“Sounds good,” I replied, downing the rest of my sports drink. While I had water, I wished I had more of these.
We showered and changed. Dusty held my hand as we walked down the street. I was wearing slacks and a navy knitted turtleneck, though I had my usual trenchcoat and the hat he’d gotten me.
He wore jeans, a grey henley shirt, and a puffer jacket, along with the Nordic print beanie I bought him.
We were that kind of a couple, weren’t we? But was it a bad thing?
“Do you like it there? I’ll put you on my membership if you do. You don’t have to go with me. In fact, they have alpha-free times. Oh, and they have ladies night. It could be fun. You could make some friends,” he offered.
Friends. Perhaps Ishouldmake some.
“I think I’d like that,” I replied.
We came upon a cute little deli. The smell of fresh bread made my mouth water. There was a case of baked goods, too.
In the corner there were a few men in suits eating lunch and talking. Probably mafia. But there were plenty of ordinary-seeming people having lunch or standing in line to order.
This wasn’t some mere front. This was a thriving business.
“See! I’m up there. I’ve been up there for a little while now. I still can’t believe it.” He pointed to a wall of framed pictures, who I guessed were celebrities of some sort.
There was a photo of him on stage, shirtless, one hand on his equipment, the other in the air.
“That’s pretty incredible,” I replied.
That was my mate.
“What do you recommend?” I looked up at the menu on the wall.
“The grilled ham and cheese is good, so are the meatball sandwiches. You might like the paninis," he suggested.
Oh, a grilled sandwich did sound good.
Zia was an older, but not old, Italian woman with dark hair, and eyes that missed nothing. “Dusty! Who do we have here?”
Her eyes focused on me, and I could tell in that moment I was being assessed in a multitude of ways.
“This is my mate, Saoirse O’Halloran,” he introduced.
“Very nice to meet you. I do believe we should discuss something very briefly in private,” I said softly in Italian.
“Are you ordering lunch or are you just here for a chat?” she asked.
“We had a good workout at the gym. We need food.” Dusty proceeded to order two large sandwiches, several cookies, and a drink.
“I’d like the grilled ham and cheese, extra pickles, a lemonade, and a cookie, please,” I ordered.
Dusty paid for our meal, and she disappeared in the back. When she came out, a young man was with her and he took the register.
She nodded towards the back, and I went around the counter, and followed her. There were all sorts of meats and cheeses, and a meat slicer. Another young man was busy making orders that appeared on a screen. It was very clean and smelled delicious.
We walked right past all of that into a storeroom filled with the types of things a deli might need that were non-perishable.
“What exactly do you have to say to me that you can’t say in front of your mate?” Her arms crossed over her ample chest. It wasn’t unkind, but it was wary.
“I could say it in front of Dusty, but it’s not knowledge forpublic consumption,” I replied in Italian.
“Boston?” she asked.
