My laugh is uncertain. “You don’t know?”
He shrugs. “I’m not a good cook. I don’t pay that much attention.”
“Pizza or fries, without a doubt, but that’s only for special occasions. I prefer that his diet is healthy. It’s important that he eats his fruits and vegetables.”
He battles to hide his smile. “Show me a kid who likes healthy food.”
I cross my arms. “Noah loves my sweet potato fries.”
“Sweet potato, huh? That’s cheating.”
“Wait until you see my spaghetti bolognese.” I wag my eyebrows. “I sneak spinach and lentils into the sauce.”
He sucks air through his teeth. “Poor kid.”
“Slow release carbs are important for a small body that needs energy for growing.”
He goes from playful to serious in a second flat. “Let’s go out tonight.”
Wow. He changes gears so fast he gives me whiplash. “On a date?”
“Just dinner if you don’t want it to be a date. Pizza. Noah will like that.”
I gasp. “Are you trying to arm-wrestle me into going out with you by using our son?” I jab him in the ribs. “That’s called manipulation, and low, may I add, using a child to get your way.”
“It’s just dinner.” He hooks my wet hair behind my ear, staring down at me with a tender, earnest expression. “Come on. It’s eat-as-much-as-you-like night at the Pizza Palace. What do you say?”
Trying to keep things light, I reply with humor, “I’ll think about it?”
“You like to play on a man’s insecurities.”
“You? Insecure? Ha.”
He slams a hand over his heart. “You’ll hurt my feelings.”
I can only laugh.
He grows serious again. “Is that a yes?”
“Fine.” I put my hand over his. “Eat-as-much-as-you-like pizza won’t kill Noah as long as it remains the exception.”
“Good.” He appears happy with himself. “I’ll make a reservation.”
I laugh again. “Dante.”
“What?”
“You don’t make a reservation for the Pizza Palace.”
He seems smug. “I do.”
“Oh, my God.” I slap his arm. “You’re such a snob.”
“I call it planning. We don’t want to get Noah’s hopes up only to find that the place is full.”
“I bet you know a hundred Italian restaurants in this city that will make you a pizza when you tell them to.”
“Yes, but it’s not the same. They don’t have crayons and placemats for coloring. And just for the record, I always ask.” He cocks an eyebrow. “I have manners.”
