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Joe had made a pretty nice life for himself in Venice. His apartment was on the smaller side, sure, but he didn’t use it for much more than sleeping. The majority of his time was spent on his passion and purpose, at the restaurant he owned and managed, Sia la luce.
It had always been his dream to be the head chef of his own restaurant. And after only four years of rigorous apprenticeship and training, he’d stumbled upon the opportunity to revamp a hidden gem where business had been steadily declining.
It was a great location, tucked away from foot traffic, but with a gorgeous view of the canal. Plus, it was situated between a party mask store -- which was only truly busy certain times of the year -- and a bakery.
What paired better with a five-star restaurant’s menu than freshly baked bread and desserts?
It was perfect. A dream come true.
Well, almost.
In the three years that Joe had taken his Sia la luce and turned it around, making it into something of a destination, he’d always felt as though something was missing…
Part of that, he chalked up to his memory loss. He didn’t talk about it much -- or give many details -- but his staff knew better than to ask about his past. Because, only seven years earlier, he’d been in an accident. Or, at least, that’s what he was told when he woke up in a hospital in Venice with no idea how he’d gotten there and no clue as to who he was.
Thankfully, one of the nurses, who Joe considered his second mom -- assuming he had a first -- was proficient in Japanese and had helped him during his entire recovery, going as far as to house him until he was able to land a decent job, get back on his feet, and, oh… perfect his Italian.
Yeah, that was something he didn’t tell people either. When he’d woken up -- here in Venice -- he could only speak some basic phrases in Italian. Every other word out of his mouth was in Japanese. Which led him to believe he was from there.
But whether he hailed from Tokyo or Hokkaido, he had no recollection. And the only name that popped into his head when the hospital staff had asked was “Joe.”
He had no idea where it’d come from, but it felt right.
For legal purposes, however, he went by Gio DeLuca. Gio, the ‘proper Italian’ spelling of Joe, and DeLuca, which he’d taken from the head chef of his first apprenticeship. It sounded nice enough, anyway.
But memory loss aside, Joe was content with his new life. After all, he had nothing else with which to compare it.
Though, every so often, he’d long for something. Someone. Dreamed about them. He could never see their face, but there were delicate, long-fingered hands that cupped his jaw and combed through his hair, the softness of their appearance contrasted by rough callouses on the tips of pale fingers. And long, silky hair that kept their features from view, save for a glint of something catching the light on their ear or lip.
It was frustrating, not remembering his past. Amnesia was something he thought only existed in soap operas and angsty romantic manga. But apparently it was a real condition. The doctor said he could regain his memories on his own, perhaps if something were to jog them. But she also warned that he might never get them back.
And rather than travel to Japan where he may or may not have originated, Joe decided to spend his time and energy navigating his way around Italy, honing his skills and living the one part of his dream he could remember.
Even if there seemed to be a huge chunk missing.
“Morning Chef,” Pietro, his long-time sous chef and assistant manager greeted when he breezed into the kitchen an hour or so before opening. “You look pensive.”
Joe chuckled, pulling himself from his trip down memory lane -- short though it was -- and focusing on his most trusted employee. “Morning, Pete,” he teased, loving the way the slightly older man would get riled up at the nickname. ‘You sound like an American, Joe,’ he’d always stress his given name with his best attempt at an accent.
“I know you’re trying to distract me from the fact that you stopped midway through your newest dish,” Pietro replied as he tied his apron around his waist. “If you don’t come up with something new soon, the regulars might get bored with your outdated menu.”
He was joking, of course. Most of the regulars ordered the house specialty regardless of how often they came in. But Joe was always about creating new things. And he’d been working hard on his newest dish. Even if he had taken a break to think about what was missing from his otherwise perfect life.
“You leave me to my creative process,” Joe replied with a chuckle. “Did you let Giulia and Davide in with you?”
“Sure did, Chef,” Davide, his best server replied, opening the kitchen door and clocking in. “Giulia is out front setting the outside tables.”
Well, it looked like everything was under control. Joe had a wonderful staff and, because of this, figured today would go smoothly. Just another day like any other.
Until something changed.
About an hour after opening, Giulia walked into the back -- unusual, since she typically didn’t stray far from the host stand during service -- but the moment she spoke, Joe understood why.
“I just sat someone interesting,” she said, grabbing a few rolls of silverware, though Joe knew that was only an excuse for her to come back here.
Still, he took the bait. “Oh?” he questioned. “What type of customer are they?”
She turned and smiled wide. “Yours.”
Oh. So, that’s what she was getting at. Joe made no attempt to hide his flirtatious nature. It was fun and harmless and sometimes it got him a kiss… or something more. But he enjoyed wining and dining all of his guests, regardless.
