“Oh, centuries,” Dario says. “It got a renovation when my parents married and moved in to start a family, but all the original materials and stylings were kept, maintaining thearchitectural integrity. My great-great-grandmother was born here.”
“That’s some history, huh? Is it haunted?” Charlie asks.
Only with memories,Dario thinks but says, “Not to my knowledge.”
Charlie frowns. Dario hopes he hasn’t dissatisfied his guest already. These people came from all over the world to stay here, to meet him. Disappointment is the airplane of fear crop-dusting this endeavor and he would like to cut the engine on it as quickly as possible.
“All good,” Charlie says. Their gazes finally meet. Dario likens Charlie’s eyes to molten chocolate, so brown and rich. “I’m Charlie, by the way.”
“I’m Dario Cotogna,” he says. “Won’t you come in?” The iron gate squeaks behind him.
Neither is sure which of them should go first, so Dario and Charlie end up squeezing through the gate together. Their shoulders brush. They let out little uncomfortable laughs, though Dario secretly thrills at the touch. This reminds him of courting back in scuola secondaria di secondo grado, when he was beginning to blossom into his own.
“I’m clearly underdressed,” Charlie notes, obviously inspecting Dario’s suit.
“Not at all. You’re perfect as you are,” Dario says, surprised at how suave he sounds despite his flirting skills sitting dormant for some time.
The pink flush that instantly appears on Charlie’s cheeks coupled with his blue hair makes him look like a delicious tower of cotton candy.
“How do you say ‘thank you’ in Italian?” Charlie asks.
“Grazie,” he says.
“Grazieye. Grayzey-aye,” Charlie tries then laughs at himself.
“Grat-zee-ay. Grat.” Dario motions with his hand toward Charlie to repeat after him.
“Grat.”
“Zee.”
“Zee.”
“Ay.”
“Eye,” Charlie says with his gaze laser-focused on Dario’s mouth.
“Ay,” Dario repeats slower.
“Ahye,” Charlie tries again, mouth really making a meal of the wrong-sounding syllable.
Dario stifles a laugh. “Once more. Ay.”
“Ay.”
“There! Now, put it all together. Grazie.”
“Gratezie.”
Dario offers an encouraging smile. “Closer.”
“I sound like a hick, don’t I?” Charlie asks, slipping his hands into his pockets. It’s not a self-conscious gesture so much as a self-aware one.
“A hick?” Dario asks.
“You know, like, unintelligent, unsophisticated, a total bumpkin.” His head bobbles.
“Bumpkin? Like a pumpkin?” His confusion increases as their strides lock.
