back from New York – applying carefully, then blotting.
Surveying the small mirror again, she decided she was ready.
Picking up the small container of biscotti, she gathered her shopping bags from the boot in preparation for entering the market, deciding that the ‘grandma’ trolley she normally wheeled along to carry her purchases didn’t give off the right vibe.
Nothing screams wanton sex goddess more than a personal shopping cart, she mused, a small smile forming on her crimson lips.
But not even a wire shopping trolley could have distracted from the vision that was Willow today. A vintage floral dress hugged her tantalising curves, the neck cut just low enough to give a hint of cleavage; but nothing indecent. Although it was going to be a sunny weekend, the morning was cool so she’d accompanied the dress with a short, modern jacket. Even though a nice pair of heels would have set off shapely calves marvellously, she had sensibly decided on a pair of ballet flats. No man, no matter how gorgeous, was worth walking around the Victoria Market in high heels!
The biscotti, the dress, the lipstick… they were, of course, all for the divine man who had saved her from being trampled by tourists at the market two weeks ago. The man whose name she didn’t even know.
Willow pondered her best course of action: find him straight away, or shop first and casually bump into him? She’d arrived early and the normal Saturday hordes hadn’t descended yet. She wanted to maximise every opportunity to see him; didn’t want him distracted by other customers, especially – heaven forbid – other women! She was disappointed that she hadn’t had a chance to see him last week, but decided it was probably fortuitous it had turned out that way. Her leggings and oversized T-shirt worn to the sports carnival wouldn’t even have looked good in the 90s, so she felt mildly relieved when she’d arrived and all the stallholders had packed up for the day.
There was a residual cool from the previous night still in the air, and Willow pulled her light jacket closer around her. Perhaps the summer dress had been a mistake, she thought, the breeze making her shiver. Meandering through the central aisle she surveyed the stallholders unpacking their wares – boxes brimming with fresh vegetables and colourful trays of fruit. Even though it was autumn there were still plenty of summer fruits around – nectarines, strawberries and watermelon – all providing a vivid spectacle for the shoppers.
She slowly and strategically made her way towards the area that her mystery man had pointed towards, casually observing the offerings along the way.
“Willow!”
She turned to see her favourite stallholder, Lorenzo, walking towards her, arm outstretched.
He kissed her on both cheeks. “You haven’t been to visit us for ages!”
She kissed him back and they exchanged pleasantries before he took both her hands and started pulling her, excitedly towards his stall. “Come! Come!”
Willow protested. “I’ll come later…” There was no way she was missing out on seeing her mystery Adonis two weeks in a row!
He shook his head. “You have to meet my son. He’s only here on Saturdays.”
His son? Willow didn’t remember him having a son….? She stopped suddenly, recalling the conversation they’d had months ago. “Carlo comes to visit in a few months. I think that you should meet…” Oh my God! The photo pinned to the fridge at the side of the stall. It was him!
The Adonis!
Willow felt like an idiot. She had been so flustered the other week that she hadn’t recognised him as the divine man from the photo.
As they approached the stall she could see his broad back, his strong, tanned forearms. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt and blue jeans that hugged his muscular legs and perfect bottom. Had she been religiously inclined she would have vowed to recite ‘Hail Marys’ for the next five years based on the impure thoughts that she was having about this man. About the way he moved, the way he smelled, the way he spoke…
“Carlo!”
He turned at the sound of his father’s voice.
His face registered surprise before breaking into a wide grin. “You!”
Willow grinned back, her heart fluttering.
Lorenzo was confused. “You know our Willow?”
“We met. Sort of.” He walked over and kissed her lightly on both cheeks. “Willow.” He savoured her name, rolling it around his tongue like a fine wine. “You look even more beautiful than last time I saw you.” His eyes sparkled as he said it.
Willow melted. The puddle formerly known as Willow.
“I don’t think you saw me at my best last time,” she managed to stammer.
Lorenzo proudly cuffed his son on the shoulder. “What do you think, Willow? Handsome?”
Willow certainly couldn’t deny that.
“He’s visiting from Italy. He’s a chef there.”
Willow nodded slowly. The conversation she’d had with Lorenzo months ago had come flooding back. That explained the exquisite recipe Carlo had pressed into her hands, weeks earlier. She could have saved herself so much trouble, had she only remembered his face.
Lorenzo clapped his hands. “Carlo will choose everything for you. The best for our Willow.”
Carlo brushed past, whispering in her ear. “Nothing but the best.”
“Willow, come.” Lorenzo beckoned her over to sit with him while Carlo set to work. She was reluctant to leave his side even for a moment, should she lose him again. Boxes looked weightless in his powerful arms, and he moved with the grace of a dancer. She sat watching Carlo, only half listening, as Lorenzo regaled her with stories of Italy.
***
After he had loaded her up with fresh fruit and vegetables, Lorenzo had insisted that Carlo walk Willow to her car. Willow was not going to protest.
“Thank you for the recipe, the mushrooms were beautiful.” She weaved her way through the crowds that were just starting to build.
“A beautiful recipe for a beautiful woman.” He gave her a sideways glance, the intensity of his look suggesting he wanted exactly the same thing as her.
They walked in silence for a while. Willow, normally so verbose, was tongue-tied. She shivered as their hands brushed accidentally. She’d never felt such longing for a man before.
When they reached her car, he loaded the boxes in, careful not to damage any of the produce.
“You are cooking tonight again for your housemate?” The playful twinkle in his eye was back.
Willow shook her head, hoping he couldn’t hear the ferocity with which her heart was beating.
“Maybe…” He paused, taking a tendril of her hair and wrapping it around his finger. He leaned in, close to her ear. “Maybe tonight I can cook for you?”
Willow willed her voice to come out evenly. “OK”. It was little more than a squeak.
In one swift movement, he took a notebook from his pocket and scribbled his address, tearing the page and handing it to her.
“Come at eight. I will make something special for you.”
Willow took the note and put it in her handbag, at the same time catching sight of the forgotten container of biscotti.
“Oh! I almost forgot. I made these…”, she said, carefully digging the container out of her handbag, not wanting to spill its contents onto the pavement.
But when she looked up, his figure was already retreating into the distance.