A moment later, Davide walked through the kitchen door. “There’s a gorgeous man seated at one of my tables,” he nearly sang, giving Joe a look over his shoulder as he pulled a chilled bottle of water from the cooler. “You should go touch his table later.” He winked and was off.
All right, so maybe Joe let his staff get away with more than he should as their boss. But they were like a family, more or less, so he let it slide. Besides, if both Giulia and Davide thought this customer was his type, he ought to have a look.
For curiosity’s sake.
However, he didn’t go right away. Pietro had run over to the bakery next door, so Joe was filling the orders. He was not surprised when he saw Spaghetti alla Carbonara pop up for said table of one. After all, it was their most popular dish and his favorite to make.
Joe liked to think he had the best carbonara in all of Venice.
And the local magazine and six separate websites seemed to agree.
He plated it up and passed it to Davide the moment the server walked back into the kitchen. It was perfect and he was tempted to follow behind, just to see if this ‘interesting’ customer enjoyed it from the first bite. But he had to wait.
Of course, a moment later, Pietro returned and, just as Joe was about to go out and greet their guests, his server caught him in the doorway, a frown on his face.
“Davide, what’s the matter?” Joe asked.
“My customer with the carbonara…” He chewed on his lower lip. “He’s crying.”
Joe’s eyes widened. He often joked that his food was so delicious, it could bring a man to tears, but he didn’t think it would actually happen.
“He looked pretty down from the moment I took his order,” Davide went on. “Perhaps he could use some cheering up.”
Joe pretended to ignore the grins that Davide and Pietro exchanged, and took a deep breath. “Well, I’d better get on that,” he said. “After all, it’s the owner’s job to make sure every guest’s experience is satisfactory.”
Again, he ignored their snickers and went about making a spritz, a cocktail that paired bittersweet and botanical Aperol with sparkling water and bubbly. It was a classic and one that always put smiles on his customers’ faces.
He approached the table, nearly halting in his tracks when he spotted the man’s profile. Even partially hidden by long, silky hair and silhouetted by the afternoon sun, Joe could tell that his staff was absolutely right.
This person was definitely his type.
He cleared his throat, but paused when the man softly praised his dish, his voice barely above a whisper. “Perfect,” he breathed and a stray tear began to slide down his cheek.
Well, Joe couldn’t have that, now could he? Without thinking, he reached forward and brushed the droplet away with the pad of his thumb, catching the man’s attention. “I hope these tears are because you’re enjoying the dish,” he said.
The man turned to face him and Joe’s breath caught. He was stunning, absolutely gorgeous. Joe barely recovered in time, pulling out another smooth line as he set the spritz down before him.
“Such a beautiful face should never be made to look sad.” He was probably laying it on too thick. But it was true. This man, with his angular yet soft features, his long, silky hair, pink like a flower, and his eyes, clouded with a deep sadness that Joe longed to banish from their molten gold depths, was the epitome of Joe’s exact definition of beauty.
The customer opened his mouth to say something, but froze when he finally looked up at him, those lovely eyes going wide. “Kojiro?”
There was a slight delay as Joe processed what he’d said. It certainly wasn’t Italian. Was it a name? But then it finally clicked why it sounded familiar. “Japanese?” Well, he might be a little rusty, but he certainly remembered enough to converse with this man.
Joe immediately launched into his usual spiel, only translated into his guest’s native tongue.
Perhaps he was more out of practice than he thought because the man just stared up at him, confused and almost shocked. “What is your name?” he asked a question that would be less overwhelming than how the food was or how his vacation was going so far.
The man wet his lips, seeming to snap out of his daze. “Kaoru. Sakurayashiki Kaoru,” he answered.
Sakura. Those delicate pink and white blossoms of Japanese cherry trees. That part of his name certainly fit him perfectly. “Like the Fiori di Ciliegio .” Without thinking, he reached forward and brushed some of the other’s bangs from his gorgeous eyes, golden and striking. “A beautiful name for a beautiful person.”
Usually, when Joe did something like that, the object of his affection and attention would blush cutely and maybe glance away shyly. But this man, this beautiful cherry blossom looked… upset.
Then, in a blink, he shot up, tossing several Euro over his bill’s total onto the table before dashing away. Joe had never seen a man run so fast.
Was it something he’d said?
Slowly, dumbly, Joe walked back into the kitchen, barely clearing the door before it swung shut, tapping him on the backside.
“How’d it go, Chef?” Pietro asked without glancing up from his work. “Do you need to cut out early tonight for a date or…” But he trailed off when he finally got a look at him. “ Mannaggia , what happened?”
Joe took a deep breath, the fled guest’s money crinkling in his hand. He looked down at it. “I’m not sure.”
