“Sì, ah, mi scusi,” Mario stuttered, caught off guard. He reached for the Napa Valley Pinot Grigio resting on the island and deftly uncorked the bottle. He had opened countless bottles of red wine during Sunday services, but this was his first encounter with white wine.

He filled two glasses with the crisp white wine then navigated around the counter to offer one to Janet. As he neared her, he was enveloped by the scent of roses and a hint of Lancôme Miracle Eau de Parfum. The fragrance was unfamiliar to him, but intoxicating nonetheless. Roberto would have recognized the effort Janet had put into their evening and predicted a promising end to the night—Mario, however, remained blissfully unaware of these subtle cues.

On her way home from work, Janet had made a special detour to Sephora after gathering the dinner ingredients at Publix. She was determined to leave a lasting impression on the intriguing Italian who had unexpectedly entered her life. The local men had lost their appeal; she craved someone more exotic. She was trying to make this as obvious as possible to her Italian guest.

“I forgot to ask yesterday, do you like fish?”

“Sì. I go Ostia for fresh fish sometimes.” Mario spoke of the coastal city near Rome, his voice carrying the rhythm of the sea. “I know fish with bees fresh. Fish with flies old.”

Janet stirred the rice pilaf in the frying pan, her attention captivated by Mario’s explanation. His accent was like a melody, a symphony she could lose herself in for hours.

“Sometimes, fisherman try selling old fish to tourist not know difference.”

“Well luckily, I believe these are fresh.” Janet glanced at Mario and smiled. He was standing so close to her. “Publix sources their fish from local fishermen.”

“It appear fresh.” Mario leaned in, peering through the glass of the toaster oven. “What is seasoning?”

“I use a simple recipe with just three ingredients—salt, Cajun spices, and parsley flakes. I also add red potatoes, yellow peppers, cherry tomatoes, lime, green onions. The oil gives it a crispy exterior and a juicy interior,” Janet said, noting this man was having a similar effect on her.

Mario, oblivious to her hints, felt a strange sensation. To be sure, he didn’t mind the attention from Janet. She was indeed beautiful. Moving to the other side of the island, he perched on a barstool, staying out of Janet’s way as she continued her culinary magic. He had learned from Roberto to stay clear unless he was assisting as a sous chef.

“Maybe I set table?”

“That would be wonderful. The silverware is in that drawer.”

“Piatti?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Mi scusi. . . .” Mario searched for the English word, “Plates?”

“Oh, oh. Don’t worry about them. I’ll prepare the plates and bring them to the table.” Janet giggled at Mario’s adorable Italian question. His presence was a breath of fresh air, a joy she had been craving for a long time.

Mario was delighted to witness her laughter. He felt a warmth around this woman that he couldn’t recall ever feeling before. It was a pleasant sensation. He had seen this in the teenage boys who attended church on Sundays. They would transform into goofy, love-struck adolescents around the girls they fancied. During Mass, their attention would be on the girls seated elsewhere, their ears oblivious to the sermon. Mario would observe these silent exchanges throughout the church—a boy stealing a glance at a girl, the girl giggling quietly when she caught the boy’s gaze, both quickly looking away, hoping the other hadn’t noticed. It was a dance of young love.

As a devout priest, Mario had always suppressed the stirrings of desire, honoring his vows of celibacy. He was no stranger to the frailties of the flesh, a temptation that led many a priest astray. He knew that succumbing to these feelings would result in his expulsion from the priesthood, a fate he couldn’t bear. The Catholic Church was his life. Yet, when the Church severed its ties with him, it was as if a dam had burst within him, releasing a torrent of suppressed emotions. As he set the dining room table, his thoughts were consumed by Janet.

The distant ding of the toaster oven rang through the house. Janet’s voice floated from the kitchen. “The fish is ready.”

Drawn by her voice, he returned to the kitchen and stood behind the island, his eyes riveted on Janet as she plated the food with the finesse of a Michelin-starred chef. He felt a sense of gratitude wash over him. Roberto had often treated him to delectable meals, but having a woman cook for him was a different experience altogether. It was a unique bond, a connection that transcended friendship, and Mario found himself relishing it.

