The Fruit Stall – Part 2: Ripe

Valentina's rented kitchen was tiny, with a two-ring stove, a blue-tiled counter and a window overlooking a courtyard full of bougainvillea. She cooked fish in a coconut broth, rice with plantain, a salad of green mango with lime, and Samuel sat on a stool by the window with a glass of cold white wine, watching her work.

"You cook like a dancer," he said.

"I cook like a person who has been on her feet for sixteen years."

"That is what I said."

She laughed and handed him a spoon. "Taste."

He did. His eyes closed. "Valentina," he said, in a whisper. "This is the best thing I have eaten in my life."

"You say that to everyone."

"I have said it twice. Once to my grandmother."

They ate at the little table with the shutters open to the warm night, the sound of a distant guitar drifting in from the street. For dessert she brought out a bowl of every fruit he'd ever shown her, cut and arranged in a ring, with a drizzle of honey.

"A tribute," she said.

"It's beautiful."

"You taught me."

He reached across the table, took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "May I kiss you properly?" he asked.

"I'd like that," said Valentina, softly.

The kiss tasted of mango and honey. She slid her hand into his hair, pulled him up out of his chair and into the little space between the table and the stove. They laughed against each other's mouths. The fruit bowl stood forgotten, glowing in the lamplight.

"There's a balcony," she said. "And a bed behind it."

"I would like to see both."

They undressed slowly in the warm dusk, laughing at sticky fingers and tangled shirts, and made love with the shutters open and the warm night breeze moving over their skin. Their love-making was slow, unhurried, tender, with the scent of tropical fruit hanging in the air and the guitar still playing softly in the street.

In the morning she woke to find him on the balcony with two cups of coffee and a basket of fruit he'd carried up at dawn.

"A new one," he said, holding out a green, spiny pod. "Cherimoya. Try."

She took a bite, and laughed. "Sweet."

"Like you." He grinned. "I will need to bring you fruit every morning. For the restaurant. Strictly professional."

"Strictly," said Valentina, and pulled him back to bed.

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