2.
Joe seethed as he wrung out the last rag. Even if leaving the water running when he refilled the furo was his fault, there was no reason to take away his privilege of sleeping late in the mornings.
It wasn't like he was in the military or nothing.
He squinted skyward and saw that the sun hung low in the west. Already the light had mellowed.
Shit. He'd have to hurry.
He checked the bathroom and affected hallways, saw that they were as dry as they'd been before he'd flooded the house. Yelled that he was leaving and headed out. He passed the glassed in walkway at a run. Ryu was bundled up in a sweater and jeans. He waved. Joe didn't wave back. He was still mad at Ryu. Ryu, like the others hadn't helped to restore the house to rights.
If there was one thing he liked about this part of the vacation, it was his sunset place. There was a narrow screen of trees, right by the cliffs edge through which he could see all the way to the coast. As far as he could tell only he knew about it. He'd found it the first day there, and every late afternoon he made his way to the spot where stone wall met flaking branch. When he spotted the tree his stride lengthened, but then he saw that his spot was already occupied and drew up in disappointment.
Jun had found his place.
She sat cross-legged, oblivious to him. The light dipped her amber except where it skimmed of the contours of her face and neck white-gold.
"You're in my spot," Joe said.
Jun's head whipped around. She wore a smile of welcome, which faded when she saw that Joe was upset. "There's room for the both us..."
Joe stepped up beside her and gave her a dark look out of the corner of his eye. As scary looks went it ranked pretty high.
"Fine," she said, and swung off the edge one-handed, "be a jerk. Hog the sunset."
She couldn't take her eyes off it, though.
Joe made a noise, a sharp exhalation that rattled against the back of his throat and planting both hands on the ledge sprang up onto it. Putting his hand atop hers he said, "Stay."
Currents of hot pink began to appear in the sky.
"I don't want to hog the sunset."
She bit her lip, hesitating.
"Please?" he added out of the side of his mouth.
He kept his eye on the sky as she climbed up beside him. She had to lean close in order to get the full view.
Crickets whined their melodies and the occasional insect winged its way around them. The wind, much gentler than that morning, blew the clouds far out into the sea, the sun slipped like an egg behind a thin swath of cloud.
Joe's stomach made its emptiness known.
Jun snorted.
"Was that you?" Joe asked, "who made that completely unfeminine sound?"
She giggled before answering. "No, but I've got some dried squid if you want," and pulled a bag of said snack out of her pocket.
"Unh-unh," Joe said, "disgusting."
"What's wrong with it?" she asked, nibbling on a few strands.
"You mean 'what's right with it'. One day, Jun, I'm gonna introduce you and the guys to real snacks."
"You mean Italian ones?" Jun asked.
"The Italians like to take credit for them. I'm talkin' 'bout the stuff that originated in my country. Stuff like pizzeli, cannoli, torta al mascarpone, panna cotta, profiterole, cannoli, buccino, zabaglione. Did I mention cannoli?"
The strange words rolled pleasantly against her ears, full, and clear, and soft.
"I think so. What were all the names again?"
Joe leaned back and took a deep breath. His voice was thoughtful, reverent, "Pizzelis, these really thin cookies that melt in your mouth. They look like lace. And then there's torta al marscapone, better than any cheese cake. My mother, she used buy panna cotta al caramello from the bakery for special occasions--"
"What a pretty name..."
"Panna cotta al caramello? Yeah, I guess it is. But that stuff was really for special occasions. One day we're gonna have to go back to Sicily, all of us in the summertime, just to eat profiteroles. You'll never call dried squid a real snack again. Profiteroles are light little balls of dough that taste like lemon and sugar and chocolate and cream...all at once..."
Your favorites, Jun thought, her eyes drifting from the glorious sky to Joe's face.
"And there's always canolli," he was saying, "Smooth and rich on the inside, crispy on the outside..."
She liked how happy he looked. He wasn't grinning like a shark, he was grinning like Ken. Joe fell silent, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
She turned to catch the last of the sunset. The soft turquoise sky had faded into dark, swimmy blue.
"Canolli," said, squinting into the distance, her cropped hair rippling like grass in the light breeze, "is that like tempura ice-cream?"
Joe made another face, "Never in a hundred years. A cannoli is like," he frowned, and while he frowned dusk rolled over the last vestiges of the day, "cannoli is like a rolled up, sweet, wheat flour cracker filled with a special kind of smooth, creamy cheese and candied fruit and nuts."
"Cheese?" Jun turned to look at him, "like on pizza?"
"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly, "sweetened with sugar."
She made a face. "And you think dry squid is bad."
"It is!"
A cold wind blew in from the sea.
"Whatever," Jun said. "All this talk about dinner has made me hungry."
Joe's stomach rumbled. Jun jumped down and held out her hand. "C'mon, let's go back before you starve to death."