Read Online Return to the Little Coffee Shop of Kabul by Deborah Rodriguez - Free Book Online

the plastic container in his hand onto the Formica table as if it were a delicate piece of fine crystal. “Cheese!” he said, as he removed his wet jacket and draped it over a chair. “The best homemade mozzarella this side of Campania.” He kissed the tips of his fingers with a flourish. “ Mangia .”
    Sunny picked up the discarded mop and leaned it against the stove. “Really? They have a good cheese shop on this island?”
    Joe laughed. “That’ll be the day. No, it’s my cheese. Formaggio di Giuseppe. For you to enjoy. Try some.” Outside the window, the grey afternoon was swiftly turning to night. Sunny reachedinto a plastic shopping bag and produced first a two-pack of light bulbs, and next, a bottle of wine.
    â€œA woman prepared for everything. Now that , that is something I love.” Joe offered his hand and helped her up onto the rickety chair, where she had to balance on her tiptoes in order to twist the fresh bulb into the socket. “Let there be light!” he exclaimed as he helped her back down.
    â€œAnd, more importantly, let there be wine,” she added, grabbing the bottle by its neck.
    â€œAllow me,” Joe insisted. He wrestled a red pocketknife from his jeans and sat. “So how was your day?” He flipped open a little corkscrew from the edge of the knife.
    â€œAll right, I guess. I met Rick.”
    Joe lifted his eyes to see a small cloud pass over her face. “And how did that go?” he asked, piercing the cork with the sharp tip of the metal spiral.
    Sunny cocked her head sideways a little. “Well, not so good. Or, rather, at least not how I had pictured. You know, Joe, I’m just not sure what to make of that guy.”
    Joe hesitated, but for only a second. “Well, though it is none of my business, you know what they say.” She looked at him blankly as he pulled out the cork with a pop. “ Guardatevi dai falsi profeti . Beware of the false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, and inwardly are ravenous wolves.”
    â€œAnd what’s that supposed to mean, may I ask?” Sunny swatted the cat off the counter and reached for two juice glasses from the cupboard over the stove.
    Joe shrugged his shoulders. “You know,” he continued before allowing her the chance to ask more, “Jack was a big fan of my cheese. First thing he’d do when he landed on the island was come knocking on my door.” Joe rapped his knuckles loudlyon the table. “‘So we meet again, my old friend,’ he’d always say. Then I’d see his hungry eyes begin to scan every surface of my kitchen as if he were on one of his recon missions.” Sunny laughed as Joe brought one hand over his bushy brows and turned his gaze from counter to counter. “Ha! Yes, he was certainly a fan of my cheese. And he was also a big fan of you too, kiddo.” Sunny swallowed. He could see her chest rise and lower with a deep, silent breath. “And let me say one more thing,” he pointed toward her with the knife, cork still attached, “it’s okay to feel bad about losing someone. No matter how much time has passed. A day, a year, a hundred years. Doesn’t matter.” Joe paused to clear his throat. “After my Sylvia left this earth, I kept waiting for the day when my heart would no longer ache with memories, the day that would pass from morning to noon to night without a single, agonizing image of her sweet face appearing in my mind. Well, guess what?” He sat back in his chair. “It has not happened yet, and now I know it probably never will, at least not in my short future.”
    Sunny remained at the sink, a dishtowel slung over one shoulder. She shook the water from the glasses and handed them to Joe.
    â€œLife, it goes on.” He lifted the bottle and poured. “You find new things to keep you busy, new friends to help you pass the time, new ways to