We woke up late. Curtains half shut, room already hot. She said the dog barked all night. I said I didn’t hear it, which apparently wasn’t the right answer.
I burned the toast. The cheap kind that smells like cardboard when it’s done. She made coffee and the machine coughed like a smoker. We didn’t talk for a bit.
It was meant to be one of those quiet Sundays. Bit of shopping, lunch, maybe the beach later. Instead we got stuck in an argument about olive oil. I said they all taste the same. She didn’t. I should have known better.
Around midday the air went still. I stood on the balcony for some air. The man opposite was washing his car again. Same bucket, same music, hose running for hours. Heat sitting on the street like a lid.
When I came back in she was scrolling on her phone, checking flats. I asked if we were moving already. She said she was just looking. It landed wrong.
We ate pasta that stuck together. A fly landed in the wine. We left it there. You get days like that. Nothing dramatic, just slow irritation that builds until one of you blinks.
It was her. She said sorry about the oil thing. I said sorry for being a bit of an idiot. The air changed.
We walked down to the port later. Kids throwing stones into water, not skipping them, just throwing. I bought two ice creams, both started melting before I’d paid. She laughed, proper laugh, the first one all day.
On the walk back, the sky turned that dull orange it gets here in November. You can smell salt even up the hill. She said next Sunday we should drive somewhere different. I said fine, as long as they have decent coffee. She said they all do if I’m not the one making it.
The machine started gurgling again when we got in. Worked perfectly. I didn’t mention it.