“Is it bad that I already know I would miss you if you leave?”
What kind of girl says something that sweet? None. Cassidy would have already invited herself along and started booking five-star hotels. Is this the type of girl I had been missing out on by being a complete snob all my life?
“Well, maybe you could just come with me.”
She looked at me longingly. I actually started to consider the plan. There are far worse things I could think of than spending a year traveling the world with Isabella.
“Papa would probably have a heart attack and I don’t think I could leave them for that long.”
The thought, however, was already in my mind. She deserved so much. Of course, telling a girl you want to take her on a trip around the world after barely two weeks of knowing her might be a bit over the top. Especially since we still had two years of school before it would happen. I would ease her into the prospect eventually, but for now, I could offer her one easy thing.
“Well, maybe after seeing how close we are after the next two years, he’ll at least let me take you on a trip to Italy for a couple of weeks. I mean, you will be eighteen by then.”
Isabella smiled at me excitedly.
“You’d really take me?”
This girl seriously had no idea how important she already was.
“I’d take your whole family if you let me, but maybe a solo trip for just the two of us first. Assuming you still enjoy my company by the end of senior year.”
For a moment, she just stared at me, a bit surprised. I think the pace of our friendship was finally dawning on her. How quickly it seemed we had bonded. I hope it didn’t scare her away.
“It’s crazy, right? Us only knowing each other for a couple of weeks and already planning something to do two years from now?”
With a deep breath, I whispered, “Is that bad?”
That amazing smile suddenly came to her face.
“I don’t think so.”
“Good. Italy two summers from now is officially on my calendar.”
Isabella laughed.
“Well, you can pencil in dinner right now. It’s ready.”
Just as she spoke, the timer on the oven went off. I slipped on my oven mitts to remove the chicken parm, which smelled heavenly. Although I would never tell Isabella, I wasn’t much of an Italian food person. She grabbed some plates, and soon enough, we were sitting down and having a home-cooked meal together. From the first bite, my opinion of Italian food changed.
“This is delicious.”
Isabella smiled.
“I’ll let my family know you approve.”
Laughing, I took another bite and sighed.
“How long has your family owned the restaurant?”
She looked at me; I was trapped in those big brown eyes of hers.
“Forever, really. My grandparents owned it before my dad. It started out as a small pizza shop when they first came from Italy and then it just kept growing.”
I nodded.
We enjoyed our meal for a bit, each of us trapped in our own thoughts. Silence was never awkward between us, mostly, I think, because Isabella never had it outside of our bubble and I had lived in it so long, noise was more uncomfortable for me.
The cost of a homemade meal with Isabella: a lot of laughter with a pinch of silence.
