“I mean you stopped talking. You were all excited and then,” she slices her hand through the air, “done.”
I blink at her.
She drains the pasta, then stops working to come and stand between my knees, a hand on each one.
“Bella, what is it?” Her entire focus is on me. The warmth of her hands, the steadiness of her gaze, the sincerity in her tone—the combination nearly brings tears to my eyes.
I take a deep breath before I speak. “The last person I dated—and this was years ago—told me I talked too much about my writing. She thought I was overshadowing her work by braggingabout my own.”
Marina’s dark eyebrows meet in a V above her nose. “But I asked you about it.”
I give a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, so did she.”
Marina narrows her eyes. “So, she asked you how your work was going, but then got angry when you talked about it?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty accurate.”
She tips her head. “Tell me you hear how ridiculous that is.”
“I mean, I do. I do. But when you’re in the midst of it and trying to maybe build a relationship of some sort, you tend to take that stuff to heart, you know? Like,oh, she thinks I’m talking too much about my work, she must be right! Let me curb that behavior.And pretty soon, you have nothing to say.”
She strokes a fingertip along my cheek. “That makes me sad for you.”
I pair a shrug with my frown.
“Just know that if I ask you? I want to know. Yes?”
“Okay,” I say, and then she’s wrapping me in her arms, and as I sit there with my chin on her shoulder and revel in the warmth and safety I feel with her, I think about what an easy discussion that was, and how I was never able to have it with the last woman. My stomach chooses that moment to rumble, and as if they timed it together, Reggie barks at us from the floor, and it’s all perfect. We both start to laugh.
“Your stomach and your dog would like me to take a hint, I think.” She takes my face in both hands, tips my head forward, and kisses my forehead gently. Then she refills my wine glass, lightly kisses my mouth, and begins to work on the pasta. Butter, freshly ground pepper, and hand-grated cheese go into the pan she has on the stove. She adds a little water she saved from the pasta, and she swirls it until it’s all melty. That’s it. The pasta goes in, she uses tongs to mix it up, then to deposit a generous helping onto each plate. More pepper and cheese on top, and shemeets my gaze.
“I feel like I’m watching an artist at work,” I say, and I mean it.
She blushes, and it’s beautiful. “Looks aren’t everything. It might taste terrible.”
I scoff and slide off the counter. “Butter and cheese and pepper? Doubtful.”
Together, we bring everything to the table. She lights two candles, and it’s automatically romantic. Not that this whole evening hasn’t been already, but the candles up the romance factor, and even though I knew this was a date, now it’s adate.
Reggie must have changed his mind. He’d found himself a corner on Marina’s chair, and he’s relaxing, his big eyes getting heavy. I can see him from my seat, and I’m kind of amazed at how comfortable he is here. Marina doesn’t seem to mind him on the furniture either. It’s a bit early for him to have dinner, but I’ve got a baggie of his food in my tote bag. For now, I’m glad he’s napping. It allows me to put my focus on my dinner date.
We sit. The table is small, for two, and we’re across from each other. I dig in.
Humming in delight seems to be the only sound I can make for a good five or ten minutes, the pasta is that good. I don’t know what it is about Italian food in Rome—well, that’s silly, I do know; it’sin Rome—but it’s about seven levels above even the best Italian restaurants in New York City that I’ve ever eaten at.
“This is incredible,” I finally manage to say.
Marina lifts one shoulder in a half shrug, but her facial expression says she’s pleased with my approval. “It’s very simple.”
“Well, I could eat it every day.” There’s salad and fresh bread on the table as well, and I help myself to a hunk of Italian bread, slathering it with butter. “So, what did you do today?” I ask. “Did you have a tour to give?”
Marina shakes her head. “Not to give, no. But I created two new ones.”
I tip my head. “Created? What do you mean?”
“It’s my favorite part of my job, next to actually giving the tours. I like to do different themes. For example, today, I was working on setting up some holiday tours. You know, going to restaurants and cafés that have seasonal dishes that focus on the holidays.”
“Oh, wow.”
