Hugo takes a step back to allow me in front of him. My insides burn when I feel his hand at the small of my back, guiding me along. He must not realize he’s doing it. This is probably a place he brings all his dates.
Not that I’m a date. I’m not. He doesn’t like boys. I’m just a friend. He introduced me as a friend!
Which is probably just as exciting. We’re friends.
Hugo lets me choose which side of the booth to sit in and then he sits opposite. Tony hands us menus and tells us that Susie will be with us shortly. Hugo picks up his menu and says, “This is just formality. I already know what I’m getting.”
“What’re you getting?” I ask.
“We’re getting arancini for starters. They’re stuffed rice balls that are fried and they’re so damn good. Have you had them?” He looks up and meets my eyes. I shake my head. “So good. You won’t regret eating them. For dinner I’m getting their wild mushroom risotto with house made sausage.” He groans. “Torin, it’s amazing. Also, we’re having their panna cotta for dessert, so save room.”
My smile covers my face as I listen to him talk. “What should I get?”
Hugo sighs. “You can’t go wrong with anything on the menu.Oh! Get their agnolotti with Bolognese sauce. Or their pizza. Ooh! Or their carbonara.”
His enthusiasm for life will nevernotmake me smile. It’s just food, but he’s so passionate about it.
Susie comes over and Hugo declares that he’s ordering our meals, which is entirely fine with me. I don’t know half the words he says, but I’m content to let him order the entire menu if it makes him happy.
Once the waitress leaves, Hugo stares at me with a wide smile. “Hey, can I sit with you?”
This isn’t going to come as a surprise, but my cheeks heat. I nod and scooch a little further into the booth. Hugo gets up and changes sides, sliding in beside me until our knees touch.
“Now we can people watch together.”
I sigh. I don’t care what else happens tonight. This is already a very perfect evening. There’s no way it could get any better.
Chapter Seven
HUGO
“What about that one?”I ask, pointing to a young child on a scooter. He’s wearing a backpack and from it, a leash that the adult with him is holding on to.
We’ve been here for more than an hour now. Torin is shy, speaks sparingly and in a very quiet tone. His cheeks are in a constant shade of pink. But he’s super nice and I enjoy his company a lot.
“That’s a parent who is too lazy to teach their child self-control, so they put them on a leash like a pet,” Torin mutters. “I suppose that’s presumptuous and I understand that there are kids and situations that might benefit from them but… I don’t know. I see so many parentsnotparenting it’s difficult not to be judgemental sometimes.”
I grin as I chew slowly on another bite. Honestly, I’m stuffed. But the food is so damn good and it’s still sitting here, so I continue munching. We haven’t even had dessert yet.
“Have you raised a two-year-old?” I ask.
“No,” he admits. “But I took a psychology class in high school. For one of our projects, we had to choose from certain topics and somehow I got raising toddlers or something. I spent weeks observing different dynamics between parents and their children. By far, those who didn’t set boundaries and expectations, those who weren’t firm in their decisions and ended up caving in when thechild would so much as whimper, those who played one parent off the other… their kids were the ones who needed leashes. You can have a happy childandone that knows not to run in front of a moving car.”
My smile is super wide now. The longer we sit here, the more talkative Torin becomes. Granted, this is the longest thing I’ve heard him say. His voice is still very quiet. Before I can answer, he continues.
“There are some exceptions. Some kids are hyperactive and stuff. I get it. I’ve also heard many of those common excuses—I want my kid to be happy; I want us to be friends; they don’t understand; boys will be boys; I don’t believe in discipline; I want my kid to be able to freely express themselves; I don’t want my kid to hate me like I hate my parents.” Torin waves his hand. “Half of that is simply laziness, stupidity, and not wanting to put in the effort. The other unresolved trauma from their own childhood and making an extreme one-eighty to make sure their kid doesn’t go through what they went through. In doing so, they’re creating a different kind of problem that will only kick them in the ass later.”
“You got a good grade, huh?”
Torin smiles. His cheeks are pink again as he nods. “Yes.”
Chuckling, I glance back out the window and watch again. There’s a tall, leggy blonde on her way by. She’s talking on her cell phone. “What about her?”
He watches her for a minute before answering. “She wants to project an appearance that she can’t actually afford. While everything she’s wearing isprobablya knock off, I know for certain her purse is.”
I look at Torin, perplexed. That’s not exactly the question I was asking, but now I’m intrigued. “How do you know that?”
“The shape and scale of the logo on the front of it,” he answers. I look out the window, but she’s already gone. “I’m not much into fashion because I think it’s ridiculous to spend so much money on something, and for what? But if I were to give into societal pressure, Khoors is the one brand I’d probably buy. I like their quality, and their colors aren’t hideous. They’re also everyday styles that I’d actually wear.”
