“No?” I take it and sip.
“Never. What a cool job.”
“I mean, I don’t get to eat amazing food and drink fantastic wine all day, but I guess it’s okay.”
She laughs that husky laugh again and nods. “That’s a good point.” How is it that something as simple as eye contact can affect a person’s entire body? Because that happens. Marina’s eyes meet mine and I feel it from the top of my head all the way down to my toes, across every millimeter of my skin. She holds it for only a couple seconds before breaking away and addressing the group. “So? What did you think?”
I don’t even know what the others say. I barely hear their voices over the rushing of blood in my own ears. Thank Godeverybody starts to stand up, so I know we’re ready to head to the next place. I jot down more notes, specifically about a character being shockingly affected simply by the mere presence of another person. Physically affected. Very physically affected. Then we file out of the wine bar and begin our leisurely stroll to the next restaurant on our tour.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Lily?” Marina is walking next to me. I like the way my name sounds in her accent.
“Very much,” I say truthfully. “I didn’t expect to be doing something like this when I came. Just thought I’d work.”
“And then you met Serena,” she says with a chuckle.
“And then I met Serena.”
“I imagine she’s hard to turn down.”
“Impossible.” I laugh softly. “How long have you known her?”
Marina wrinkles her nose, and her gaze shifts upward as she does the calculations. “Four years now?”
“Longer than I thought.”
“I think she’s been here for five. She and her husband used to come here for a month or two at a time, then they moved here permanently. Then he passed away a couple years ago, but she keeps bringing her friends and houseguests to the food tour.”
“And I bet she always requests you.” I say it with a knowing grin.
Marina blushes softly. “She does. Makes me feel good. She’s a good person.”
“I bet she’d say the same about you.”
She lifts one shoulder and adds a smile to it. “I hope so.”
“Well, you’re certainly good at your job. I’m having a great time.” It’s the truth. Marina is fun and knowledgeable, and this tour is not at all what I was expecting.Sheis not at all what I was expecting.
“Grazie,” she says, her grin seeming almost mischievous.Then she touches my arm and scoots past me up ahead to direct the group into the next restaurant. That throbbing low in my body has picked up speed. And intensity.
“All right, Chambers, pull yourself together,” I whisper, then follow the group into the next establishment.
This is our third stop, and every place has been warm and welcoming, the owners smiling, the staff friendly. They all know Marina, of course, and she chats with them in Italian before directing us to follow her. Again, we head to the back of the restaurant, but this time, we go down some stairs that lead us into a large room that seems to be a blend of a wine cellar and a basement but set up like a dining room. The walls are cement, and it’s cool—a nice change from the heat outside—a long table set for us. Twinkle lights are strung all around, and they make it feel warm and festive.
“Okay,” Marina says, and I’ve learned that’s the word she uses when she wants our attention because she’s about to explain. “Okay. This is where we will be having lunch.” She goes on to explain the restaurant’s background, but I don’t really hear her words because I’m busy watching her mouth. I really want to pull out my phone and record her because everything she’s doing, every move, every mannerism stokes my creativity, and I don’t want to forget any of it.
I come back to myself when I realize she’s finished talking and is opening another bottle of wine. Serena is at the opposite end of the table from me, and she calls my name to get my attention.
“Doing okay down there?” she asks. “Drunk yet?” She winks, and her laugh is almost a giggle, as is Margie’s, and I thinktheyare both feeling no pain, as my dad would say.
Marina hands me a glass of wine, and I hold it up. “Not yet, but it won’t be long.”
Serena and Margie dissolve into more giggles, and Marinashoots me a knowing grin. I’m not actually close to being drunk. I was kidding. I’ve been pacing myself. I don’t generally cut loose with alcohol when I’m with new people, and I’m very aware of not getting drunk in front of Marina. Not that she’d care. But I do. It’s not the impression I want to make, you know?
Marina begins her presentation on this restaurant, and before long, the waitress is bringing us salad, bread, and plates of pasta.
Can we just stop and talk about pasta in Italy for a second?
It is…life-changing.
