CHAPTER 3

       FLORENCE, ITALY

         (4 years after)

“Chef Davenport, we are all waiting for you in the kitchen,” her sous chef said, from outside the changing room.

“Okay, thanks for letting me know. I’ll be out in a second,” Maxima replied, pulling out her cell phone.

         She looked at the display, trying to stay calm. Her last text was staring back at her.

         ‘School is over. It’s time for me to come back to the States. How about we see each other for a few drinks and a long chat, just like the ones we used to have? Max.’

         No reply.

         Maybe Billie had no desire to see her…

         Maybe Billie forgot all about that last favor. Those words were still very much present in Maxima’s mind.

         ‘The moment you decide it’s time for you to come back home, promise me I’ll be the first person you'll call… after your mom, of course.’    

“Is going back the right answer? Is it? And if so, going back to what? To whom?” Maxima murmured. “I’ve spent these past four years away from everybody and everything that I’ve known my whole life. Slowly, but surely, my life changed for the better. My future started to look bright and hopeful. I have so many friends here. And then there’s Raff… Maybe Raff is right. Maybe I should call everything off and stay in Florence forever…”

         Maxima took a deep breath and looked once again at the phone.

         Nothing… Not a word…

         Dead silent.

“Well, no matter what is going to happen from now on, you have to go back and start living your life. Your new job is waiting for you in New York, even if you’re going to be just a sous chef. And your new apartment… even if it’s only a sublet.”

         She put it back in her bag and watched her reflection in the mirror. It was time to focus on her last mission. 

“Come on, Max… This is the last show. Push everything else aside and focus on what you’re about to create.”

         While buttoning the black buttons of her white double-breasted jacket, Maxima could not stop thinking of all the time that had passed since her first day in Florence. Four long, hard, wonderful years, filled with insecurities and hardship, but also with laughter and accomplishments.

         During her first weeks in Italy, Maxima experienced a crushing feeling of homesickness. Her Italian was pretty basic, so there were no friends to cure her loneliness, or to help her go over the pain of being away from the people she knew. The desire to quit became extremely powerful.

         Nonetheless, cooking was her greatest passion. So, Maxima gathered all her courage and determination and pushed through. What better country to develop her cooking skills? To learn everything there was to learn about this business?

         Maxima went straight ahead, learning the language and the trade, saving every single penny, getting closer and closer to the fulfillment of one of her main goals: going back to the States and opening her own catering business and, maybe, a coffee shop where she could help people connect in front of a good cup of coffee and a delicious dessert created by her.

         It had been tough, but this amazing city became her ‘home away from home’.

         Nonetheless, after four years, after so much hard work, even with all her determination and dedication, Maxima was still at the ‘drawing board’, away from seeing part of her dream come true.

         So, was it safe to choose this path?

         Was it safe to leave Florence for New York?

         Chef Raffaele Viviani, her best friend and ‘partner in crime’ since her first days as a student at the ‘Italian Cooking School’ had begged her to stay, convincing her that they could open the best restaurant in Florence together and if the authorities gave her any trouble with visas, then he would marry her.

         Maybe she should accept…

“‘Piccola, ci sei?’” (Ita. - Baby, are you ready?)

         A deep male voice brought her back to reality. She turned and saw Raffaele, all dressed up, ready to assist her in the kitchen. She had the job of creating a birthday cake from scratch. She loved inventing all kinds of desserts, so this should be a piece of cake… No pun intended.

         Maxima checked Raffaele from head to toe.

         Man, he was gorgeous!

         And so talented.

         And sexy… Yes, he was outrageously sexy, like most Italian men.

         But it hardly mattered to Maxima. There was no vacancy in her heart.

         Not since the moment she met Liam.

         Not since that last night, when he kissed her and asked her to stay with him.

         And even if she said no to him, Maxima never stopped looking for Liam in other men she met or dated for brief periods. They all failed the test miserably. No one was as good, as wonderful, as sexy as Liam Right.

         So, to save Raffaele from disappointment, Maxima told him they would never be more than friends. And yes, Raffaele tried his best to make Maxima change her mind, but the walls around her heart were quite thick, and, in time, he accepted the only thing she was willing to give him: her undying friendship.

“Yes, almost…” Maxima replied and smiled sadly.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me…” Raffaele said and came near her. “What can I do or say to make you stay, Max?”

         She looked him deeply in the eyes and smiled again.

“Nothing, Raff… You know that. I’ve been away for far too long. I must go back to the States.”

“Why? Your entire family moved to California or Florida… You don’t have a lot of friends or acquaintances there. And, as far as I know, no man is waiting for you…”

         Raffaele took her hand in his.

“Here is your world, Max. With me in it, if you’ll have me…” he added and pressed his mouth against her palm, while his eyes locked with hers.

