“Very well. I’ll…leave you to it, then.” He nodded and moved out of the way for her to step away from my desk.
The second I was sure she was out of sight, I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“Man, she’s intense. Sorry. I hope I didn’t get you in trouble. Not that I’m worried, though. Pretty sure I made it clear I wouldn’t work with anyone but you,” he said confidently, stepping back when I rolled my chair back to the desk.
“I guess we’ll see.” I glared at him, pointing my finger. “Don’t do that again,” I hissed, making him smile.
“I just wanted to see if you were free for lunch. You’ll be coming to my house again tomorrow, so I wanted to take you out. Here in the city. Makes me frustrated that you’re the one always coming to me,” he said shyly.
Smoothing down my dress, I said, “Oh, okay. Yeah, sure. I don’t have any plans.” I shut down my laptop and pulled my purse out of my desk drawer.
“How does pizza sound?” he asked with a smile and a nod toward the elevator.
“Sounds like a plan.” My mind still swirled with excitement over our encounter and the thought of going out with him. I knew it wasn’t a date. Or was it? I mean, we almost kissed last night.
Ugh, why didn’t I wake up Ren and get her opinion on how to act now?
When we passed Kitty on our way out, she at least waited until Miles had gone past her in the hallway to make silent kissing noises, forcing me to glare at her. Maybe I should’ve asked her.
“It’s a gorgeous day. You okay in those heels to walk?” he asked when we stepped outside. I slipped on my sunglasses and smiled. The sun definitely was brighter today. For many reasons.
“I can handle it,” I said with sass. A half-smile tugged at his mouth as he held his hand in front of him to lead the way.
“Someone in the office told me about a locally-owned Roman-style pizzeria not far from here. Thought you might like a taste of home.”
“Oh, that sounds amazing. I wonder where they got their recipes from?”
“Well, their website boasts that they’re from Sicily.”
“Then, pick up the speed, sir. We have places to be,” I said excitedly.
When we walked into the tiny, narrow pizzeria, the smell of garlic and tomatoes made my mouth water. The wiry, dark-haired young man who greeted us had a distinct accent that immediately made me feel at home.
“Ciao, parli Italiano?” I asked with a wide smile as I leaned over the glass-encased counter. Underneath, there was a wide array of long rectangular pizza slices that looked very different from New York-style pizza. Some slices featured interesting combinations like potatoes and onions, and zucchini and ricotta with lemon zest. All of it smelled like heaven.
With a toothy grin, he excitedly answered, “Si! Da dove vieni?”
“Roma,” I answered, letting him know where I was from. That's when I saw the deepening frown on Miles’ face as he took a small step closer to me.
The move was not lost on the man behind the counter as his lips twisted to the side in amusement. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he said in a heavily accented broken English.
“Ciao, welcome to Bella Roma. I Giovanni. My family and I are excited bring our traditions to beautiful San Diego. We from Sicily but I loveRoma. The eternal city. What joy to meet a fellow Italian. Una bella, bellissima like you.” He finished his lengthy introduction with a chef’s kiss and an eyebrow waggle.
“Gratzie,” I said, smiling widely while Miles rolled his eyes.
“This your first time here?” Giovanni asked, his question directed to Miles.
“Yes,” he grumbled. I was pretty sure he mumbled “last time, too” under his breath.
“Excellent. What can I get you two?” he asked, greeting a few more people who were filing into the tight space. “I can add anything you like to the slices, but they’re perfect as is,” he added proudly with a slight bow of his head.
Miles nodded to me to order first. “One slice of your margherita, please, Giovanni.”
“Please. Call me Gio,” he answered, taking a slice from the display and quickly placing it in the hidden oven under the counter.
He turned to Miles for his order. “Two slices of the pepperoni and sausage, but could you add bacon and peppers to it, please? Oh, and black olives.”
Gio’s face morphed into disgust. Adding the toppings like they’d offended him, he mumbled, “Americans.”
