Gemotions

He’d always hated the kitchen. Now, Marco was suddenly obsessed, muttering in hushed tones over bubbling pots. The language, too – Italian, his grandmother’s tongue, the language of his heritage. He'd never shown the slightest interest. Now, he kept leaving little notes around the apartment, scribbled in shaky script, filled with phrases she knew.

She found one, taped to the fridge: *Ti amo, mia cara*. She had to fight back a snort. He didn’t even like Italian food. She pretended to be engrossed in her book, but she watched him. He was humming, practicing pronunciation by the way he said the word "Spaghetti". Her pulse quickened. Why now? And why the sudden romantic gestures? She tapped her finger against the cover of her book, her gaze never leaving him.