“What?” I screech.
Giovanni elbows Lucia in the ribs. “I just asked her which cabinet houses the good olive oil.”
“Oh,” I chuckle.
Giovanni scans my outfit, head to toe, and a strange expression flashes in his eyes, but he hastily turns back to the pot, stirring studiously.
“Can I please take her to see my room now?” Michael begs, widening his eyes in the same adorable way that manipulated me into coming tonight.
“Alright,” his mom acquiesces. “But only for five minutes; dinner’s nearly ready.”
Michael grabs my hand and guides me down the short hallway to his door, which has a drawing of a dragon hanging on the front. He ushers me inside, and I take a look around. While the space is small, there’s still enough room for a substantial bookshelf, which is—of course—filled with plenty of gaming guides, as well as two large card binders.
Michael beelines to his shelf. “I have something to give you.” He yanks a binder off the bookshelf, unzipping it and removing a card.
I pull my wallet out of my small crossbody purse and retrieve the vintage Charmander card my thirty-one year old brother (reluctantly) gave me from his old collection. “I also have something for you.”
“This is for you. It’s a full art card of Eevee,” he says solemnly, gently placing it in my hand.
“Michael, are you sure?” I don’t know the precise value, but I know that full art cards aregoodcards. He simply nods and throws me a huge smile. Before I can get emotional over his generous heart and make things awkward, I place my card in his hand.
He checks the year on the bottom of it. “A vintage rare?! I need to show Zio!”
Michael drags me by the hand all the way to the kitchen, only letting go to hold the card up triumphantly. “Zio Gi, look what Tess got me!”
“Tess?” Giovanni asks, seemingly perturbed at Michael’s use of my nickname. Ruffling Michael’s hair with the oven mitt, he says, “A vintage? Thatisspecial. I’m happy for you, ometto.” He gives me an unreadable look before straightening, but I think I see a small smile forming on his lips.
“Dinner’s ready.”
The four person kitchen table is covered in large, shallow bowls of food. The biggest one features spaghetti in a golden-colored, creamy sauce, sprinkled with little chunks of meat, pepper, and cheese.
“This smells heavenly. What are these bits here?” I ask, pointing to the meat pieces sprinkled throughout the pasta.
“Guanciale. Kind of like bacon, but fattier,” Lucia explains. “It’s spaghetti alla carbonara. The pasta is tossed in an egg-based ‘sauce’ and sprinkled with parmigiano-reggiano.”
“It looks absolutely incredible. Thank you so much, Lucia.”
She picks up some pasta on her fork. “I actually only did the bread. Out of the two of us, Gi’s the better cook.”
I glance at Giovanni. “You cooked this?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s a family recipe. You don’t have to eat it.”
Men are so dramatic. I heap a big portion onto my plate. “Lucia confirmed it’s poison-free earlier, so I’m good. Although, I’d appreciate it if one of you would take a bite first, just to be sure,” I add, throwing Lucia a wink. She takes a bite of pasta, before pretending to choke on it. Michael laughs hysterically, leaning all the way back in his chair.
“Enough. The three of you,” Giovanni grumbles, shoving a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth.
Lucia glances between Giovanni and I. “So, are you both ready for Milan? The design is so special. And the appliqué, I still can’t believe?—”
“Micheletto, why don’t you tell our guest aboutyourdrawings?” Giovanni interjects.
Michael flushes crimson and ducks his head. “She’s arealdesigner. She doesn’t want to hear about my stupid drawings.”
Swallowing a huge bite of the best pasta I’ve ever tasted, I chime in, “Well now you have to tell me, because I’m a firm believer that no art is stupid, as long as it’s original.”
“Um, okay,” he replies quietly. “I like to draw characters. I kind of want to do a graphic novel one day.”
“Whoa. That’s majorly cool. I can barely draw the models underneath the clothes in my sketches. Bodies are so tricky. I’d love to see any of your drawings one day.”
