“Not particularly.” I shrug, watching him make quick work out of shelling the pistachios. “What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“That you are stealing my snack? Everyone is watching, you know. Just take the whole bowl and go back to Adriano.”
“Mm-hmm… in a second. Give me your hand.”
My chest squeezes with emotion while he places the shelled yummies on my palm. When I look up, I find him watching me with a satisfied grin on his face. He doesn’t need to say anything for me to know what he’s thinking at this moment. Years ago, I mentioned in one of my letters that pistachios are my favorite snack, prattling on for an entire paragraph about how much I hate taking them out of their shells but keep refusing to buy the already-shelled ones. He responded to me with: we’re all a little nut
