Page 11 of Where the Wattles Bloom

‘He’s stable,’ Concetta said, nodding her head enthusiastically. ‘He needed a quadruple bypass, though. He’s in the intensive care unit on a machine, but Gina said he’s woken a few times and recognised her.’

‘That’s great.’

A rush of relief swept through Rowena at the positive news. She knew Silvano wouldn’t be out of the woods just yet and his long down time might cause other systemic problems, but him being responsive and recognising people was encouraging.

‘Now, what would you like to eat?’ Concetta moved briskly behind the counter again.

Rowena hadn’t come in for something in particular—she’d just obeyed her grumbling stomach. She had a terrible sweet tooth, to which her pear-shaped figure could attest. Bakeries had always been her downfall, and this one was no exception. There were pastries behind the glass she didn’t often see outside of the famous pasticcerias in Sydney’s Inner West.

She was conscious of Lachlan behind her. Waiting. But for what? Didn’t he have … sheep stuff to do? Did he come to town every morning just to buy baked goods?

The custard cream-filled cannoli called to her the most. ‘Can I have a cannoli, please?’

Concetta shook her head as she slid open the cabinet from her side of the counter. ‘No, no. Two. You need two.’ She picked up two in her tongs and slid them into a white paper packet. ‘One doesn’t fill anyone up, isn’t that right, Lachy?’

‘Absolutely.’

Rowena ignored his chirpy reply. ‘Oh, I don’t really need—’

‘Need,’ Concetta muttered with a wave of her hand. ‘Who said food was about need? It’s good, you eat it. Simple. You’re too skinny.’

Rowena blinked. Maybe in comparison with Concetta’s own ample proportions, but, thanks to her blancmange-like legs, skinny had never been in her wheelhouse. The padding that clung to the outsides of her upper thighs had been the bane of Rowena’s existence forever. Nothing ever seemed to shift it. Even now, she was conscious of how the fabric of her navy work trousers hugged those bits, and was thankful for the length of her puffer jacket hiding the sight from the Argonaut standing behind her.

She’d worked a lot with her therapist about her negative self-talk this past year—about loving her body and all the incredible things it did for her every day. But, thanks to decades of toxic diet culture, she still struggled to be kind to herself at times.

Concetta handed over the packet with two cannolis. Rowena took it as she dug around in her bag for her purse, but Concetta shook her head emphatically.

‘No, no. No charge.’

‘Oh, but—’

Concetta pegged her with a steely Italian mamma gaze. ‘You saved my brother’s life. You come in any time you want, Ro. No charge.’

Ro. Ugh.

She glanced at Lachlan, who shrugged. He’d said shortening names was a thing out here so she stoically resigned herself to her fate, because it would be churlish to correct the woman trying to feed her free cannoli. Although she didn’t want to exploit her either.

‘I wasn’t the only one there,’ she murmured, turning back to Concetta. Fair was fair. ‘Lachlan helped too.’

Not to mention the paramedics. And the drugs and the defib, which really were the main reason they’d managed to get Silvano back.

Concetta folded her arms, an affectionate smile on her face as she regarded Lachlan. ‘A man who looks like him is blessed enough without free cannoli.’

Rowena honked out a surprised laugh. Never had truer words been spoken. Lachlan, clearly pleased with Concetta’s summation, grinned devilishly.

‘Well … thank you,’ Rowena said, eager to escape. ‘I have to go or I’m going to be late for my first day on the job. Please pass my best wishes on to Silvano and his wife.’

‘Of course.’ Concetta beamed. ‘Have a good day and come back soon. Arrivederci.’

*

Rowena left the shop and turned right, with Lachlan following close behind. Because, of course. The hospital was one kilometre from the pub and she planned to walk. She had fifteen minutes, which was plenty of time, and was looking forward to the exercise and orientating herself to her surroundings.

‘How are you feeling today?’ he asked.

‘I should be asking you that.’ She liberated one of the cannoli from the packet. ‘Prolonged chest compression can be a real workout.’

He shrugged. ‘I’m okay. Feels a bit like I’ve been shearing all day, but I’m used to that.’