“Do you usually go into relationships thinking of them as dead ends?”
“I rarely think of them as relationships to begin with,” I admit. “It’s…dating and fun and fleeting until it burns out.”
“And why does it burn out?”
“Because I find something, a quirk, a vibe, a habit, to fixate on as a reason to pull away.”
“Pretzels,” he recalls, remembering the German, Jonas.
“Or socks and sandals,” I agree.
Luca smirks but his eyes are sharp. “And what’s my quirk?”
I shake my head. “I like all your quirks. Everything about you. And it scares me.”
Understanding washes over his face and he leans over the table, closing the space between us. “I’d never hurt you, Carla.”
“I know that. That scares me too,” I admit. “I’m new to big-girl feelings.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Adult relationships then.”
He smiles. “I don’t believe you. You’re the most confident woman I know. You know what you want. Take it.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “But what if I can’t have it all?”
His eyes sharpen. “You mean have both? A relationship and a professional fútbol career?”
“You’re smarter than you let on, DiBlanco,” I joke, reaching for levity.
“So are you, campionessa.”
Our appetizers arrive a moment later and Luca moves our water glasses and the bottle of wine to make room for the plates.
“Did I tell you two of my girls are joining our camp this summer?” I ask, changing the subject to lighter topics I feel comfortable traversing. Like soccer.
“Really? That’s great news. I had a handful of American programs reach out too.”
“It was that article in the sports magazine.”
“I think so, too,” Luca replies, spearing an artichoke heart with his fork. “That was great placement. Thanks for lining that up.”
“It was no problem. Hey,” I say, recalling a conversation I had earlier with Marlowe. “Did you send my sister-in-law a private chef?”
Luca bites the corner of his mouth. “Who told you?”
“Marlowe!”
He chuckles. “I didn’t know what to send her, or Ale, to help them through this time. She’s been so sick and it’s making him feel useless.”
“He is useless. He’s never done his own cooking or laundry,” I murmur, loving to razz my brother whenever possible.
“Did the chef make something Marlowe can keep down?” Luca asks hopefully.
“His talents are being wasted in that household,” I admit. “He made her dry toast today.”
“Well, it’s better than nothing.”
