“Your sister is too kind. I shouldn’t take advantage… it’s not… I’m not as I seem.” It was obvious by the way he was stepping backwards and the look on his face that he was well aware that he had ended lamely and wanted nothing more than to be gone.
“No, no! Don’t be silly! Finish your dinner… my sister paid much more attention to our Mother’s cooking lessons, for sure. Maybe you wouldn’t mind if I joined you,” Bianca smiled most genuinely.
The stranger glanced back at Cherry who gave him an “I told you so” look and giggled. “Yours is in the warming oven, Bink,” winked Cherry.
Bianca re-emerged with a plate, fork and coat to catch the last half of an apparently hilarious comment, “… so he looked it up and found out there really is a market for ………………… in the U.S.”
Peter wiped his eyes and smiled hopefully at Bianca. “So, are you named for the beautiful and adored younger daughter of Baptista Minola?”
Bianca raised one eyebrow and quipped back, “Are you named for the composer of Swan Lake and The Nutcracker?”
“Touché!” Peter chuckled deeply. “Indeed, my mother’s favorite Tchaikovsky was Sleeping Beauty. Spot on!”
Bianca sat and raced the frost to eat her food before the steamy white curls left her plate. No sooner had she finished than Peter took his leave of them and crunched through the leaves with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his threadbare jacket.
The next night, it was Bianca who answered the sycophantic knocking on their door.
“Come in, Peter!” If Bianca’s warm smile threw him off, he didn’t show it as he returned with his own. “Let me take your coat,” she said helping him off with it. She shook the season’s first snowflakes off onto the entry-0way rug and hung it on the coat tree. Peter shook melted snow out of his dark, curly locks and beard.
“Cherry invited me back for lasagna,” Peter said sheepishly.
“The table’s already set for three and we’re almost finished.” Bianca ignored the hole in his sweatshirt as she grabbed him by the elbow and steered him toward the table.
The winter passed pleasantly as Cherry and Bianca practiced their cooking on a more-than-willing Peter. He often stayed until late into the night studying with the sisters as either quizmaster or contestant. As the snow slowly stopped darkening their doorway, so, too, did Peter.
Bianca answered the phone one beautiful Spring day. “Hi, Peter! We’ve missed you coming around!”
He chuckled deeply. “I’m calling to tell you that, grateful though I am, I won't be coming around during the summer. I have… business… anyway, please know that I wish I was with you.”
Shocked, Bianca stared at the fingers of her left hand while clutching the phone with her right. “Alright, Peter,” she heard herself say.
“Goodbye, Bianca,” The words faded to whispers.
“Bye…” was that a click? “Peter.”
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