“Oh my god, I can’t believe they’re still open!” I squeak, jumping from excitement.
Nate looks between me and the green-ish wooden door with a confused tilt of his head.
I reach for the floral pattern painted on the frame with my free hand and smile. “I painted these. And a lot more stuff inside.”
“Why?” Nate asks, stepping closer so he doesn’t have to let go of my hand.
“Jack and I spent a lot of time here. Most of our free time, really. This is where the Storytelling game started,” I grin, turning my face towards him.
He cocks a brow. “The storytelling game?”
“Come on, let’s go inside. I’m starving!” I grab the handle to push the door and my smile deepens when it opens, like I was worried it would be closed for some reason. “Oh, I wish they still served their ‘compose your own pasta’…”
“You want to eat pasta for our second date?” He snorts, but follows me closely.
“I told you you can never go wrong with pasta. I actually love them.”
He closes the door behind us, and I can’t help the giddy jumps when I look around the small cramped room.
It’s perfect. Hasn’t changed a bit in ten years.
Without leaving my spot, my gaze jumps from one painted table to another, to the chairs, parts of the wall, counter, bar, bathroom doors. To all the chaotic mix of color and patterns that I’ve added while Jack was talking to me or writing, just because we didn’t want to come home after class or on the weekend.
To the table, painted over and over again where Jack and I first started to play and our first story was created. To the five patrons already seated around the room and eating.
“Hello, lovebirds! Do you—Prudence?”
I turn abruptly towards the voice and the old man it belongs to, surprise stretching his face, his dark, wrinkled eyes opening wide. He’s still wearing one of his favored colorful cardigans and corduroy pants.
“Oh my god… It is you! Scarlett!” Claudio calls, turning slightly towards the kitchen. “Come here, you won’t believe this!”
He turns back to me taking a step forward, his surprise morphinginto pure joy. He stops at our level, opening his arms. I don’t hesitate a second before nestling in his comforting embrace. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll bring Jack back here.
“The food won’t cook itself, ya’ know?” says another approaching familiar voice, before freezing. “Oh, are we huggin’ women in the middle of service, now?”
Her strong accent is nothing but comfort to my ears, as she spent hours talking and reassuring Jack and I when we were young teens. Her voice will always be etched into my memories.
Claudio turns around, still holding me, pulling me—and poor Nate who’s still holding my hand—with him towards a frowning Scarlett whose face softens when she recognizes me.
“Prudence!” She sings. “Oh my goodness, it’s so good to see you! Come here, I want a hug too.”
She takes a couple of steps forwards, her arms open wide and hands waving in quick motions towards her.
She smells just like I remember. Like warm, crisp bread, melted butter, and oregano. She envelops me with her whole small round self, sighing in happiness.
“What are you doing back here?” She asks. “And where’s Jack? Is he waiting outside or… Ooooh, and who’s that handsome lad?”
She beams at Nate, giving me a wink.
“It’s just the two of us,” I smile shyly.
“I’m Nate,” he says with a respectful Nod, handing his free hand to shake theirs. “Nice to meet you.”
“Is that your fiance?” Claudio asks in my ear, in a whisper way too loud for Nate to not have heard it.
“Oh, no. We’re—”
I stutter. What are we? Back at tipsy turtle, we werepretendingto be dating and he let me define what we were supposed to be. But we’re not pretending anymore…