“Raff… Please, don’t…” she begged him, trying to release her hand.

“‘Piccola’, I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you. I can’t imagine not seeing you again…”

         He kissed her hand again.

“I’m sorry, Raff,” Maxima murmured and took a step back, slowly releasing her hand from his grip. “You know I care about you, but…”

“But you will never love me,” Raffaele finished her sentence.

“Not as long as my heart belongs to someone else. I came to Italy to heal, to learn... I came here with low expectations and…”

“And look how much you’ve changed and grown. You are now a chef, you know Italian better than most Italians… you even changed the color of your hair,” Raffaele said, smiling.

“But most of all, I found you… The best man in the entire Universe. Oh, Raff, I’m sorry, but friendship is all I can give you. I hope one day, you’ll meet someone who’s going to love you the way you deserve to be loved. Deeply and completely.”

         Raffaele nodded and they hugged.

“Ok, Chef Davenport, it’s time you showed the next generation of chefs of ‘Italian Cooking School’ how they can create the best ‘Croquembouche’ (A/N - a dessert composed of puff pastries piled into a cone and bound by threads of caramel) in the world. This is your show, but I’ll be right there, ready to give you a hand, ‘piccola’.”

“‘Grazie mille’, Raff. (Ita. ‘Thanks a lot’) ‘Andiamo’! (Let’s go!)”

                                                                 *****

         As she stood, hands poised, body tensed, eyes alert, there wasn't a sound in the room. No one, absolutely no one among the young future chefs, took their eyes off her. Maxima might move slowly, but there wasn't a person there who wanted to miss a single gesture, a tiny motion. All attention, all concentration, was riveted upon that one slim, solitary figure.           

         The room was warm, the smells of caramel and vanilla were inebriating, and the atmosphere was taut with anticipation. Maxima might have been alone for all the attention she paid to those around her. There was only one goal, one end: pure perfection.

         With infinite care, she placed the final sugar thread on the upper pastry and gently pressed it onto the cone cake to complete the design she'd created. The hours she'd already spent preparing the ingredients for this elaborate dessert were forgotten, as were the heat, the tired leg muscles, and the aching arms.

         The final touch was of the utmost importance.

         Yes, it would taste perfect, smell perfect, look perfect. 

         With the care of an artist completing a masterpiece, hands steady, head erect, Maxima stepped back to give her creation one last critical look. This was the ultimate test, for her eye was keener than any other's when it came to her own work.

         She folded her arms across her chest. Her face was without expression. In the huge kitchen, the ping of a pin dropped on the tile would have reverberated like a gunshot.

         Slowly, her lips curved, her eyes glittered. 

         Success!

         Maxima lifted one arm and gestured rather dramatically.

“Take it away, please,” she asked.

         As her sous chef began to roll the cake from the room, applause broke out. Maxima accepted wholeheartedly. There was a place for modesty, she knew, and she knew it didn't apply to this wonderful, unique, sweet creation.    

“‘Piccola…’”

         Raffaele took Maxima by both shoulders. His eyes were round and damp with appreciation.

“You’ve been amazing…”

         Enthusiastically, he gave her a long embrace. Maxima broke out in her first grin in hours.

“‘Grazie mille, Raff.’”

         The moment everybody left, he opened a celebratory bottle of wine. Maxima took two glasses, handing one to her friend.

“It has been an honor working beside you, Raff,” she said in an emotional tone. “You’ve taught me so much. And thank you for asking your friend to let me work in his restaurant.”

“The honor was all mine, Max,” Raffaele replied, raising his glass. “I could’ve done more, but you didn’t allow me… You, Maxima Davenport, are the proudest person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

“You did more than enough, trust me. I promise you that one day, I will receive you in my coffee shop.”

“I know you will.”

         Maxima tossed back the rest of the wine and placed the empty glass on the table.

“Do you need a hand to clean this place up?” she asked Raffaele.

“I’ll manage,” he answered. “Get out of here. You have your luggage to prepare and a train to catch. In Milan, I reserved a room for you at the ‘Principe di Savoia’ Hotel. Rest as much as you possibly can before your flight to New York on Monday. Trust me, you’re going to need it.”

“You’re right. Thank you so much, Raff. ‘A presto, amico mio.’” (See you soon, my friend.)

“See you soon, Chef Davenport.”

         She smiled, took off her chef's hat, then breezed out of the kitchen. Maxima went straight to the changing room. The curiosity pushed her to check her phone again. There was a text from Billie. A sigh of relief left her throat.

         ‘Finally! I’m so damn happy! Unfortunately, I’ll be in London for the next few weeks. Work stuff. An important divorce case I’m working on. I don’t know how long this is going to take, but I WILL DEFINITELY SEE YOU the moment I get back to New York. Drinks are on me and the chatting is on you. I cannot wait to see you, Max! Bills.’