ItalyxReader: Making Pasta

It was summertime, and you were vacationing with your family in Venice, Italy. You were supposed to be spending time with your grandparents, who lived on a huge property in the Italian countryside. It was supposed to be great fun and all, but you knew you would probably just end up bored in your room, watching Italian dramas.

A week into the trip, you'd spent most of your time wandering around their big house, occasionally being introduced to Grandma's various friends and their grandchildren. Besides that, no one paid very much attention to you.

That afternoon, your parents and grandparents had left the house to go to a wine tasting. You were alone in the house. Again. You sighed. Another afternoon of trying to decode Italian soap operas, you thought.

But as you padded sock-footed towards the loft, you heard noises coming from the kitchen. Suddenly terrified, you stood stone-still. It sounded like…pots and pans being taken out of the cupboards?

Oh gosh, you thought, not moving. The house is being robbed. The house is being robbed. What do I do??

You looked around for something that you could accost the intruder with. There. You grabbed an umbrella from the closet and crept down the stairs slowly as possible. You didn't have a good view of the kitchen from where you were, but you could hear the robber fairly well. He had started to….hum? You furrowed your brow, wondering how he could be committing theft so casually.

When you got to the bottom of the stairs, you were standing by the wall next to the entrance to the kitchen. I have to scare him, you thought. Maybe if I'm loud enough, he'll run away before realizing I'm not exactly terrifying.

Gathering up all of your courage, you took a deep breath and leaped out into the kitchen.

"HEY, YOU!" you shouted, holding the umbrella high above your head.

But as you landed on your feet, you saw that the intruder was no one more than a young man, not much older than you. He had messy auburn hair, with a single strand of hair that curled out from his face.

He turned to look at you, curious more than scared or surprised. As his tawny eyes peered at you, you felt your face flush.

"I'm - I'm sorry…I didn't realize -"

"A girl?" he interrupted excitedly. "I didn't know there was girl here!"

"I live here," you said, slightly annoyed and trying to cover your embarrassment. It wasn't entirely truthful, but you didn't really care at the moment. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, I'm cooking!" he said cheerfully, seeming to not notice your annoyance. "Mrs. ________, the lady who owns this house, she lets me use her kitchen! I live next door, you see…we don't have this big of a kitchen…" He looked around longingly. "But this is the next best thing!" he beamed, recovering instantaneously from his sadness.

You felt the edge of your mouth quirk up. His smile was contagious. "She's my grandmother, actually."

"Oh, really?" he said, even more excited. "I see now, you both have the same pretty ____ eyes!"

You suppressed a giggle at his compliment. What a weird boy.

"Well, I don't want to keep you from -"

"Oh, no, you aren't keeping me!" he said, beaming. "In fact…" His eyes widened, his mouth forming a small "O." "You should help me!"

You started to protest, but he was already dragging you by your arm into the kitchen.

"It's okay if you don't know how, I can show you how, it's not hard, making pasta's really easy, even if you've never made it before, and it tastes really good, when you make it, and when it's warm, and there's good sauce on it, there's nothing better than pasta, and I had pasta for breakfast this morning and…" he bubbled, talking a mile a minute. You could scarcely understand him.

"My name's Feliciano, by the way. What's yours?" he said cheerfully.

"_______." you said. "_______ _____."

"_______," he said, as if tasting the word. "What a pretty name!"

You glanced at him to see if he was joking. You wondered if he was normally like this: Did he throw every compliment he could to people on a daily basis? Either way, you liked the way he spoke your name, and you couldn't help smiling back when he smiled at you.

"C'mon, _______, let's see what kind of a cook you are!"

* * *

You had to admit: you really liked cooking with Feliciano. Cooking wasn't something you ever did on your own, but he made it fun and entertaining. And somehow, the two of you went together like pasta and parmesan; after just a half an hour of time together you felt as if you'd known each other forever. You had the same sense of humor, the same tastes in music, and enjoyed similar things. More than anything at this moment, you just wanted to stay with him.

"Can you chop up the tomatoes for the sauce?" Feliciano said from where he was standing, washing out a pan. The flowing of water from the faucet forced him to shout a little bit more than he normally did. "They have to be really, really small so we can have the right texture!"

