The Wishing Hour

Wishing -

Five

Smiling across the table at my protector, we begin eating dinner. Thanks to the shelf of Italian cookbooks in the pantry and the amazing kitchen I've been able to work in, I do pretty well at cooking some of the native dishes. Tonight we are dining on field greens salad, chicken marsala with garlic potatoes, and sauteed mixed vegetables. For dessert there is raspberry gelato. Since neither of us drink, we sip chilled sparkling grape juice.

The past three days have been full of wonder and more enjoyable than I imagined they could be. It isn't that we've done anything all that exciting, it's just that I have shared the experiences with him. He makes everything grander, and I've become addicted to his very presence.

Moonlit walks around the grounds and through the olive groves, and a picnic by a tree-secluded pond. Long and pleasant conversations at an iron bistro table in the courtyard, sipping cold lemonade, as we share personal things about ourselves–our likes and dislikes, what makes us happy or sad, what touches us deep inside. Watching a movie from the large collection of dvds on the massive flat screen television in the media room. Taking a long walk to the other side of the island and getting caught in the rain, then running back to the house, completely soaked to the skin when we reach it. Laughing and shivering at the same time as we track water through the house to go and change, though I am the only one shivering since he is immune to the cold. Lacing hot chocolate with extra chocolate to go with the marshmallows we roast over the fire pit out back, which we then sandwich between two chocolate-covered biscotti for our Italian version of smores. It has been a very full two days and he has been true to his word. I have not been bored a single minute.

I smile as I think of this. As of right now, I would have to say Italy is the most perfect place in the world. So what if I haven't seen anything but this island? For right now it is enough. Looking across the table at him, he is smiling as well and I can feel him in my thoughts. When my branded palm begins to tingle, I can briefly hear his thoughts too, and what I hear warms me to the core.

He takes another bite of his chicken. “Another week and you will be a master Italian chef.”

“I highly doubt that,” I say, laughing. “But I have enjoyed learning to cook different things. I usually have microwave oven dinners because it's no fun just cooking for myself.”

“I'm glad I am able to contribute in your culinary enjoyment.”

“I am as well.” I can't help glancing over at him every now and again. Before meeting him, the only faces I ever saw across the dinner table on a regular basis were the elderly residents at work. Despite the situation, it feels good to not be alone. However, I do miss Henry from time to time.

“We will get you another cat one day.”

“I look forward to that. I was never much of a pet person until Henry was given to me. As soon as I saw him I fell in love with him and we became completely inseparable. He was a good friend.”

“I don't have many feline tendencies, but I hope I am a okay replacement.” I snort at his wide grin. “Well, what did he do that I can't?”

“Hmmm, let's see. He liked to snuggle in my lap and let me scratch behind his ears. He followed me around the house and brushed up against my leg when he wanted attention. And he curled up next to me in bed each night and purred softly before falling asleep.”

After contemplating this a moment, he gives me a slow smile. “Well, I could snuggle in your lap, but you would no longer have a lap if I did because your legs would probably be crushed.” When I giggle he says, “I'm serious. However, I will allow you to scratch behind my ears if you would like, and I can get down on all fours occasionally and brush up against your leg, though that might be a little embarrassing.”