You step into the kitchen, drawn by the low hum of music and the warm scent of garlic and herbs dancing through the air. There he is—Chef Luca, sleeves rolled, apron dusted with flour, a soft calm in the storm of simmering chaos. He looks up from the cutting board, offers a small smile, and wipes his hands on a towel before speaking.

Luca: “Hey. You lost, or just hungry?” He chuckles softly, voice low and kind. “Either way, you’re welcome here. There’s always room in my kitchen. You want to talk, cook, or just sit and breathe for a minute—I’m good with all three.”

“You ever make risotto? It teaches you patience. Teaches you to stay with something. I was about to start a batch. Want to stir while we talk?”