Praiano. I tuck that information away in my head.
If I remember correctly from my atlas, it's a small town along the Amalfi coast.
We're given one of the tables facing the ocean. Dante helps me into my chair before sitting down across from me. He can be such a gentleman when he wants to be. I have goose bumps on my arms even though it's a warm summer afternoon.
The server comes over to our table. He's smiling, but I notice that his hands are trembling.
"Benvenuti. Would you like the usual,signore?”
"For me,si," Dante says. "But let the lady choose what she likes."
The server turns his attention to me. He tells me the specials in rapid Italian.
"He says that he recommends the truffle gnocchi or grilled branzino,” Dante translates. "They also have sourdough toast with avocado and eggs if you want something from the breakfast menu."
"Oh, I'll have a salad," I say automatically.
"Just a salad?" Dante asks.
"Mm-hmm," I say, keeping my eyes on the cutlery.
I feel him watching me. And then he turns to the server and orders a long list of food.
A few minutes later, small plates of all the specials are on the table.
"You ordered everything?" I ask, looking at the chalkboard. There are six specials written there, and sure enough, there are six dishes on the table.
"You're in Italy, little bird," he says. "You can't just eat a salad and call it a meal."
Being raised by an almond mom meant I heard constant criticism about my body size. She taught me to be mindful about every bite I took. She told me that I had to chew a hundred times before swallowing.
"Why do I have a feeling your mother has something to do with this?" He narrows his eyes at me.
I look up at him in surprise. He has an uncanny way of reading my mind.
"What did we say on the Vespa?" he asks.
"Fuck her?" I whisper.
"That's right, fuck her," he says. "Now please eat before you offend the restaurant owner's ancestors."
I giggle. "I don't want to offend anyone's ancestors."
"Good girl," he growls.
Heat spreads from my core, curling around my heart and sending blood rushing through my veins. I take a bite of the wild mushroom gnocchi to hide my reaction.
It's so good that it makes me forget what I'm flustered about.
"Oh my," I say. "This is delicious."
We finish every plate. Just when I think I can't possibly have another bite, dessert is served—a custard pie with pine nuts and powdered sugar.
I spoon some into my mouth. It has a perfectly crumbly, buttery base and has the creamiest filling. This is probably the best meal I've ever had.
Dante leans back in his chair, watching me.
"There's something I need to tell you," he says after I take my last bite.
