Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
Valentina’s Point of View
“That has to be the finest pasta I ever ate.”
Henry looked up from his bowl, first at me, then at Femke, then at me again.
We both giggled.
He smiled. Then he winked, and the wink was so unapologetic that I felt my cheeks go hot.
He was—I want to say, approaching seventy, but he wore it the way sailors wear it, where the number just means more weather. Big hands, brown to the wrist, a gold signet ring that had been on so long the finger had shaped itself around it.
He moved slowly and took up more of the table than he needed, and when he reached for the bread, he tore it rather than cut it, handing pieces to Agatha and Rosa that they gladly took.
Rosa had introduced him at the door.
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.