from me? Because I didn’t ask one. We both need to eat, and it’s good manners to dine together. Very Italian, you know.” I wink obnoxiously. “I’ll be gracious and allow you one choice—your place or Strega’s. She lets me borrow her kitchen sometimes, desperate times calling for desperate measures and all. Only possible deal-breaker there is that she will definitely eat with us and let her gossipy desires run wild as she asks you questions.”
“Inviting yourself to my place?” he growls.
I hadn’t quite thought that through before the offer jumped out of my mouth, but now that it’s out there, I want to go to his place badly. Not for anything sexy, although I wouldn’t be averse, but I don’t think he’s remotely in a mental place for that. But I’d like to just see his space, get to know him by seeing what books he has, what music he plays, hell, what his bed looks like, even if it’s not for sexy times.
“Well, you already know I stay at a hostel so that’s no good, unless you like shared kitchen spaces and a swarm of people crowding in to share noodles. I’m guessing you’ve got something a little less public considering” —I wave my hands around, gesturing to his frowning face— “you.”
“I don’t like people. Why won’t you just leave me alone?” He seems genuinely confused by my continued attempts to engage him.
“Look, you’re grumpy and violent, I get that. It’s probably enough to put off most folks, but in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not most folks. It’s like you’re a caged animal, fighting against the bars you’ve surrounded yourself with, but when someone opens the cage, you fight back from freedom too, because it’s scary as fuck,” I explain, keeping my voice low but calm, hopeful, and confident. “I’ve been there, done that, got the T-shirt and letter that I was disowned. It was hard and it fucking hurt. So when I see someone else going through something similar, I just want to help. Maybe that’s stupid, but I don’t think so. And it doesn’t mean you can’t do it on your own. It just means that sometimes when you’re laser-focused on getting out the muck, it’s nice to just have dinner with a friendly face. And it just so happens that I’ve got one of those.”
I smile big and wide, framing my face with my hands dramatically to soften the truth bomb I just dropped on him. “So, dinner at your place?”
I can see him struggling, wanting to tell me I’m wrong and to mind my own business and on the cusp of refusing my dinner offer. But then he gives in. “This is not a date. I don’t date. Ever.”
The words are grunted, more caveman than eloquent. But all I hear is him agreeing to let me come over for dinner. And though I’d half-expected my armchair psychology to shut him down, it actually worked, which tells me that maybe he’s not as put off by me as he’d like me to believe. But I’m not pushing him any further, not right now.
“Nobody asked you out, Grumpy Gus. I just want dinner without a whole hostel of people trying to scrounge my noodles.” I smile, though we both know I’m lying.
I want to have dinner with him. Not a date. That’s fine by me too because I’m not looking for anything romantic either, but I want to just be with him, peel at his layers and find out what’s buried underneath the stoic façade.
Because it is a façade. He’s cold, rock-solid and powerful on the outside, but there’s pain, passion, and life below the surface. I know the look, and I want to dig in and test it. Maybe test him and myself too.
“Fine. Dinner.”
It feels like a win.
Kyle
She crooks a finger at me, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Follow me to the best bread in all of Italy.”
She sounds like a cheesy tour guide, but her antics tickle at something deep inside me that used to enjoy silliness.
Of course, that part of me died long ago. Even before Anna. It died when I saw just how bad people can be, like rotten fruit that spreads and feeds on the goodness in the world.
What’s replaced it is dark and pretty rotten itself. I shouldn’t spoil Carly’s innocent luminance with my foul and unworthy self.
But I follow her.
She waves and chats with vendors throughout the market like they’re old friends. Hell, maybe they are, I