The sunbeams caught his face and in that fleeting moment he was beautiful. I’d read several books regarding the Mediterranean diet, keto, South Beach, and other smart ways of analyzing food intake and nutrition. Food as fuel for the soul was a familiar motto, spoken on cooking and morning talk shows in order to promote a product or lifestyle. But I’d never heard the philosophy uttered like a Bible verse, full of respect. It was like hearing something a thousand times, yet on the thousand and first, it made sense. I finally got it, standing in front of my tour guide in Rome.

He had no idea he’d suddenly shifted my thinking. All those times food was shoved in my mouth as a resented requirement of either good health or weight loss, each time I rushed through a drive-through and congratulated myself on eating a limp, dressing-free salad, I had been false. Even my junk-food choices were picked without care or concern. I thought of how many times Allegra mentioned cooking with my mother, and how I viewed it as a traditional block to a woman’s freedom, thinking my job was to push her to be more like me.

Maybe I’d been wrong.

Enzo continued talking, ignorant of the sudden spin of my thoughts over his last statement. We climbed to the top and leaned over the rail to study the square spread out before us. The view, like many historic spots, was worth the climb. Looking down at anything usually gave me a sense of power and accomplishment. Right now, I felt more connected to the people milling around the square, as if there were no differences between us. As if we had all shared the view and claimed our power together.

Our shoulders brushed against each other and I didn’t move. The light scent of his cologne drifted in the air and tickled my nose, a scent of familiarity, like I’d smelled it many times before, almost like a dim memory I couldn’t place.

“Did you finish your work?” he asked.

I sighed, resting my elbows on the ledge. “No, but I can finish tonight. I think that’s why Allegra isn’t texting me back. She’s mad.”

He didn’t respond for a bit, like he was thinking about what to say. “Children don’t realize our responsibilities. And I think the mother-daughter relationship is the most complicated of all.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I have four sisters.”

I gasped. “Four! Are you kidding me? How did you survive?”

His grin was back. “Well, I never got the bathroom, but my mama treated me like a king. And though they drove me nuts, they spoiled me. I’m the baby.”

I began to laugh. “Typical. You’re a mama’s boy.”

He shrugged. “I am proud of this. She taught me all the important things.”

“Like what?”