I’d tell her after dinner. Give us this one night first.
The restaurant was in the West Village, a place I’d been to a few times that managed to be romantic without being stuffy. Low lighting, good wine list, tables spaced far enough apart for actual conversation.
The hostess seated us at a corner table and Gianna looked around with genuine appreciation.
“This is beautiful,” she said.
“I’m glad you like it.” I picked up the wine menu and realized my hands weren’t entirely steady. “Do you want to see the wine list or should I just order something?”
“Surprise me. I trust your taste.”
Those three words hit me harder than they should have.
I ordered a bottle of red and we settled into the comfortable silence.
“So,” Gianna said when the wine arrived. “Ground rules for tonight.”
“Ground rules?”
“No talking about work. No law school, no real estate, no cases. Just us being normal people having dinner.”
I almost laughed. “What if we’re not normal people?”
“Then we pretend.” She took a sip of wine. “I’ll start. What’s something most people don’t know about you?”
“That’s a dangerous question.”
“That’s why it’s interesting.”
I thought about it. “I wanted to be an architect when I was a kid. Drew building designs all the time, entire cities on graph paper.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“My father needed help with the company. Architecture felt like a luxury we couldn’t afford.” I took a drink. “Your turn.”
“I can’t cook to save my life. Like, genuinely terrible at it. Sam says I’m a danger to kitchens everywhere.”
“The pasta you were making when I called?”
“Boiled water and jarred sauce. That’s my entire skill set.”
I smiled despite the weight in my chest. “What else?”
We traded questions through dinner. Favorite movies, worst dates, places we’d want to travel. She told me about growing up in New York, about her mother selling flowers before Hector hired her, about working three jobs while taking care of her mom and somehow staying sane.
I told her about feeling like I was constantly trying to live up to something I’d never fully understood, about Jake being my friend since childhood despite being a disaster as a human.
“He sounds like a character,” Gianna said.
“That’s generous. Most people call him something less charitable.”
“But you’re still friends.”
“Loyalty’s complicated.” I refilled her wine glass. “Sometimes you care about people even when they make it difficult.”
She studied me across the table. “You’re more thoughtful than you let on.”
“Is that good or bad?”
