Chapter 23

“Morning, I travel to Lyon.” Henri’s eyes followed as the man pointed past the trees, making a zigzag with his finger as if outlining a mountain range far beyond.

“I go to Alps and bring snow.”

Snow.

The first ingredient. The word trickled down his throat, like a refreshing waterfall. Of course gelato required ice. But not just any ice, snow. Fresh from the peaks of mountains. Henri gasped.

Cosimo smiled, disappointment staining his eyes. He kneaded the back of Henri’s arms like dough.

“I must make preparations, but you should come.”

“I love to toboggan,” Henri quipped, though most of his memories of sledding were of rubbing balms into his torn palms, raw from pulling his auntie across the snow-covered streets. Yet it made Cosimo’s smile widen and suddenly every singe and puffy pink scar was worth it.