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ELEANOR
I moved around the kitchen with an effortless grace, my hands steady as I prepared a tray with coffee cups, a small pot, and a dish of sugar.
I glanced over at Giovanni and my father, who were seated at the table, engaged in an animated conversation. Giovanni was smiling, his eyes crinkling with genuine warmth, while my father nodded along, his expression one of relaxed interest.
I approached them, placing the tray on the table with a soft clink.
“Here’s your coffee, Giovanni,”
I said with a gentle smile, pouring the dark liquid into his cup.
“Just how you like it.”
Giovanni gave me a grateful nod.
“You know me too well, Eleanor,”
he replied, his smile widening.
“Always making sure an old man is comfortable.”
I chuckled, a light sound that seemed to bri