Davide got a nice tip, of course. Since he hadn’t even been given a chance to upsell a dessert. Even so, Joe didn’t feel comfortable keeping all of the man’s money. He’d overpaid by at least double. He pocketed the extra when he was cashing Davide out, so he didn’t accidentally count it and put it in the safe.
Lunch had ended and dinner was in full swing, but Joe was still stuck on the ‘one that got away’ -- which was how both Giulia and Pietro had been referring to the silken haired beauty all evening -- It didn’t sit right with him.
Not that he’d been snubbed. It wasn’t about that. It was the fact that the other had looked so sad. Sad and shocked. Had Joe offended him? Was his Japanese so bad that he’d accidentally mixed his words and insulted him?
All through dinner service and closing, he replayed their interaction over and over in his head. He was certain he hadn’t overstepped. Perhaps he’d come on too strong? He’d been told that before.
Once the end of the night side work was done and the doors were locked, Joe tossed the garbage bags into the bin and set off toward his apartment, barely registering that Pietro had bid him goodnight and belatedly waving in response.
After determining that he hadn’t said anything offensive -- he was pretty sure -- he made peace with that, his thoughts turning instead to how lovely the other man was. A beautiful cherry blossom. Delicate yet striking. Strong yet soft. And his voice, though Joe had barely heard him utter more than his name, was deep and smooth. Soothing. Familiar.
He couldn’t get the man out of his head. “I think I’ll workout tonight,” he decided, turning on his heel and going in the opposite direction of his apartment. He usually went to the gym after work. It was a great way to blow off some steam -- especially if he had a particularly stressful night -- or if he was feeling frustrated. He tried not to worry his team, but sometimes his memory loss really got to him. Especially if he smelled an aroma from his past that triggered something inside his head. A barely formed thought that, like the early morning fog, dissipated before he could grasp it.
He was right in the middle planning how many reps of each exercise he’d do, when he spotted a familiar head of silken pink hair. It was the man from earlier! He was standing atop a bridge over the canal, his gaze on the water below, a pensive look on his handsome face.
Joe’s legs moved on their own and he racked his brain to think of the man’s proper name, but all he could remember was ‘Sakura.’ “Ah, Fiore di Ciliegio ,” he called, getting his attention.
The man turned, his eyes going wide. Joe’s heart skipped a beat as something soft and warm blossomed in his chest. This person. There was something about him that set Joe at ease. He was so distracted by the sudden onslaught of emotions, he barely managed a smooth, “We meet again.”
What were the odds? Was this predestined? Meeting him again like this, after Joe had changed his plans for the night, seemed like fate. Could it be?
Looking at his Cherry blossom, the moonlight illuminating his delicate features, Joe knew there was a reason they’d met once again. And at the risk of sounding like he was out of his mind, he didn’t want to let him go. Not until he figured out why just one glance at this man calmed him. Made him feel… at home.
He’d never felt this way before and he wasn’t about to ignore it.
Ah, but first, he needed to give this man his change from lunch.
Joe had mentioned before that he was often told that he came on too strong, yes? Well, usually people ate it up. But this man seemed a bit skittish. At least when it came to Joe’s flirting. So, he reined it in.
Well, as best he could. He still reached out, wrapping his fingers around Cherry’s slim wrist as the other tried to dash away again. Oh, and he’d called him Cherry, which felt… natural. Even if he sent him a confused and, once again, startled expression when he said it.
“Cherry?” he questioned.
“Like your name,” was all Joe could offer in reply. Had he overstepped again? He didn’t want to scare him, but he also didn’t want to risk losing him again like he had this afternoon. He was drawn to Cherry and he’d kick himself for the rest of his life if he let him get away.
Which sounded bad, but honestly, he only meant--
“You speak Japanese very well,” Cherry noted with a smile and Joe released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He hadn’t pushed him too far, after all.
And then, for the first time since he’d been discharged from the hospital, he told someone about his accident and how he’d woken up only able to speak Japanese.
Of course, only after revealing that very personal bit of information did Joe remember to properly introduce himself. Honestly, he was raised better than that.
He was pretty sure.
And after Cherry balked at his very American name for a moment, Joe successfully found his opening. “I’m glad that I ran into you, though,” he said. “And I would love it if you came by the restaurant for lunch again.” Perfect. This was how he could both spend more time with Cherry and make up for whatever it was that had happened earlier today. Err...yesterday. “I’ll make you something even better, so you won’t have to cry this time,” he promised with a smile.
After a beat, Cherry returned the smile and Joe’s heart soared.
There was something about this man. Something both new and exciting, yet warm and familiar.
And later today, after Joe had made him the most amazing meal he’d ever eaten, he was going to find out why that was.