With a blush, she grabs the flowers, making her fingers graze mine, sending the butterflies in my stomach into a whirlwind. “Thank you, come in. I'll put these in water.” Following her into the kitchen, I feel myself get sweatier. Thank God Sadie suggested I go with the black t-shirt.
Why am I so nervous? When has a girl ever made me nervous?Pulling me out of my thoughts, I see Hannah looking at me, waiting for me to answer. “I’m sorry I missed that,” I say, feeling myself turn red.
“I asked if what I was wearing was okay. I know you said casual, but hopefully I’m not dressed too casual,” she repeats.
Without thinking, I say the first thing that comes to mind, “You look perfect.” Running a hand through my hair, I say, “I mean your outfit is perfect for what I have planned.”
With a blush that dips into her tantalizing cleavage, she sets the flowers in a vase on the kitchen island. “I’ll bring these into my room once we’re back.”
“Sounds great,” I say as we spend a few minutes just looking at each other, with her worrying her hands and biting her lower lip. I know I should be getting her into my truck, but I can’t stop myself from focusing on that bottom lip and the blush that just seems to deepen into the swell on her top. Unable to stop myself, I take a step forward to bring my hand to cup the side of her face, using my thumb to free her bottom lip. “How about we make our way to supper before I decide to just bring you home instead.”
With a hitch of her breath, she nods her head “yes” as I grab her hand, leading her to the front of Levi’s house.
A short, quiet drive later, we arrive at the small Italian restaurant, owned by an old Italian couple, Carlo and Fransesca. “I hope you like Italian,” I say as I help her out of the truck, “I should have asked before bringing you here.” I really should have checked with her first. Maybe she doesn’t like Italian food. Sadie would say that it’s a red flag if she doesn’t like Italian, whatever that means. It’s probably a red flag that I didn’t ask. Jesus. What am I doing bringing a girl . . . No, a woman, like Hannah, to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. I should have . . .
Before I can keep spiralling, she grabs my hand and says “Italian is my favorite. Who doesn’t like Italian? It’s all cheese and carbs. Seriously, only walking red flags don’t like cheese and carbs.”
I’m laughing now as I say, “I was just thinking that Sadie would tell me to run if you said you didn’t like Italian food.”
Laughing, she answers, “That girl is smart. Definitely gonna go far in life.”
“If by smart you mean scary, then I agree,” I say with a chuckle of my own as I open the door to the restaurant, letting her walk in first.
Standing at the hostess stand is none other than Fransesca herself.
“Ian!” she gasps, making her way around the stand to give me a hug and a huge kiss on the cheek, leaving it’s usual red lipstick mark. “I saw your name on the reservation list and decided I had to man the house tonight,” she says in a light Italian accent. After decades of living in Canada, her accent has diminished quite a bit, but it’s still there. Just enough for you to know that you’re getting an authentic meal when you walk through the doors.
“And who is this?” she asks, turning towards Hannah.
“This is Hannah,” I say, not elaborating, knowing she likes to gossip more than my mom.
“Hannah, is it?” she asks, extending a well-manicured hand towards a smiling Hannah. “I saw a reservation for two and I expected to see Miss Sadie with you, not this gorgeous woman,” she says with a wink. “I would have expected your mother to call me, or at least text me, to let me know you were bringing a date to my restaurant.” She keeps going as she grabs two menus and starts leading us to the dark, secluded back of the dining room where all the booths are.
“Unless she doesn’t know?” Fransesca asks, gently placing the menus on the corner booth, stepping back so we can take our seats.
“I didn’t tell her,” I answer truthfully.
“It’ll be our little secret,” she says with an over-the-top wink. Turning to Hannah, she says, “It was lovely to meet you, I hope to see you again. Enjoy your evening.” Then Francesca turns to leave with a last glance and small smirk over her shoulder.
The minute she’s out of earshot, Hannah lets out a small giggle. “She seems nice.”
“If by ‘nice’ you mean nosy and probably texting the book club—a book club she started with my mom—that I’m here on a date, then yes, she is very nice,” I say as I take the napkin off the tableto wipe at my cheek that I know is marked by her red lipstick. “I’m starting to question why I brought you here.”
“Because we make the best food in town,” Rosalie, Fransesca’s granddaughter, answers before Hannah can say a word. “Nonna told me you were here on a date. I had to check it out myself. I had to see who made enough of an impression on you for you to bring her here, knowing we’d all be intrigued.”
“Hi, Rosalie, nice to see you. How’s it going?” I ask in an annoyed tone. “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”
“And miss pissing the crap out of you? Never,” she says with a giggle, turning towards Hannah. “Hi, I’m Rosalie but everyone calls me Ro.”
Grabbing her hand for a quick shake, Hannah introduces herself. “Hi, I’m Hannah.”
“So, how did you meet Ian here?” Rosalie asks.
“I live with Levi; how doyouknow Ian?” Hannah asks right back, showing off some of that sass, making me smile and relax a bit knowing that she can hold her own with this bunch.
“We went to high school together, and his mom gave me riding lessons when I was little.”
Before Rosalie can continue, her name is called from the kitchen. Turning my head, I see Carlos calling his granddaughter over as he gives me an apologetic look before he lets the kitchen door close.
