Recipe for Love

Chapter 9

Charles

"Can you please calm down?" I whined desperately into the phone. "I don't know why you made it your life's goal to check on me every day. I was out for a run. Is that allowed?" I babbled, hearing Joris breathe wildly. "I called you five times," he argued.
"Yeah, five times in an hour."
"You usually carry your phone with you."
"Maybe I just didn't want you to bother me," I blurted out, instantly freezing. Joris was quiet for a moment and then said, "Fine. When you feel like shit again, don't count on me." And then hung up. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared in disbelief for a moment at the black display of the phone. Joris was sometimes like a wasp in the ass, but he was my best friend.

Because I refused to sit at home and suffer from loneliness and hunger, I went to my favorite local restaurant for lunch. Although It felt very awkward going to lunch alone, I knew the owner and knew that I would not be alone at the table for long. I walked in and was immediately hit by the smell of tomato sauce and freshly baked cheese pizza. "Ciao, Charles!" Marco, the manager of the restaurant, called to me. "Ciao," I smiled at him and let myself sit at a table near the bar, where I could at least chat with the staff. I ordered my favorite tagliatelle and before they brought it to me, I alternately looked at my phone and talked to Marco about everything.

I was halfway through my meal when a girl walked into the restaurant. I wasn't interested in her so much because of how pretty she was, but mainly because of how confidently she strode in, looked around, and headed straight for the bar, where she stopped just behind me. She smelled of some fresh floral perfume that didn't go well with her dark clothes, serious expression and angry look. "Buongiorno," she said to Marco with a strong English accent and then switched to English. "Are you looking for a cook by any chance? I'm really good." Marco stared at her in silence for a moment, then his gaze flicked to me. Although the restaurant was often full of tourists, Marco, like many Italians, struggled with English. "He asks if you're looking for a cook. She says she's good," I translated for him, and the girl measured me with her dark brown eyes.

Marco let me finish my meal out of politeness and then used me as a translator. I had nothing better to do anyway. Her name was Anna and she had just moved from London to Bologna. He wanted to know what her education and experience were, and he seemed satisfied with all her answers. He arranged a trial shift with her, and her eyes completely lit up. "Grazie!" she yelled and quickly threw her arms around his neck, making Marco look both surprised and pleased at the same time. She thanked me and went out into the street. I resisted the urge to run after her, but I wasn't at my most charming and I didn't even know what to say to her. "She was very pretty, wasn't she?" Marco commented as he caught me staring in the direction she left. I shrugged. "I hope you didn't give her the job just for that," I smirked, and Marco shrugged for a change. "Of course not," he added, but he didn't quite convince me.

The following day could be summed up in one single word. Chaos. Since the morning, everyone was frantically running between the factory and the circuit in Fiorano, preparing us and the cars for the ceremonial unveiling of the new single-seater. Expectations were high and it seemed to me that everyone was trying to put on an even bigger show, especially since it was Lewis' first season at Ferrari.

The car was nice, I won't say it wasn't. But compared to last year there was more black again, and I wasn't the biggest fan of that. But the main thing is how fast it will be. I wish we could finally get equal to Red Bull. The beginning of last season was promising, but unless Max had a technical failure, it was impossible to catch him in the race. And that pissed me off.