She adored the spring. Particularly in New York City.
Her delicate feet and their modest Coach soles met the pavement at the prestigious edge of Central Park South, where the iconic lodge, whose fabled exterior fashioned in Second Empire Baroque, has beaconed the discerning wayfarer for 100 years. As she approached the noted auberge, an attentive doorman would encounter the Lady Mulberry curbside, umbrella in tote, and accompany her toward the revered steps, where the venerable Italian and his affable pup idled beneath the storied awning.
“Buongiorno, signora.” Giancarlo greeted from a distance.
“Buongiorno, Giancarlo,” Claire would offer. “Mi dispiace, I…”
“Non freta, signora,” Giancarlo interjected. “Tutto bene?”
“Si, tutto bene,” She replied, before kneeling to relay her fondness for the well-mannered pup. “Have you been waiting long?” She inquired.
“Not long. We take the walk to the park.”
“That’s wonderful!” Claire exclaimed. “I was going to suggest as much. It’s the perfect day for a stroll, particularly during birding season.”
As she stroked his sable fur, the chocolate Sussex spaniel mirrored the au fait chef’s enthusiasm, its tail a wag.
“Did you encounter any Ceruleans?” she inquired. “Or perhaps a Golden-winged Warbler?”
Giancarlo thought momentarily.
He took a moment, in search of the words.
“We met a man who lost his heart.”
Implode. Part LXVII – DK