"I thought you weren't a wine drinker."
"I'm not, usually. But this is exceptional." She takes another sip, savoring it. "Very smooth. I can taste the... is that cherry? And something else?"
I watch her across the table as she examines her food. She's wearing a simple dress, nothing too formal, her dark hair falling loose around her shoulders. She looks beautiful in the candlelight, and for a moment I remember why I invited her here.
I need to salvage this evening. Get it back on track.
"Liana," I say, keeping my voice low and intentional.
"Hmm?" She's cutting into her osso buco.
"About last night."
"The car thing? We already talked about that this morning."
"Not the car thing. After that. In the parking lot."
She looks up from her plate. "After?"
"The kiss," I say directly.
"Oh." She takes a bite of risotto, chewing slowly. "This is really good. Seriously, what do you put in this? Is there a secret ingredient?"
"Liana." My voice carries an edge of frustration.
"Seriously, this is amazing. Is it the butter? Or the cheese? My Nonna always said the secret to good risotto is always butter. Lots of butter."
She's dodging the topic. Deliberately avoiding the conversation.
"We need to talk about it," I press, refusing to let her distract me.
"About butter and its role in Italian cuisine?"
"About the kiss. About what happened between us."
"What about it?" She's still eating, still not looking at me directly.
"It happened. We kissed. It was significant."
"I know it happened. I was there. I remember."
"And?" I need her to acknowledge this, to admit that something real happened between us.
"And what?" She reaches for her wine glass. "It was a kiss. People kiss all the time. It's not that unusual."
"It was more than that. You know it was."
"Was it?" She finally looks directly at me, her expression innocent. "I don't know. It felt pretty standard to me. Nice, but standard."
Standard. She's calling that kiss—that intense, passionate kiss that kept me awake all night—standard.
"You don't think there's something between us?" I ask, needing her to admit the connection I feel.
"Between us?" She tilts her head, considering. "Like chemistry? Physical attraction?"
"Yes. Exactly that."
"Oh, definitely. You're very attractive. It makes perfect sense that kissing would be pleasant." She says it so matter-of-factly, so clinically.
