knows we are here. No one followed us. We’re fine. We’ll walk. If I need you, I’ll call.”
With nothing more to add, he throws open the door and steps out. I scoot over across the center of the car to leave from the same door he does.
His hand reaches in, and he takes my hand, helping me out of the car.
I expect him to let me go, but instead, he interlocks our fingers.
His warm hand around mine.
It’s chilly in the city, but with his proximity and the way he makes my heart work faster than normal, I don’t feel the cold at all.
Instead, I feel my cheeks heat, and my pulse roar to life.
“Where are we going?” I squeak above the sound of the cars honking in the distance.
“It’s a surprise.”
“Oh. . . Okay.”
My stomach chooses that moment to growl, and I’m thankful that it’s noisy in the city so he can’t hear. I am starving, but things are going so well that I don’t want to point it out.
Fifteen minutes pass. I keep expecting him to drop my hand, but he never does.
When he finally stops walking, I see he’s stopped in front of a small Italian restaurant.
“I hope you’re really hungry.”
Now that he said it . . .
“I’m starved,” I admit.
“Good. Because they make the best brick oven pizza in the city.”
He lets go of my hand, and instantly, I miss its warmth. But then he places it on the small of my back. I’m not sure why, but something feels so intimate about the move.
I don’t know if it’s because he looks down at me, and it’s as if he can see through me, or if it’s just the feeling of him touching me. I feel shaky, and I have to rid these thoughts from my head. With his free hand, he opens the door to the restaurant.
“After you,” he says.
I take a step forward and walk inside.
The restaurant is not what I would expect from the man who lives in such an immaculate estate.
I notice the walls have old, faded paper on them, but then in certain spots, there’s paint. There are a few tables, not many, probably around ten, but like the rest of the place, they look like they’ve seen better days.
“Follow me.”
He starts to walk, leading me to the far wall. There is a table for two in the corner. He pulls out the chair for me, and I sit.
“As I said before, they have the best pizza, and trust me, I know.”
“How did you find this place?”
“That's a long story.”
“Well, I have time.” He’s about to open his mouth and start speaking when an older lady walks out from the door in the back of the restaurant that must lead to the kitchen.
“Matteo, it’s so good to see you. It’s been too long,” she says, as he stands and gives the lady a hug. She pulls back, eyes on me, wearing a large smile on her face. Curiosity playing in her weathered eyes.
“Who’s your friend?”
“Maria, this is actually my wife.”
The lady, who I now know as Maria, lifts her hand to her mouth. “You have a wife? I didn’t know.”
“It all happened rather quickly.”
“Franco, come out here! Matteo Amante is here, and he brought his beautiful wife!” she screams.
A gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair and a gray beard comes toward us. He shakes hands with Matteo before they both turn to me.
“Welcome. Matteo is like family,” she says warmly.
They both start to speak in Italian, their voices excited. Since I don’t speak Italian, I just sit there smiling at them. It’s nice to see Matteo like this. He seems like a different man.
Eventually, Matteo sits back down, and Maria and Franco go back to the kitchen to grab us the pizza.
It’s not a moment later when a big, giant pie is placed in front of us.
“Holy crap, that’s big.” I laugh.
“You didn’t eat breakfast.”
“I mean, I’m hungry, but that’s enough to feed an army.”
“Pretty sure an army would require a bit more than that.”
“I mean, I don’t limit what I can eat but this is ridiculous. I can’t believe you bought so much. You have to take home leftovers.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Why, you don’t?”
“I’m not much for leftovers, actually. I prefer fresh food. But it is a lot, and if you want to take it home, we can.”
“Maybe Roberto will want some.”
“That’s kind of you to think of him.”
Matteo serves us each a slice. I fold the middle in half and take