"Okay," you said. You weren't great with knives, but you'd see what you could do. Painstakingly you sawed the knife through the tomatoes, squishing most of the juice out of them.   

After about a minute, he looked over at you. "_______, no!" he shouted, leaping towards you.

You dropped the knife in surprise.

"They have to be cut to exactly the same size," he said with a horrified expression on his face. "Look, here, let me show you."

He reached around your waist and grabbed the knife, pinning your front to the counter. Then he took your hand and held it in his, walking your hands through the correct motion.

The place where his hand touched burned. Blushing, you struggled to ignore the feeling of his body pressing against yours.

"There, see?" he said finally. You hadn't even been paying attention to what he was doing with the knife, but in front of you lay a stack of identical slices of tomatoes.

You turned around to face him. "Thank you," you said, embarrassedly.

He smiled. Taking a stray strand of your hair, he twirled it around his finger and then tucked it gently behind your ear.

***

The smell of fresh basil and cooking pasta filled the kitchen with a tantalizing aroma. Despite your lack of confidence in your cooking skills, you had a feeling that the meal was going to be delicious.

"_______!! _______, the sauce is ready!!!" Feliciano shouted, jerking you out of you reverie and nearly making you jump out of your skin. "Try it, try it, try it!"

"Oh, it's ok, you can be the first to try it," you said, smiling at him.

"No!! Please try it first. I insist!"

"Okay," you agreed reluctantly. He should try it first really, you thought. He would be much more appreciative of it.

"Veeeeeeh~" he said. He dipped his finger and in the sauce and then held it towards you.

You blushed scarlet. Taking his hand lightly in yours, you brought his finger to your mouth and daintily slurped the sauce from his fingertip.

"Mmmm," you said, eyes widening. The taste of tomatoes and mushrooms filled your mouth, dancing on your tongue in a mix of sweet and savory. "This is actually really good."

"Really?" he said excitedly, practically jumping up and down.

You smiled. The boiling sauce burned as you swiped your finger across the surface and took some. "Try it," you said as you offered it to him.

He eagerly smooched the sauce from your skin; blood rushed to the place his lips had touched. "That does taste good!" he said, grinning from ear to ear. "I think I'll try some more."

He dipped his finger once more into the pan. He looked at it momentarily, and for a second you thought he was going to suck it off. But instead, in one swift motion he dabbed the sauce on your nose, leaned in, and kissed it off.

"Feli!" you shouted, laughing. Now it's war, you thought.

Quickly as you could manage, you dipped your finger into the sauce, smeared it across his cheek, and stood on your tiptoes to smooch it off. Mmmm…your senses were overwhelmed with a combination of the taste of Feli's sauce and his soft skin.

A pink color came over Feliciano's cheeks, but he looked at you with a newfound deviousness. He took a bit of the sauce once more and dabbed it on the edge of your lips, so that you could just barely taste it. Then he leaned in to taste it.

And missed.

The force of his lips surprised you, but you got over it quickly. Mmm…his lips tasted of oregano and basil with a dash of salt. You knotted your fingers into locks of his hair hungrily, standing on your toes to reach him properly. His hands were at your waist. They pressed the two of you as closely as they could.

Feliciano pulled away briefly to take a few breaths and saw you straining to reach him. He took you by your waist and lifted you so that you were sitting on the counter. Now you were looking him in the eye.

He leaned in again, slower this time, achingly slow. As he parted your lips with his tongue, you permitted yourself to moan. It seemed to make him want you more. He separated himself from your lips now, making his way down your neck -

Ding!

The oven went off, and you both looked up in surprise. Feliciano looked hungrily at you, panting slightly. "The pasta's ready, _______!"

You laughed. "I know," you said, and pulled him in one more time by the neck to press your lips softly against his. You felt his smile.

"Ti amo, _______," he said quietly, stroking your cheek.

You knew enough Italian to figure that one out. "You too, Feli," you smiled.

His grin nearly split his face in half.

"Now, c'mon _______! Let's eat!"