I ponder for a moment before shaking my head. “If it’s food, I tend to eat it.”
“Eccellente,” she says again, and there’s that flutter again that her accent causes in me. She finishes her wine, and I follow suit.
“I should probably get back to work,” I say. “You know, I’m usually sad when our time together is over, but now I know I’ll see you later, so it’s not that bad.” I swallow, surprised that I let myself say those words out loud, but there they are, floating in the air between us. I brace, but Marina’s smile just gets bigger.
“Me too,” is all she says, and we stand, Reggie included.
“Thank you for the wine. That was a much-needed respite.” She squints at me, and I smile as I edit, “Break. A much-needed break.”
“I’m glad I could help.” With a jerk of her thumb over her shoulder, she adds, “I am this way.” It’s the opposite of the direction Reggie and I are headed, so I nod.
“See you tonight,” I say, and I really, really like the sound of that. So does Marina, given how her expression softens. This time, she bends to kiss my cheek, then strokes it with her thumb.
“Bye.”
And yes, I watch her walk away. I am no dummy.
This is a date.
I have to actually talk myself into accepting that as fact. Marina and I have been doing this dance long enough to understand that this is a date.
And therefore, I must dress accordingly.
That also means I must obsess and second-guess and try on everything I brought with me in order to find the best outfit. Because of course I do.
“I should’ve taken the time to go buy something new,” I mutter as I whip off the top I’m wearing, utterly unimpressed with it. Reggie is on the bed watching me. He didn’t look terribly impressed with that shirt either.
Here’s the problem: I don’t want to overdo it. I also don’t want to underdo it. On top of that, I only have limited options because I didn’t bring my entire wardrobe to Italy with me, obviously. I also didn’t expect to be going on an actual date while in Italy. I’m supposed to be here to work. But after muchobsessing and stressing and throwing items on the floor, I finally decide to walk the line between super casual and dressed up. I go with a simple pair of white capris and a light blue top with capped sleeves and an open-notch neckline that dips enticingly. I top the clothing off with wedge sandals that give me a tiny bit of extra height, some small gold hoop earrings, and a spritz of my favorite subtle perfume—a scent I found in Paris that’s surprisingly soft and inviting.
I scrutinize myself.
I’m not tall. I’m not well-endowed. I have nice eyes, I guess. The blue of them is pretty unique, like my mom’s. My hair is a simple light brown, but it hangs neatly today, swooping just slightly over my left eye. It just skims the back of my neck, and I tuck it behind my ears. Normally, in this case, I’d FaceTime Jessie and get her straight-girl opinion on my outfit. But for reasons I don’t want to delve into right now, I don’t want to involve anybody else. I don’t want to explain what I’m doing or, worse, feel compelled to justify it. All I want to do is take my dog and enjoy an evening with Marina.
If we end up doing a little more making out, so be it.
Marina texted me her address, and when I plug it into my GPS, it tells me she’s about seventeen minutes away.
“Ready, Reg?” I ask my dog, and he jumps to his feet, as if he’s known all along that he’s coming. I cross to the bed before he can get down and grab his little face in my hands. “Now, listen, sir. We’re going to somebody’s house that you’ve never been to, and I need you on your best behavior. All right? No chewing things that aren’t yours. No lifting your leg on stuff to make them yours. Understood?”
He swipes his tongue across my chin before I can dodge it, but it makes me laugh. I’ve already packed up some dinner for him, and to that tote bag, I add a pair of flip-flops, knowing I won’t last long in these heels, however slight, and the bottle ofwine and package of fresh cannoli I grabbed an hour ago.
I clip Reggie into his harness and leash and we head out to catch our Uber. The driver gives Reggie a look, and for a moment, I think he might turn us away, but he waves us in. He’s already got Marina’s address, so we settle in, and I keep Reggie on my lap so the driver won’t worry about his seats. Of course, I didn’t think it through when I stepped into white pants, and I sigh as I think about how they’ll be covered in brown fur when we get out. Ah, well. Life with a dog and all that.
Waze was correct, and the Uber pulls to a stop outside a large building in under twenty minutes. I recognized when we drove over the River Tiber and remembered Marina saying she lives here. This is Trastevere again, and it’s hopping. I thank the driver, and Reggie and I exit. Again, the vibe is different, more boho, more relaxed, but just as busy as the city center, where I’m staying. I take a moment to simply look around—and to let Reggie pee on a small tree—before I turn to the building looking for the front door.
I find it, and it’s not locked, which surprises me. But inside is a small foyer with a bank of mailboxes on one side, a row of buzzer buttons on the other, and another set of doors that is locked. Marina is on the fifth floor, and I push the button with her number next to it.
“Ciao. Lily?” Why is it that even hearing this version of her voice that sounds like she’s standing in a tin can still does things to me?
“Sì,” I say, hoping to impress her with my nonexistent bilingual talent. The buzzer sounds, and I pull the door open, and Reggie and I are in.
The silence descends immediately, and I chuckle internally because I’m at the age where the first thing I think is how well-insulated the building must be. I push the button to call the elevator and scoop Reggie up, knowing he won’t step into iton his own. When the door opens on the fifth floor, Marina is right there, standing in her doorway to the left, her smile huge. Something inside me clicks, like I’m a puzzle piece that just snapped into the right spot. It’s weird and wonderful at the same time.
“Ciao,bella,” she says, and her happiness to see me is so crystal clear on her face, I can feel it settle in and warm me from the inside. She wraps me in a hug, and I breathe her in, that inviting apple pie scent filling me. She kisses me softly on the mouth, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and it feels like it is—then she takes Reggie’s leash from my hand and steps aside so we can enter. My eyes roam over her quickly, so as not to be caught staring, and I swallow hard. She’s in jeans and a drapey black tank top, her bronzed arms toned, her hair down, her feet bare. I remind myself to breathe.
I kick off my shoes and enter. Her flat is lovely, and very much Marina. It’s modest, small, but smells like her and is decorated in lots of earth colors, which is exactly what I’d expect from her. From the deep chocolate brown of her sofa to the mustard yellow chair in the corner, from the creamy tan walls to the moody painting of what looks like a Roman street at nighttime, it all fits perfectly with the warm comfort I feel around Marina.
“This is nice,” I say to her. “I love it.”
