“I infused it,” he says, taking his own forkful.
My jaw drops in mock amusement. “Fuck off,” I say, reaching for more.
“I did, I added some white pepper to the pasta itself, and then a little bag of peppercorns to the cooking water,” he explains, with a smug look on his pretty face. “Iinfusedthe flavor.”
“It does not anger me,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Good,” he says, laughing.
“I can see the vision,” I say, smiling. “Let’s talk about the interiory.”
I open the printed proposal and turn to the page with the renovation sketches.
“Honestly, you should leave the bar the size it is now,” I say, pointing to the row of three tables on the sketch where the bar currently is.
“Why? It takes up so much room where we could put tables. More tables, more covers.”
“But a bar addsso muchto the atmosphere,” I say. “People waiting for tables, enjoying a drink. Booze markup is always good. Makes the place feel buzzy and busy.”
“Except that it never happens,” says Leo.
“It will if the food is this good,” I say, waving my fork around the table.
Leo grins. “I see.” But before he has a chance to say any more, I hold up my finger to stop him.
“Icansee it, Leo,” I say, closing the proposal and putting my hand on top of it. “I can see it. And Idolike it.” I sigh, tipping my head to the side, wondering what to say next.
“So, what now?” he says.
“I don’t know. I need to talk to people. Talk to the bank, a solicitor,” I say. “My mum properly. Take a big breather and sit around in my flat in London and think about it away from here, from you and all of this. I need to look at this from every angle.”
“More time,” he says, nodding in understanding.
“It’s not a no, Leo,” I say, seriously. “But it’s not a yes either. You get that, right?”
“It’s progress,” he says, putting his fork down, grinning. “But seriously. I get it. I’m happy that you were open enough to listen to my ideas. That first night at Nicky’s when I bumped into you in the darkness, I thought—”
“Who even is this bitch?” I say, laughing.
“No,” he says, folding his arms on the table, leaning toward me. “I thought, holy shit, that’s Nicky’s girl. I’ve heard so much about her, and now here she is. You were almost like a ghost to me. Everywhere I looked: Olive.”
“I didn’t think he cared,” I say, shaking my head.
Leo shrugs and then frowns. “You do what you need to do, Olive. I mean it.”
I stare at him, searching his eyes for bullshit, but it isn’t there.
“Dessert?” I say, breaking the moment, looking hungrily toward the kitchen.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t quite manage that. But shall we take it outside and watch the sun go down?” he suggests, and I nod, scooping up our wineglasses in one hand and the bottle in the other.
IT IS SPECTACULAR, the golden glow lighting up the patio in a shimmer. Leo has managed to find a sheet of paper that explains how to connect our phones to the outside speakers and tasked me with finding some music while he fills our glasses.
“I know we’re not celebrating,” he assures me. “But I feel good. Do you feel good?”
“I feel good,” I say, smiling. “Shall I put on an album, or hit shuffle?”
“Shuffle is always dangerous,” he says.
