Maybe they would stay there for more than they normally would. Bruma was no fan of extravagant sights or tourist places, but a warm city might convince her to dress down and relax a little. She still held on to her coat from Iceberg, maybe this would be a chance for Marcello to help her wind down a little.
Tonight would be a good night for a roasted chicken spanakopita. The dough was kneaded and folded into thin layers, as a carefully prepared mixture filled the pot. Perhaps the most difficult part of baking and cooking for Bruma was finding out what she liked. His wife had a penchant for eating in silence as a form of approval, or giving short grunts to say "This is good." Not that Marcello minded, watching her was an experience in of itself. She minded that a bit, but let it slide knowing how much Marcello enjoyed it for some strange reason. He never told her it was because for a brief moment she could find some enjoyment in the world, other than her obvious beauty.
Marcello sat by the window of his lodging, if it could be called that, and looked into the fading sky. He sang softly: "Long, long journey, through the darkness, long, long way to go; But what are miles, across the ocean, to the heart that's coming home?"
wc: 273
post: 1/10