A knot formed in my gut at the thought of him moving away. Suddenly the cannoli didn’t taste the same. “Are you willing to move if you get an offer someplace outside Portland?”
Nick looked at his empty plate and ran his finger through the crumbs. “Yes. That’s always been an option if nothing is available in the Pacific Northwest. I’m willing to move for the right offer. That’s why I’ve been working my ass off to be in the top of my class.”
I forced myself to smile. “I’m sure you’ll be successful, especially when my project is complete. Everyone is going to want you to work for them.”
It was hard to find the enthusiasm for the project now, but maybe I could convince him to stay. Refusing to let it ruin our trip, I forced thosethoughts to the back of my mind. I reached across the table andtook his hand. “Are you ready to go? We have a couple more places to stop.”
“I’m ready,” he said. “But I’m going to need to walk a little bit if it’s something else to eat?”
I laughed as we stood from the table. “Of course it is.”
I left a tip for the waiter as we headed out to do some walking. The wind was more prevalent down in Lower Manhattan, so we needed to find a place to buy some scarves.
A short time later, we entered a store that looked like an old general store that made noodles and authentic sauces. They specialized in pasta made freshdaily and was a family favorite.
“My grandmother used to send me and Greyson here to get their fresh gorgonzola ravioli. When she stopped wanting to make it herself, this was the only place she’d buy it. It’s so good that a lot of restaurants in Manhattan buy their pasta right here.”
As we looked at the dozen or so varieties of ravioli, it brought back memories of cooking with my Nonna in the kitchen at home. Nick chose a few to try, and I purchased some of my favorites for us to taste. Nick groaned when he tasted the lobster ravioli.
“Please tell me you want to include this, too.”
I grinned and kissed his cheek. “Now you’re catching on.” We walked around the store while sharing our pasta for at least half an hour, taking in everything. Nick took picture after picture thatI hoped would give him inspiration.
“How much of your family is Italian?” he asked, looking at all the varieties of pasta.
I nodded. “My Nonna and my mother. My father is from the States. They met at Columbia, and when I came along, they moved us to Connecticut.”
Nick smiled up at me. “That’s cool. Are you planning to see them while we’re here?”
I pulled him closer. “I’d planned to take you to meet them on Thursday, if that’s okay. My Nonna is eighty-three, and she’d be upset if I didn’t come to visit.”
Nick’s eyes widened. “I don’t blame her. I’d love to meet them. You know how I feel about my family, and I can’t imagine how you feel being on the west coast. There’s no way I could be this close and not at least visit.”
My heart swelled as I realized more and more each day how he was perfect for me. As we stood in the middle of the aisle,Nick looked at the iPad in his hands and flipped through all the photos he’d taken. “I think I have everything here, so we can go whenever you’re ready.”
“Then let’s go,” I said, taking his hand in mine.
We walked along the street, taking in the little shops and looking at the dated buildings. It made me feel some way to think about all the immigrants who’d left everything they knew for a life in America and flocked to the neighborhoods where people like them lived.It made remembering and preserving my Nonna’s stories even more important.
Suddenly I felt incredibly lucky to have the things I did in this life, and it made me want to give back experiences to the people in Portland. I wanted the rustic and authentic looks to honor those who’d come before us.
“What are you thinking about?”
Nick looked over at me, waiting for my reply. “Just how I want all this—the culture and history of this neighborhood—reflected in the design.”
He looked around at the neighborhood and took more pictures of the buildings on Grand and Mulberry St. Nodding to himself, I could see his mind working to piece it all together.
“You were right,” he said, looking at me. “I did need to see it in person to feel it. The sense of community in this area is like nothing I’ve ever experienced.”
Smiling, I kissed his cheek. “I knew you’d get it.” I was so fucking proud, and we hadn’t even put the first idea on paper yet.
Our last stop was a cheese shop that had been in business for over a hundred-and-thirtyyears. They made their own mozzarella and ricotta, and he had to taste it.
“Let me guess,” he teased, “we’re planning for a cheese shop, too.”
“No. Well, maybe, but this is for the wine tastings in the wine bar we’ll be putting in. You know—what did you call it? My seductive grilled cheese?”
Nick laughed. “If the sandwich fits.”
