Page 7 of Bella Rosa
The door to the bathroom and the small wardrobe are on the left wall. There are photographs very similar to the ones in the entryway scattered all around the room.
I start unpacking right away. I place my beloved pillow on the bed and open my suitcase. I would love to explore some before it gets too dark outside, but by the time I get unpacked it will probably be close to dinner time.
I should probably eat with Alda tonight. I doubt I'll have time to research any restaurants before dinner. That can wait until after. Maybe I can create a small list of places I would like to go before I meet Alda's daughter tomorrow. That way she can add to my list and let me know if I'm on the right track. I wish I had more time to research before I came. This was kind of a last minute trip, so I focused most of my time on my accommodations.
After a quiet dinner with Alda and a few other guests who didn't speak any English, I head back up to my room to wash away the grime of a travel day. I also found out the bed and breakfast seemed empty earlier because most of the guests were out exploring. There are currently no vacancies.
After I make it into the shower, which is surprisingly modern, I start to think back about my first day in Italy. It seems like it’s been three or four days wrapped up in one. My mind immediately goes to Matteo just like it did while I was unpacking and while I was eating dinner. I can't seem to get him off my mind. The way he held me. His smell. I shouldn't think of him. I'll never see him again. He was so rude, and he has a girlfriend. However, the throbbing between my legs betrays my thoughts. Traitor.
I turn the water temperature as cold as I can stand it to try and put out the fire Matteo caused from one touch. I'm pitiful.
I quickly get through my shower and dry off. I need to stay focused and do some research before bed. The first day of the journey to my dream job starts tomorrow. I can't lose focus, no matter how much my body may want me to. That's all this is. A simple reaction to him holding me that way. It's been far too long, and my body just didn't know how to respond in a normal way. That's it. That's all this is.
Whatever you need to keep telling yourself, Rosalie.
5
Polpo Café
Rosalie
Iwakeupthenext morning to my alarm blaring on my phone, and roll over and groan. I reach over to turn the annoying thing off so I can make my way out of bed. My first night here was wonderful, even though I still feel like I could sleep for the rest of the day. I'm normally an early riser, but seven-thirty in the morning doesn't hit the same when paired with jet lag.
After getting ready for the day, in much more weather appropriate clothing I might add, I make my way down the stairs with my camera bag. I’ve got the list of restaurants I found during my research last night tucked in the back pocket of my jean shorts. I find Alda putting a few dishes on the dining room table. She turns my way with a warm smile. "Good morning! I hope you slept well and found the room to your liking."
"It was wonderful. Thank you. I was thinking about going on over to talk to your daughter." I say hoping she hasn’t changed her mind about agreeing to help me with my restaurant search.
"I spoke with her last night after dinner. She is so excited to meet you."
"Wonderful! I’ll go ahead and head over now. Thanks again for all your help." I start toward the door as I hear a few other guests making their way down the stairs.
As soon as I open the door I'm stopped in my tracks. The natural lighting this morning is just perfect for photographs. I stop and take in the beauty of the street for a moment. It’s not too busy yet, but I know this is a street the locals often use instead of just the tourists. My research is proving to be correct so far.
There are two mothers walking together with their children riding scooters in front of them. One older man is walking with a coffee in hand and the morning newspaper under his arm. A middle aged man is walking quickly with a briefcase in one hand, and a lunch box in the other.
After snapping a quick photo of the front of the bed and breakfast in the morning sun, I make my way across the street to the bakery. The buildings on this street all seem original on the outside, but quite modern on the inside. They’ve not lost their Italian flare though. The beautiful bakery has four small two-seater tables out front, a sign above the door with Polpo Café written in script, and a standing sign on the sidewalk with handwritten daily specials.
I step through the open glass door, and am greeted by the wonderful smell of freshly baked pastries. I take a look around while making my way to the counter. Shades of white, peach, and pink are artfully placed on the walls and throughout the decorations of the open concept bakery. The young woman behind the counter looks like she was born to be in this space. She fits in with the decorations perfectly. She seems to be huffing and puffing over something behind the counter that I can’t see.
She has long strawberry blond hair that’s currently pulled up in a messy ponytail, with a few stray pieces around the edges of her face. She seems to be around my age.
She whirls around quickly when she hears me. A look of shock is written all over her beautiful face. She has a light dusting a freckles across her nose, and striking green eyes.
"Oh, hello. Welcome to Polpo Café. So sorry, but it looks like I won't be serving any cannolis this morning. It looks like I’ve just broken my mixer." She wipes her hands on her apron as she walks toward the register. "Is there anything else I can get for you? Everything in the display case was freshly baked this morning."
I take a quick scan of the display case before saying, "I’m actually staying with Alda across the street. She said I could come over and talk to her daughter about local restaurants."
With a beaming smile she says, "Oh yes! Mamma called me last night. You must be Rosalie. I’m Julianna, Alda’s daughter. You can call me Juli if you'd like. I’m so glad you’re here! Please come sit." She starts to move over to one of the five small tables while gesturing to one of its chairs. "I am so passionate about the local restaurants around here. So many chain restaurants have moved in over the last few years because of how popular the city has gotten. It’s so difficult to promote local businesses now."
I take a seat and reach into my back pocket to pull out my list. "That’s why I’m here! I would love to write an article featuring local restaurants in the Eden Valley. Here’s what I have come up with so far." I hand her the list I made last night hoping I don’t seem like a fool.
It was much harder than I thought to find local restaurants online. "I was hoping you could tell me if I was on the right track." I lay my hands in my lap and try not to fidget while I wait for her to read over the list of eight restaurants that seemed local.
She takes a pen from a pocket on her apron, and starts to mark out items on the list. "These are definitely not worth your time." She marks a question mark next to a few. "These are okay, but not special. This one is wonderful." Pointing to one she just marked with a star. "You must try their mushroom risotto." She makes a few notes then starts writing at the bottom of the list. "This is one of my favorite local restaurants. You should try this one as soon as you can." She marks that one with two stars.
After we talk a few more minutes about the list she has created, she slides the paper back to me. I take a photo of it on my phone for good measure, and stick it back in my pocket. "Thank you so much. You’ve really been such a big help already. Do you think I could try a few pastries, and take a lunch sandwich to go?"
We sit for a while and she tells me stories about growing up in Italy while I eat. I make sure and snap pictures of all the cute and delicious pastries she hands me. I manage to say through a mouth full of food, "So you mean to tell me, you hiked all forty miles, alone? Are you crazy? Aren’t you afraid of bears?"
