Chapter 19
Griffin
Vic pulls the car into the service alley behind the studio building, a damp passage squeezed between the brick walls of the city high-rises pressed together. Griffin must’ve driven past this building countless times over the years, and only today did he discover that up on the ninth floor sits the studio. Before now, it never would’ve concerned him.
When the black car comes to a stop, Griffin reaches out, swings the door open, and gestures for his guest to go first.
Aria has pulled her coat tightly around her, the oversized hood pulled up. “Thanks,” she says quietly and slides into the seat.
Griffin shuts the door behind her and rounds the car. When he slides in on the other side, Aria pulls her hood down. “Where to?”
Vic turns around in the driver’s seat. He’s gray-haired with a thick mustache, and his deep brown eyes are warm. “I was wondering the same.”
Griffin pulls out his phone. “Let me double-check,” he mutters to himself. “Yup, he’ll be there. Enzo’s on Twenty-Seventh.”
Vic nods, turns back to face the front, and shifts the car into gear.
Aria looks over. “Is this some fancy spot?”
Griffin shakes his head. “It’s one of Chicago’s little-known secrets. Well, unless you’re on the Wardens. Enzo DiCamaro is brother to Alessio DiCamaro, former defensive lineman to the Wardens. What started as a postgame tradition—wood-fired pizza at Enzo’s—grew to the point where the whole team wanted in. Eventually Enzo needed a bigger kitchen and dining area. So a bunch of us pitch in to rent the spot on Twenty-Seventh, one big enough to hold the team.”
Aria’s eyes shine as she smiles back. “So, like a pizza speakeasy.”
“Precisely.”
In only a few minutes, Vic stops on a quiet street a little outside of the busiest part of the city. Griffin thanks Vic and climbs out of the car. He starts to round the car to get Aria’s door, but she beats him to it, climbing out and calling her thanks to Vic.
She stands on the sidewalk. “So, what happens next? Secret password? We cast a spell?”
Griffin sets his wide palm on Aria’s back. He ignores the tingle beneath his fingertips at the touch of her—the gentle curve of her back that’s toned yet delicate. He then pointsacross the street at a red wooden door, unmarked, but the wall-mounted gas lamp beside it glows.
“Just follow the red door.” He sings the words like they’re a nursery rhyme.
Aria squeaks, “This is so fun!” then takes off in bounds—despite her heels—across the vacant road.
Griffin catches up in a few strides, and when they reach the door, he retrieves his keys from his pockets, and after a moment, slots one of them into the lock. He turns the knob and stands off to the side as he lets the door fall open. Griffin wants to see the look on her face when she sees this place.
Aria gasps, and her hands go to her mouth as she steps slowly inside, head turning to take the whole place in.
Like Griffin promised, the place isn’t large or fancy, but it’s a hidden, cozy gem right in the middle of an industrial city known for bitter-cold weather. The narrow entryway is lined with Victorian woodwork and black-and-white tiles on the floor. The rows of coat hooks in the tiny entryway are empty, all but one this evening when Griffin reaches out to Aria.
“May I take your coat?”
Aria looks over at him with surprise, a quick crinkle of her smooth brow that melts into appreciation. “Sure thing. You’re quite the old-school gentleman.”
Griffin takes her coat as he laughs at the comment. “Please tell my mother that.”
As Griffin hangs Aria’s coat, then his own, she wanders a few steps farther, and she gasps at the living room turned dining room.
He falters for a moment. Is this over the top? Griffindecided to bring Aria to Enzo’s because it’s private—they can be genuinely “off script,” not having to worry about a fan two tables over recording them talking candidly. That’s always what he wants at the end of the day—to escape the spotlight, which he achieves so easily at his condo. Inviting her over seemed like a step too far at the time, but as he joins Aria on the threshold of the dining area and spies the table Enzo has arranged for them, the others pushed to the sides, he wonders if this was the right choice. The table—usually bare, aside from a stray grease stain here or there—is covered in white linen. Three taper candles are pressed into empty wine bottles and lit. The silverware looks far sparklier than usual. Griffin swallows his mortification.
“Oh my goodness.” Griffin feels his cheeks heating. “I’m sorry. I told Enzo I was bringing a friend, and I’m wondering if maybe he thought that was code for a date.”
Aria looks over at him and laughs. “Oh, Griff, you ladies’ man. You bring girls here often or what?”
Griffin swallows a groan and takes a moment to massage his temples. “Almost never. Maybe once in all of history. But I also don’t typically bring friends here because most of my friends are guys already on the team.”
Aria rubs her hands together. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I say we enjoy it, right? I’m starving, and it’s a very sweet setup.” She crosses the room and takes the back of a chair, pulls it out, and begins to sit.
