- The Author, Home
He looked at her standing by the rusty mobile oven with its four heating coils. The air in the kitchen was wonderfully cool for that early in spring this year. Her ivory cashmere almost looked too delicate underneath the cheap PVC apron he got for free.
And she kept stirring the garlic, which sent a warm oily smell into the air, vehemently mixing with the blueness of the air. He approached her quietly. In a way he has never felt, propelled by an instinctive want, a desire forming from the primal root of his being, he put his arms around her.
She recoiled quickly and looked at him with those beguiling eyes. "Guiseppe, what... ?"
Words were never easy for a shy man like him, whom had little friends. It was easier tending to flowers within the grand compound of the Louvre, and he could only plead back to her with his gaze. "Guiseppe, what did you just do?"
By now, the garlic was smoking like bad earth being burnt in a forest fire, he reached over to switch off the stove. The swishing of her skirt brushing past him as she stumbled like a new born calf towards the door, faintly still. It closed behind him slowly.
"Un cafe, s'il vous plait". Graciously she waited for the sweet rosy cheeked man whipped up her order as the small place filled up with merry patrons. There was nothing special about this joint, except that the noise allowed her to disappear into her thoughts. Her cup of coffee appeared just as it was a sign to grab a corner outside.
She had known Guiseppe for the longest time and he struck her first as the most beautiful man she has ever met. Sandy brown hair and a light tan, a well cut physique to match a unique talent that qualified him to be the leading garden designer for one of the most important institutions in Paris. When he spoke, his eyes transcended beyond the sound of his words. It was love until she realised that Guiseppe also share a similar yearning - the love of a man.
Theirs was a friendship that blossomed profoundly amidst the chaos of a constant struggle to live in one of the most expensive cities. They met often to share their love of the green, laughter, cooking, looking after each other. She had come to care for him in a way that she had accepted to be nothing beyond platonic. Sisterly, at the most.
By the time it was past noon, she unlocked the door back into his apartment. He sat, still as if the great masters had chipped off a perfect block of marble.
Their eyes met. As the rays from that beautiful day streamed through those windows, casting shy blocks of light that emanated freckles of dust floating flirtatiously in the air, she muttered "I have no idea... but I don't want to hurt your feelings".
"I only ran out because I... it was not because I disliked your touch".
"Miriam, please don't be alarmed". "Guiseppe... you knew before how I felt for you?"
He rose and walked towards her. She was standing more awkwardly, as uncertain as a young girl would be in her first encounter with a man. Miriam looked up.
Those blue eyes. They were the palest hue in a bright spring sky.
