Page 57 of The Wedding Run
“If you think you’re up for it.”
He uses too much force, and pasta goes flying. We duck and laugh. As he dumps the remaining pasta into the boiling water, I fetch the broom.
“It’s bucatini,” I explain. “It looks thicker, but it has a hollow center.”
“Crush my ego with that.” But he’s smiling.
He sweeps while I prepare the sauce, adding peeled Roma tomatoes to olive oil and fresh garlic. I grate the pecorino cheese and toss it into the bubbling sauce.
Moments later, we sit at a small table with a view of the mountains. The setting sun paints the sky bronze.
“This is the value of your house right here,” I say, looking at the view.
“It’s why I bought the cabin.” He holds up a glass of Chianti. “To the chef.”
I tap my glass against his. “To…” I hesitate, unsure what to call us. Finally, I say, “To friends. And for all the help you’ve given me this week.”
And we drink deeply.
Our eyes meet briefly. A flutter in my belly makes me glance away first. Then, I serve him a plate full of Amatriciana. Luke takes another helping, which pleases me more than it should.
“If that wasn’t magical, I can’t wait to try your… what kind of pancakes?”
“Unicorn.”
“Sign me up. That was the best meal I’ve ever had. But don’t tell my mother.”
I feel my cheeks warm at his compliment. It must be the wine. “It wasn’t fancy.”
“I’m a simple guy, remember?”
I tip my head and study him. “Humble… modest… unpretentious, yes. But simple?”
“Not sure I qualify for the other descriptors,” he protests.
“You have business savvy, Luke. You have a great home. You’re always a gentleman. Even when someone slaps you. And enough of a good, bad boy when you kiss?—”
Whoa!I stop myself. I grab the wine glass and take another drink. But apparently, I’ve already had too much, and it’s making me say things I shouldn’t even be thinking.
Change the topic, I advise myself. “What is it you want out of life, Luke?”
He leans back in his chair. “I don’t have lists like you do, Libby. I’ve seen what a lot of money can afford. I’ve experienced the struggle of not having much. And I’ve experienced having the most important thing taken away. No amount of money can fix that.”
“You’re talking about Derek’s family.”
“And others. I want more than stuff. I want to live simply but well. I want to enjoy every second, because it can all disappear.”
I understand that much.
“I don’t care about making a big footprint,” he continues. “But I’d like to make an impression, hopefully a good one. Be good to my neighbors, family, and the occasional stranger who needs a helping hand.”
“Like me,” I add.
He nods. "And…"
But he pauses to sip the wine.
“And?” I press.
