“You don’t have to wait in here. There’s a soccer game on tonight. The television is in the room next to the dining room.”

“If it’s the same to you, I’d rather just hang out. If you don’t mind me in your kitchen, that is.”

She smiled. Right answer, she thought. “Of course not. Want to help?”

“Certo. What would you like me to do?”

“To start you can hand me the eggs. They’re behind me, on the counter.”

Ross found a small, woven straw basket with brown eggs in it. “Do you need them opened or scrambled or something?”

She smiled at opened. He really was a bachelor. “I need three of them mixed in that glass bowl. Just use that fork there.”

Ross cracked all of the eggs.

“What should I do with the shell that I didn’t get in with the yolk?”

Eliana laughed. “The garbage is under the sink.” He discarded the shells then came back and picked the rest out of the bowl. “Sorry. I’m an amateur.”

“If you want, I’ll teach you how to make carbonara.”

“I’d like that.”

She lifted the pan, poured the pancetta into the saucepan and stirred it around. “I hope you’re not watching your fat intake. It tastes better with some of the grease.” She handed him a small cup with clear yellow liquid. “Here, you pour this in while I stir.”

“What am I adding?”

“Chicken broth.”

He moved next to her, lightly pressing against her. She could feel the warmth of his body beneath his shirt and she didn’t move back. She liked the feel of him close to her. He slowly poured the broth in, then tapped the cup against the rim of the pan. Eliana began stirring again. “We’ll let this heat up a little and then we add the egg and parmesan.” She looked up at him while she stirred. “This is really easy to make. Do you cook much?”

“No. I’m still in the spaghetti-with-store-bought-sauce phase.”

“I’ve been there.” She looked up at him. She adjusted the heat on the stove. “Did you wonder why I didn’t just call an ambulance the other night?”

“It crossed my mind.”

“A year ago Alessio had a major attack. We almost lost him while we waited for the ambulance. Rendola is hard to find.”

“My real estate agent and I got lost the first time we came.”

She nodded. “When I moved here from the States, the FedEx and DHL people were always calling for directions.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, does Rendola mean something? It’s not in my Italian dictionary.”

“For most Italians it’s just a name. Rendola actually comes from Latin. It means where God meets the earth. That’s how Maurizio explained it to me when I first came.”

“It matches the villa. It’s a beautiful place.”

She smiled. “I love Toscana, but especially Chianti.”

Ross took a step back and looked toward the kitchen door. “It must be difficult for you, never knowing when your son might have an attack.”