I got my robe and went and let Numchucks outside. The living room was a mess but not on fire. As I went outside to soak up the beautiful morning and inspect the exterior. ‘Your house catch on fire?’ A neighbor asked walking up from down the road. ‘Yep, last night.’ I replied, watching Chucks greet them as they turned into the driveway raising their hand and pointing, walking towards me. ‘No, your house…it’s on fire.’ I turned to see what he was pointing at and smoke was coming rather quickly from the backside of the house. I darted through the garage and when I got to the door to the back porch, I saw the fire was alive again along the back wall. I quickly got the water hose and began spraying it down with water. The excitement rose again as I got the flames under control while Numchucks barked and woke my brother. He came out sleepy eye’d then got the other hose and we put the flames out again. The constant spraying after there was no more fire was insurance that it wasn’t coming. Up until that point, my experience of Italian cuisine had been limited to not-very-good thick doughy pizza and rather indifferent spaghetti Bolognaise. The food at La Bambina (I think that’s what the place was called) was something entirely different. And, of course, the company was superb. Thinking back, it’s hard to believe that, prior to that evening, Zara and I had only really exchanged a handful of words — and about half of those had been with Zara in not-inconsiderable pain, her swelling ankle elevated on one of my kitchen chairs and surrounded with my homemade ice packs. And yet, from the moment that we sat down at our table in the corner of the restaurant, we were chatting like old friends. Well … almost. Was I surprised that Zara ended up in my bed that evening? Yes and no. It certainly wasn’t something that had been on my list of possibilities when I had set out for the restaurant. But, on the other hand, she was a very attractive young woman. And we did seem to click. I.
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