Margherita's Notebook Read Free Page B

had cooked it, adding the stock gradually. When it was done, she’d added robiola cheese to make it creamy. And yet, although the flavor was pleasant, Margherita wasn’t satisfied. Something was missing, something that would make this dish unique. But what could that ingredient be? Thyme? Mint leaves? Perhaps just a pinch of marjoram? None of these ideas convinced her.
    It had been Erica who suggested she grate some lemon zest over it just before it finished cooking.
    â€œThat’s what was missing! Thanks, Mama, it needed your magic touch!”
    Then Margherita had taken the individual ramekins, lined them with the cooked asparagus tips, and added the rice, carefully pressing it and making it compact.
    â€œI’ll serve them along with some asparagus tempura, and the cream right next to that,” she’d announced, satisfied.
    Erica had dedicated one of her bright smiles to her. “And what’s the name of this new creation?”
    â€œAsparagus Temptation.”

    Atear fell on the page and spread out over the ink, distorting the letters. The memory was still there, as clear as if it had taken place only a few minutes ago.
    A true Cupid, that risotto. No doubt about it.
    That day, the restaurant was packed. Margherita and Erica hadn’t been able to stop rushing between the tables for a moment. When the customers finally started to leave, Erica, who looked exhausted, had breathed a sigh of relief.
    â€œI don’t know what I would have done without you today. Thanks for staying, sweetie . . .”
    Margherita had hugged her mother lovingly.
    â€œYou need to rest, Mama. Get your things and go home. I’ll take care of cleaning up.”
    Erica had smiled at her and without protesting had taken off her apron and gone home.
    As Margherita had loaded the dishwasher, she’d thought that she simply had to convince Armando to take her mother away for a few days. She could deal with the restaurant; with Rosalina’s help it wouldn’t be a problem. So absorbed in her thoughts was she that she hadn’t noticed that someone had entered the kitchen.
    â€œIt’s all just a dream, right?”
    Margherita spun around. Standing in front of her was a tall, blond, handsome—actually very handsome—young guy.
    â€œCan I help you?”
    He flashed her an irresistible smile.
    â€œLet me guess: you’re the amazing cook who made the risotto. Today’s my lucky day, I know it is. In one fell swoop I have found Eve, temptation on earth, and a sublime cook. And by the way, nice to meet you, my name is Francesco.”
    Margherita could not help laughing.
    â€œAnd my name is Margherita, not Eve. But I’m glad you liked the risotto, it was an experiment . . .”
    He moved in closer, looking at her intensely.
    â€œI like people who know how to take chances.”
    Margherita could hardly breathe. His eyes were simply too blue. His voice was way too sexy. And that amazing body . . . better to stay on the defensive.
    â€œAre you here for the check?” she’d asked, moving away to reestablish some distance between them.
    â€œNo. I want to know what a beautiful girl like you is doing locked up in a kitchen.”
    Francesco had reached out to straighten a lock of hair that had slipped out of her ponytail, an intimate gesture that he’d done so naturally it had made her weak in the knees.
    â€œWhy?” she’d asked him, lowering her eyes.
    â€œI don’t know. Maybe because I was expecting to find a nice little old lady, a guardian of ancient culinary wisdom, and instead I found you . . .”

    Another tear fell on her notebook. Francesco had always known how to make her feel special, unique. In the beginning she had tried to hold him off, but he hadn’t let up. Every weekend after that he’d come back, one time with special oil infused with satureja, another time with gelo di melone , a melon