Page 61 of The English Bookstore in Bologna

“I like the name Peggy. You should keep her around.”

“Peggy was a placeholder name,” Bianca said. “I had the idea, a blend of all the clients I’d worked with or read about, but I couldn’t think of a good name, so I called her Peggy Meh and planned on changing it later. But my agent loved it, and she convinced my publisher to love it. Then the idea of Meh to Megawatt took root. That’s partially why it failed. People think it’s cheesy. Some of the reviews tear the concept apart.”

“People don’t know anything,” he said. “And who cares anyway? The act of finishing it must have been so rewarding. I imagine it would be similar to how I might feel on opening night of the restaurant. To realize the impossible dream, you know.”

Why was he so easy to talk to? So honest.

“Would you say it’s autobiographical?” he asked. The way he fumbled through the last word was adorable. “Did Bianca Meh become Bianca Megawatt?”

There he was again, picking on her. Not meanly, but it still cut deep.

“No, it’s not autobiographical, but of course, I’m trying to better myself. Push myself. Like everybody else who wants to realize their potential. That’s the point of my book.” She hated how defensive she felt. “Don’t tell me you’re not supercharged, doing whatever it took to get a job at L’Ambroisie, then coming back to chase your own Michelin star. Talk about megawatts.”

He touched his heart. “Fair enough. It’s true, I’ve worked far too hard sometimes. That’s partially why I left Paris. I didn’t like that culture. So much ego, so much anger. I make slow food. And the only way to do that is to move slowly, live slowly. And though some might argue with me, I’m not in it for the awards. I don’t particularly care about the acclaim or even getting the star. Cooking is what I’m here for, and my joy comes from serving people, seeing the delight on their faces when they’re given an experience they won’t soon forget, giving them an escape from the troubles of their world—if only for a while. What I like is the experience given by a Michelin-starred restaurant. I’ll never forget my first time . . . but anyway . . .”

“No, please tell me.” In the back of her mind, she acknowledged that maybe he was a lot like George, the way he wanted to help others.

As Corrado recounted his memory, she was struck by the way he saw the world. He wasn’t megawatted, not in the slightest.

When he finished, they held eye contact for far too long. She could have knocked the table away and jumped him right then. Those ten years disappeared in a flash, like they were kids again, exploring each other as virgins.

He leaned in closer. “I missed you, my Bianca.”

She looked down. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Why so hesitant?”

“Do you have a few hours?” She felt herself redden. “I have to figure myself out right now.”

He didn’t blink. “We have unfinished business. I’m only halfway through, but does Peggy Meh find love? I’m imagining her male counterpart. Perhaps Billy Boring.”

“Billy Boring? You’re ridiculous.”

“Or maybe Anthony Awful.”

“Talk about awful. And no, Peggy doesn’t find love. It’s not a love story.”

“Ah, then there’s book two, right? Peggy Missing to Peggy Mesmerized, dazzled by her Italian lover.”

“Will you stop it?” She covered her cheeks.

He reached across the table and pulled her hands away. “Look at you. You’re even more beautiful when you blush.”

She shook him off. “I’m warning you. I’m about to go get on a plane and go back to Texas.”

He sat back in retreat. “What if your book failed, just to get you here? Ever consider that?”

Maybe she hadn’t considered it, which was weird. Had the universe conspired against her, making it impossible for her book to succeed? No, the book had failed because she’d clearly written the wrong book. Or given the wrong message. Thought she was funny when she was anything but.

“Or what if you came here to write this second book? Your love story.”

Bianca set her elbows on the table, stared down at her empty cappuccino, and began to massage her temples.

“What’s going on in there? Looking for yourself in the cup? Bianca, where are you?”

She slowly looked up at him. His silliness deserved a kick in the shin.

“Would you like to come see my restaurant?” he asked.