Tomasso shakes his head and sets his glass on the counter. “You are wasting your face.”
Matteo opens his laptop again. “Better than wasting my evening.”
I smile.
“Where are you going?” I ask Tomasso.
He reaches for the cufflinks beside his glass. “Dinner.”
“With?”
“A woman.”
“I assumed that.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because there are billions of women, Casanova, and I’m curious which one has inspired cufflinks.”
Tomasso looks down at them. “What’s wrong with cufflinks?”
“Those are very nice cufflinks,” I point out.
Matteo glances up from his screen. “He changed shirts twice.”
Tomasso turns on him. “You are supposed to be the quiet one.”
“I am quiet,” Matteo says. “Not blind.”
Tomasso looks back at me. “They were the first ones I found.”
“They were in a box in the back of your drawer,” Matteo says.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I might start.”
I pick up the glass he left on the counter and look at him over the rim of it. “Her name?”
For the first time, his grin shifts into something less practiced.
“Claire,” he says.
Matteo’s eyebrows lift slightly.
Interesting.
Not only a woman, then.
A woman who matters enough to make my son hesitate before saying her name.
“Tell me about this Claire,” I say and take a sip.
“You taught me never to give away unnecessary information.”
“That doesn’t apply with me.”
