‘Oh, umm – I’ll have a ham and pineapple pizza then, please.’ I smiled, remembering the giant pizza oven we’d passed in the kitchen.
Matteo’s mouth fell open in horror.
‘Pineapple? On the pizza?!’ he cried, looking horrified and a tiny bit nauseated by the suggestion. He looked at Luca. I looked at Luca. But Luca just leaned back in his chair, teeth glinting in a way that told me he was enjoying every single second of my torture. ‘And I’ll have my usual, please, Matteo!’ he said with a grin. Before I could rectify my mistake and order literally anything else, Matteo was already retreating up the garden path, the fingers of his right hand pursed together as his wrist waved back and forth in disbelief.
‘I think that’sthemost offensive thing anyone’s ever said to any Italian. Like, ever.’ Luca chuckled, his eyes sparking playfully in the candlelight as he poured red wine into two glasses.
I groaned, burying my face in my hands.
‘Seriously though, pineapple on pizza?’
‘What? It’s delicious.’
‘It’s criminal,’ Luca countered, his face deadly serious.
I giggled, a tiny snort escaping before I could stop it.
‘Joe used to say the exact same thing!’ My laughter died a quick death, hanging awkwardly over us like an unwelcome rain cloud on a summer’s day. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered, fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. ‘I don’t know why I said that.’
But when I looked up Luca’s smile was still in place, his head cocked to one side as though trying to work something out. ‘It’s fine. I’d actually like to know more about him.’
‘Who, Joe?’ I frowned, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
‘Yes.’ Luca smiled encouragingly, before adding, ‘That is, only if you want to talk about him. I totally understand if you don’t—’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I assured him, surprising myself by actually meaning it. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘How did you two meet?’
‘At school. He saved me from a public humiliation that, as a 13-year-old girl, would have been the end of my life as I knew it.’
‘And you were together for all that time?’
‘Sixteen years, four months and nine days.’ For some reason I felt my cheeks reddening at this admission, or perhaps the speed at which I’d volunteered the information.
Luca’s eyes widened as he tipped his chair backwards, quite literally blown away by that revelation. ‘That’s pretty special. To find your person and have them stick it out with you for that long. Someone that chooses you each and every day.’
‘Pretty special,’ I repeated with a small smile.
Luca reached for his wine, swirling the liquid up the sides of the glass. The muscle in his jaw tightened as his eyes met mine across the table, a sad sort of smile tugging at his lips. I watched his hard exterior, the one I’d mistaken for standoffishness when we first met, crack to reveal a soft, gooey centre.
Suddenly, it all made sense. The deflection, the abruptness, the couldn’t-be-further-from-the-truth Casanova image that he let people believe because it was an easy way to avoid getting too close. Because whenever he had gotten close to someone, they’d left. His dad. His ex. Even his Dadaji. They’d all chosen someone else, or something else, over him. And somewhere along the way, he’d determined that he was the common denominator. Some sort of problem that couldn’t be fixed. It made my heart ache. Luca leaned forward, the single tealight fluttering between us bringing out the flecks of gold in his eyes.
‘Do you still believe in love? Even after everything?’ he asked.
The candle flickered with a passing gust of wind, threatening to be snuffed out completely before it stilled, burning even brighter than before. I considered Luca’s question for a long time, his unblinking gaze causing a pleasant warmth to wash over me from head to toe.
‘I think not believing in something doesn’t stop you from wanting it,’ I said carefully, my teeth catching my bottom lip. ‘You?’
Luca’s lips parted a fraction, shifting in his seat so that his leg fell against my knee. Casual. Heavy. He didn’t move it away. ‘I’m a songwriter, Thompson, believing in love is kind of a requirement.’
‘Really? Was that part of the job description when you applied?’
The corner of his mouth twitched, an intensity in his eyes that made my insides melt. Thankfully, my phone chirped before I completely liquified into a puddle on the floor.
‘Sorry,’ I mouthed apologetically, digging in my bag until I found it. Jacob’s name flashed up on the screen. My get-out-of-date-free card was calling bang on time.
‘You need to get that?’ Luca asked.
