Chapter Thirty-Two
Matteo didn’t hesitate. He took several long strides and let her insert the spoon into his mouth. He closed his eyes as his tongue traced his lip to take in the sauce that had been left there.
He nodded once. “It’s good.”
“It’s missing something, isn’t it?”
“May I?” he asked. She nodded.
He stepped up to the oven and opened the cabinet above it. His fingers traced over the herbs until he found a few he wanted.
“Woah, that’s a lot,” she said, watching as he used his fingers to measure and add the various ingredients.
He smiled. “It may seem like it, but trust me.”
“I do.”
He paused mid pinch to look over at her. He smiled and shook his head as he continued. “Fresh would be better this late in the cooking process, but we’ll make do.”
“Yeah, I like to keep fresh herbs. I have a small garden at my house in Boston but…” She shrugged. “Do you know anything about the garden on the roof?”
His actions slowed. “Who told you about that?”
“No one. I could see it from Google when I looked up the apartment. I tried the door that leads to it, but it’s locked. Is it a community thing?”
“No, it’s private.”
“Bummer… Do you know who it belongs to? Maybe I can work my magic and convince them to let me have a small section.”
Matteo finished putting the herbs in their respective places. He turned his back to the stove and crossed his arms. “Depends. What kind of magic are we talking about?”
Gen smirked. “The dirty kind.”
Matteo’s brow rose to his hairline. “Well, in that case, I’m sure we can work something out.”
“We?”
Matteo nodded. “The rooftop garden is mine,” he explained, causing her jaw to drop. His smile grew, bringing out his rarely visible dimple. “Want to see it?”
Genevieve gave an eager nod and he bobbed his head toward the door. She followed after him, grabbing her coat as she walked by. She stopped by the door leading to the garden while he continued to his apartment. He held his finger up for her to wait as he walked inside. She craned her neck to try to see into his home. He smirked when he came back out and caught her eye. He tsked as he walked back over to her.
“We’ll have to see some of that dirty magic if you want inside my place,” he teased.
Matteo held his hand out, gesturing for her to go first. Gen smiled and walked up the narrow stairwell. At the top of the stairs she opened the door and gasped as she looked out onto the expansive rooftop garden. There were rows of raised beds covered with fabric to protect the soil during New York’s harsh winter. Beyond that were three glass greenhouses which formed a U.
“Wow,” she breathed. She felt his hands along her arms.
“Come on, it’s warmer in the greenhouses,” he whispered beside her ear.
Genevieve let him guide her forward toward the center greenhouse and its double doors. She opened them and was stunned to see the bountiful harvest available in the middle of winter. Matteo grabbed a metal basket sitting by the door along with some pruners and began walking around to harvest.
“Feel free to look around,” he instructed as he clipped some basil.
Genevieve stepped along the paths, studying the various vegetables. She came to another set of doors that led to the second greenhouse. She cupped her hands to the glass to peer inside. Instead of vegetables, this one seemed to contain an orchard of fruit trees. Everything was beautifully maintained and winterized. She looked back to find Matteo using his sweatpants to clean off his pruners while he watched her take everything in.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, mesmerized. “I don’t see any space left for me to plant though. I suppose I’ll have to save my magic for spring.”
He smiled. “Pity.”
Gen walked past him toward the other greenhouse. She cupped her hands to peer inside but only saw empty beds. She felt Matteo come behind her again.
“May I?” she asked.
A flash of regret and hesitation crossed his expression before he nodded once. He dug in his pocket for the keys and unlocked the doors. She stepped inside and clutched her coat tighter when she realized this greenhouse was not just forgotten, it was abandoned. Dust coated the glass, dirt covered the floor and cobwebs hung in every crevice. She touched the decaying leaves of a plant which proceeded to flutter to the ground around her.
“This was my great grandmother’s greenhouse,” he explained without her having to ask. She turned to see that he hadn’t crossed the threshold. His hands were deep in his pockets as he studied the room. “She loved flowers. Filled it to the brim with different varieties she brought over from Italy.”
Genevieve raised a brow in disbelief. “Your family has lived in this building for that long?” He nodded. She looked around again. “What happened?”
He visibly swallowed and tried to bury his hands even deeper in his pockets. “It became tradition for the head of my family to look after her greenhouse. My great grandfather thought gardening taught a man responsibility. ‘Se non puoi prenderti cura di una pianta, come puoi prenderti cura della tua famiglia?’”
Gen stood in front of Matteo but he was looking far off as if caught in a past memory.
“What happened?” she repeated.
He sighed and finally met her gaze. “I failed.”
Gen opened her mouth to ask what he meant when his phone rang. He kept his eyes locked on her for a moment before he took his phone from his pocket and turned away. He spoke in Italian to whoever was on the other line. His entire body went rigid and she watched as his unguarded expression hardened into steel. He nodded sharply once and, after what sounded like a decisive order, he hung up.
“I have to go,” he said, typing furiously on his phone.
Genevieve walked back into the main greenhouse and closed off the abandoned one. He waited for her by the door with the basket of produce he’d harvested. They walked back down the stairs in silence, his steps more hurried than before. At the bottom of the stairs she turned for her apartment when his hand stopped her. He held the basket out for her.
When she looked up with questioning eyes he explained, “For your sauce.”
“I thought you said it was good,” she teased him.
For a moment his mask fell and she smiled at how she alone seemed to hold that power. Then the mask returned.
“Good night, Genevieve.”
With one last lingering look, he walked past her and jogged down the stairs. Once safely locked back in her apartment she set the basket down on the island and took stock of what he’d given her: basil, garlic, oregano, winter savory, and a green onion. Then at the bottom of the basket, a glimmer of gold caught her eye. She took out the key and smiled.