Page 18 of Unrestricted
"So when you gave me that plate of meat and bread last night?"
"I was down here enjoying cotoletta alla Milanese with an arugula and tomato salad."
That smarts.
"Asshole," I mutter.
I open the tin of tomatoes and pour them into the hot pan. They react with the heat and hiss violently. I break the tomatoes up with a wooden spoon and lower the heat.
When the water comes to the boil, I add the spaghetti.
"That's not enough." Adriano says from behind me.
Grunting in annoyance, I add some more.
"And watch those tomatoes. I smell burning."
He absolutely does not smell burning but I give the sauce a stir anyway to make sure it's not sticking to the bottom of the pan.
When the pasta's ready, I turn off the burner and take the pot to the sink. I set it down and go to find a colander. I try the cabinet next to the one where the pans are.
There are six different colanders in varying sizes which seems completely unnecessary to me. I take one and head back to the sink. Suddenly Adriano is there again.
"Here, let me drain that. It's heavy."
As he tries to take the colander from me, I hold onto it tightly.
"I'm capable of draining some pasta."
"You could scald yourself," he says.
"Do you even care?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he places his hand over mine and strokes my wrist with his thumb, brushing lightly over the pulse point. The contact lasts mere seconds but it's enough to send an uncomfortable prickle through my body. I breathe out sharply and he lets go of me.
While he drains the pasta, I return to the sauce and give it another stir. It has reduced nicely and now has a thick, plummy texture. I check the seasoning and add another pinch of salt. Adriano brings over the drained pasta.
Usually I'd be more careful, but with him standing so close my mind is scrambled. I dump the entire pan of pasta into the sauce and stir it around.
Removing it from the heat, I tear some basil from the stalks and toss it into the pasta. Adriano fetches plates which he places on the counter next to me.
"Forks are in the drawer next to the one where you got the knife," he tells me. "I'll grab us something to drink."
I serve up two generous helpings of pasta, more for him than me since he's twice my size, and find some forks. The something to drink Adriano mentioned turns out to be a bottle of wine. I don't make out the type but I can see a wolf's head logo on the bottle.
"Where will we eat?" I ask.
"Here, at the island."
Great, so sitting side by side. That won’t be at all unvcomfrortale. I place the plates down. Adriano pours two glasses of wine.
"This is from my cousin Lorenzo's vineyard, a Chianti Classico,” he tells me with a hint of pride.
He waits for me to take my seat and then sits next to me. I take a sip of the wine.
"Oh, that's nice,” I say. “Fruity.”
"I'll pass on your invaluable feedback,” Adriano says drily.
