The Gardener's Cottage – Part 2: The Long Lunch
Mature & Silver·EN·2 min read·Published 2026-11-07, updated 2026-11-07·Part 2 of 2
Lunch lasted five hours.
They ate under the pergola, at a rough wooden table spread with a checked cloth, in a dappled shade that rippled in the breeze. Arturo had cooked. There was a bowl of tomato salad, a platter of cured ham, a wheel of pecorino, a plate of fried courgette flowers, and a still-warm focaccia, glistening with oil. A jug of cold white wine sweated in the middle of the table.
"It's too much," said Frances.
"It is not enough."
"I'll burst."
"You will bloom."
She laughed. They ate slowly, in the golden afternoon heat, while the cicadas shrieked in the olive trees and the valley shimmered below. He told her stories of the estate: a count who had lost a donkey, a bride who had run away through the lemon groves in her veil. She told him about the girl in her class who had written a sonnet on the back of a chip packet and become a poet.
By five, the plates were empty. The shadows had lengthened. A soft breeze lifted the scent of lemon and thyme. They sat with the last of the wine, listening to the cicadas slow, one by one, as the day cooled.
"I'm happy," said Frances, surprised.
"So am I."
"I didn't think I would be."
"Nor did I." He turned his glass in his big brown hand. "I have not cooked for anyone in ten years."
Her throat tightened. She laid her hand over his on the table. It was warm and rough as bark.
"Can I ask you something?" said Arturo.
"Yes."
"May I kiss you? I am an old man and it has been a long lunch."
"Yes," said Frances, laughing. "And if you say stop, you must teach me to graft a lemon."
"That will take a year."
"I have a year. I have more."
He kissed her, slow and gentle, a hand rising to her floppy hat. She kissed him back with a warm, wondering sweetness, tasting of wine and lemon. The vines rustled overhead. The last light turned the terraces to bronze.
When they parted, both of them were smiling.
"Green?" he asked.
"Green," said Frances. "Very green."
She did not leave after the year. A new sign hangs on the cottage gate, hand-painted on a slice of terracotta: Casa dei Limoni. Two gardeners, one lunch.
More mature romance stories: Autumn in Quebec · The Quilting Circle · The Silver Ballroom
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