Scarlet Strings.

Chapter 38:

The midday sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a golden glow over the rolling Tuscan hills. Under the shade of a sprawling olive tree, a long rustic wooden table was set, draped with a simple white linen cloth. The breeze carried the earthy scent of the vineyard and the distant aroma of freshly baked bread.

Marco and Luca, ever the gracious hosts, had arranged a feast, one that celebrated the fruits of their labor in the most traditional way. The family gathered around, laughter and conversation mingling in the air as plates and bottles of wine were passed from hand to hand.

At the center of the table sat a large wooden board laden with freshly made Ricotta, still warm from the morning's work, drizzled with golden honey. Beside it, thin slices of Pecorino cheese were arranged in a perfect circle, accompanied by ribbons of prosciutto and plump figs bursting with sweetness.

Aaira, helping set the table, reached for a piece of the Pecorino. "This smells incredible," she murmured, placing it on her plate with delicate care. Then in her in law's and Sung-hoon.

"The cheese tastes even better when you make it yourself," Marco said with a knowing smile, pouring a deep red Tuscan wine into a few glasses. "Try it."

Ha-Joon, ever the eager eater, didn't need to be told twice. He took a generous bite of the Ricotta, sighing dramatically. "This is dangerous. I might never leave Italy now."

Scarlet chuckled, taking a small bite herself. The combination of the warm, creamy cheese with the honey was divine, melting on her tongue in perfect harmony. "It's perfect."

Ha-Neul sat opposite them, silent as he sipped his wine. He hadn't spoken much since the cheese-making session, but his eyes lingered too long on Scarlet and Ha-Joon, watching as Ha-Joon leaned closer to her and resting his head on her shoulder.

"My god, I'm in love with this place, Red." Scarlet laughed softly, shaking her head at whatever nonsense he was saying. Ha-Neul's grip tightened around his wine glass.

Just as the cheese board was being devoured, the kitchen doors swung open, and a few of Marco's farmhands emerged carrying steaming plates of homemade pasta, Marco's wife came too. The noodles were thick and rustic, coated in a rich tomato and basil sauce. Bowls of freshly shaved Parmesan followed, along with baskets of wood-fired bread, its crust golden and crisp.

Seung-Il, who had been skeptical about the entire farm experience, let out an impressed hum as he took a bite. "Alright, I take back every complaint I had about being here," he admitted. "This is the best pasta I've ever had."

Esme, sitting beside him, nudged him playfully. "I told you. Sometimes, the simplest things are the best."

Sung-Hoon, who had been eating mostly in silence, finally spoke. "It's good," he admitted, though his attention was divided between his plate and keeping an eye on Aimir, who was napping peacefully in Aaira's arms.

Luca, grinning, raised his wine glass. "To good food, good company, and the joy of making something with your own hands."

"To good food," Ha-Joon echoed, raising his own glass before turning to Scarlet. "And to my talented wife, who was much better at this than I was."

Scarlet rolled her eyes but clinked her glass against his. "You weren't so bad," she teased.

Ha-Neul swallowed thickly, pushing his plate away before quietly excusing himself from the table. As the afternoon stretched on, the air filled with the sounds of clinking glasses, shared laughter, and the comforting warmth of a meal made with love. But for one person, the weight of unspoken emotions made it hard to swallow.