Italiano.” From there, Whitaker fell into a lengthy exchange with the man.
To stoke his pride some and to keep his confident smile going, she said, “Even after three months of knowing you, I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re fluent in four languages.”
“Thank you. It’s just about the only thing I do well.”
She wasn’t sure that was true and had a feeling there were many more layers to be pulled back. “What did you two talk about?”
“I told him my roots are far from Italian, but that I loved Italian food so much that I had to learn the language. And then I told him I considered it a travesty that they grow cabernet sauvignon and merlot in Tuscany and asked if he had a nice Sangiovese. He’s bringing it now.”
“What’s wrong with cabernet and merlot?”
“Absolutely nothing, but sadly, many Italian farmers pulled out their ancient indigenous varieties to plant grapes more familiar to the Americans, who happen to be the largest consumer of Italian wines in the world. Though there are many Tuscans who would disagree, I think they are putting their business before their art—something I’m not a fan of.”
“What are you supposed to do if you don’t recognize the wines on a list, then?” She squinted momentarily. “I’m asking for a friend.”
Whitaker took a sip of water. “Good question. Take a chance or ask the server or somm. That’s what they’re there for.”
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? I’ve always hated that I can’t speak another language.” It was true, a deficiency that had always bothered her.
“Oh, c’mon. You didn’t learn Spanish growing up?”
“A few words, but I’m a long way from fluency.”
“Hang around long enough and maybe I can help.”
Claire was actually thinking about hanging around him for a while. Did he know that?
“Repeat after me,” he said. “Prometo aprender otro idioma antes de cumplir los treinta.”
Claire said, “Whoa, whoa. That’s a lot to say.”
“A couple words at a time.” He walked her through it.
“What did I just say?” Claire asked, going along with this little game of his.
Whitaker leaned in toward her. “I promise to learn another language before I’m thirty.”
Claire chortled with delight. “Thirty! I wish.”
“Did I get your age wrong?”
Was he joking? “You really think I’m under thirty?”
“We’ve never talked about it. It’s not polite to ask a lady her age.”
“For your information, I’m well over thirty, and we’ll stop there.” She blushed. “Thank you for the compliment.” Claire adjusted in her seat. She liked seeing Whitaker open up and continued to play her part in being a good conversationalist. “So how do you say, My name is Whitaker, and I’m an intriguing, sensitive, and complicated man?”
Whitaker flashed a smile. “Mi chiamo Whitaker e sono un uomo intrigante, sensibile e complicato.”
Claire loved to hear him speak. He helped her repeat it. “How about in Spanish?”
Sounding like a completely different person, Whitaker spat out his translation. “Me llamo Whitaker y soy un hombre intrigante, sensible y complicado.”
“And French?”
In more of a high-pitched song with guttural edges, Whitaker said, “Je m’appelle Whitaker et je suis un homme intriguant, sensible et compliqué.”
“Compliqué,” Claire repeated. “What a lovely language.”
“It really is, both beautiful and angry at the same time.”
“Okay, mister. How about Japanese?”
Without hesitation, Whitaker broke into Japanese.
Her mouth dropped. “I don’t believe it. What did you really say?”
“Your fish is old.” He shrugged. “It’s the only thing I know how to say.”
Claire inclined her head and said quietly, “Let’s hope my fish isn’t old.”
They shared a plate of spaghetti alle vongole and discussed the next day. They had not expected to hit so many roadblocks in the search, but it made sense that everyone was bound by law to protect the children. Using Google, Whitaker had found a short list of licensing agencies. They would start there and visit each one. And they’d both attempt to spread the word via social media.
After polishing off the bottle of wine, they finished the meal with two glasses of limoncello. Claire was feeling both light-headed and distracted. She was sure by now that she wanted to kiss him tonight but didn’t know how to initiate it. Was he waiting on her to make the first move? Didn’t he know she was completely out of practice?
Back at the hotel, she stood facing him in the lobby, wondering if he might ask her to the bar for a nightcap. “That was a good meal,” she said flatly, anxiously.
“A beautiful meal. A great recommendation. Want to meet for breakfast