Under Summer Sky • Zarry

4. The magic word

Luckily Gio gave me Saturdays off because my brain was applesauce and my body felt like I had been run over by an 18 wheeler. Once I gathered enough strength to face the day by tearing myself away from the tantalizing dreams I was having about Zayn, I finally peeled myself out of bed and decided to emerge into the summer sun at quarter to noon.

I yawned lazily as I strode towards the house in a pair of white running shorts and a grey t-shirt with my backwards red baseball cap placed on my head, a mess of brown curls poking out from underneath it. After giving a nod to Stefano who just walked by me across the back patio on his way out the side gate, I entered through the sliding back door and into their extensive kitchen.

Many aspects of Gio's estate had been remodeled since last time I visited, I noticed. It used to have a more rustic, country feel to it, with Tricia's flair for color and whimsy. But the kitchen now had this stream-lined, modern look instead with easy, light colors and everything was clean and and bright and organized with commercial grade, stainless steel appliances. The cabinets were a dark, cherry wood color with white, marble countertops and oak wood flooring and there was a massive, square island in the center with upholstered bar stools on one side.

I found myself wondering if maybe having traces of Tricia around the house was too difficult for Giovanni and that's why he had altered so much of their home since her passing. If that was the case, then I understood. I couldn't imagine what losing the love of your life must feel like.

But their home was still beyond exquisite. It had such high, vaulted ceilings and the most incredible lighting, always bright and warm inside and everything smelled so good all the time, like fresh cotton with a hint of sandalwood.

That scent actually reminded me of Tricia, something that seemed to remain, and I smiled faintly at the thought of her.

As I stood in the kitchen rummaging through the fridge for something to have for brunch, Gio snuck in behind me just then, holding a slender bottle of the new Merlot blend they were working on.

"Buonjorno, Harry. How are you feeling this morning? Heard you had a pretty wild night," he greeted me with a knowing look.

"Yeah I, um...it was fun. But I'm feeling the aftermath today unfortunately," I replied groggily as he moved behind me and leaned a stout arm out, grabbing a square tupperwear container filled with already made waffles and set it on the counter next to me.

He chortled. "Ahh, to be young again."

I leaned in and removed the top of the lid, inspecting the waffles inside. They looked tasty as hell and they were strawberry waffles too.

"These look so good. Thanks, I'm famished."

"Deliziozo, indeed. Zayn's speciality. Made these this morning and left the rest in here for you," he commented, squeezing my shoulder lightly before making his way out of the kitchen.

And there he was again, doing such nice and considerate things for me.

I started to think more about how Zayn acted the night before as I heated the waffles up in the toaster oven. There was a part of me that wanted to confront him about it and ask him what his deal was.

I wanted to ask him why he was so bloody confusing, so hot and cold, to try and figure him out; but at the same time I realized I liked him a lot and I also didn't want to invoke another argument because I was afraid I'd end up pushing Zayn away from me.

And speak of the devil.

Zayn then appeared quietly in the kitchen wearing a black, sleeveless MTV top, a pair of tight black jeans with several rips traveling up through the thighs and burgundy doc martens. He always looked so hot, it was criminal.