Janet turned her head, catching his appreciative gaze. A smile tugged at her lips; it was becoming apparent the handsome Italian reciprocated her feelings. Setting the spoon down, she picked up the plates and turned to head to the dining room. “Dinner is served.”

Mario’s smile widened as he watched Janet, her pride in the meal she’d prepared evident. He collected the wine glasses and followed her into the dining room. Setting down the plates, she moved to a small curio in the corner to retrieve some candlesticks and a lighter. She placed the candles on the table and lit them; their flickering light cast an intimate glow over the room.

“Bella,” Mario praised, his eyes taking in the meticulously arranged dinner.

With a gentlemanly grace, he moved behind the woman and pulled out her chair. Janet was taken aback by his chivalry, a trait seemingly lost among American men. She cherished this old-fashioned attention from Mario, a refreshing change from what she usually encountered.

Her father, a man of an older generation, had taught her to value manners and respect. It seemed men her age had skipped learning these crucial lessons. Mario, however, appeared to understand the importance of treating women with respect.

“Thank you,” she murmured, settling into the chair he’d pulled out for her.

He took his own seat, lifting his wine glass in a toast towards Janet. “Bellissima.” Their glasses clinked together, and they each took a sip, officially commencing the meal. Janet’s smile widened, her heart fluttering at Mario’s Italian praise for her culinary efforts.

His first bite of the succulent snapper was met with a sigh of pleasure. “Delizioso,” he murmured, his eyes closing as he savored the exquisite flavors.

“Thank you.”

A silence fell over them as they relished the expertly prepared meal, each bite a testament to Janet’s culinary prowess. She began to feel a twinge of unease at the prolonged silence. She yearned to know more about this man, for him to fill the silence with his stories. Just as she was about to probe, Mario broke the silence.

“What do you do?” he asked, wine glass in hand, his curiosity piqued about his enchanting hostess.

“I’m an M.E.” Seeing Mario’s puzzled expression, she quickly clarified, “Medical examiner. I’m a medical examiner at the Naples Forensics Laboratory not too far from here.”

“You enjoy being medical examiner?”

“It’s been a lifelong fascination. I’ve always been drawn to biology and life sciences since I was a child. What about you?”

“I no like dead things,” Mario confessed, his mind drifting back to the grim dissections of frogs, worms, and crawdads in his Catholic middle school biology classes.

Janet’s laughter rang out, a delightful contrast to Mario’s grimace as he recounted his aversion to the subject that had ignited her passion. Their meal progressed, punctuated by the clink of cutlery and the hum of engaging conversation. Janet painted a vivid picture of her childhood in Palo Alto, California, and the warmth and affection she received from her adoptive German parents.

“You were adopted?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“I was raised in orphanage,” Mario revealed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips upon discovering their shared experience, albeit different in detail. “But never adopted.”

“I’m sorry,” Janet whispered, her voice soft with empathy. She could barely stand imagining the absence of parental love he must have endured.

“Is okay,” Mario reassured her, his mind drifting back to the cherished memories he’d shared with Roberto at the orphanage. Adoption or no adoption, those times held a special place in his heart.

He was thoroughly enjoying the evening—the company of this enchanting woman made every moment memorable. As he drained his first glass of wine, he rose to fetch the wine bottle from the kitchen. Upon his return, he refilled both their glasses, depleting the bottle.

“This”—Mario gestured with his fork laden with snapper—”delizioso.”

Janet’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, Mario’s Italian accent adding an irresistible allure to his words. She sipped more wine and found her nerves were gradually melting away in the warmth of her dinner companion’s presence.

Noticing their glasses were nearly empty again, she retrieved a second bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from her wine fridge. Growing up in the Bay Area so close to wine country, she’d developed a fondness for Napa wines.

“Could you open this?” she asked, handing Mario the wine and corkscrew.

He obliged, uncorking the bottle and filling their glasses with the crisp white wine. As they finished their meal and progressed to their fourth glass of wine, a warm, relaxed atmosphere enveloped them. Mario collected the plates and carried them into the kitchen, his considerate gesture not going unnoticed by Janet.

“Would you like to move to the living room and continue our conversation?”

“Sì. I would like that,” Mario agreed, the alcohol loosening his inhibitions and fueling his desire to prolong this enchanting evening with Janet.