Page 31 of Allegiant

“She’ll murder you if she hears you say that.”

Samson laughs, and god, the way he lights up. I want to make him do it again. But that’s the kind of thinking that blurs lines and leads to pain. Instead, I force my gaze away from him, looking at the menu.

“I’ll get my regular,” Samson says, and the girl nods, writing his order down on a piece of paper before turning her gaze to me.

“And you?”

“Oh, umm…what do you recommend?”

She shrugs. “It’s all good, to be honest. Nonna prides herself on her cooking.”

I peer over at Samson, and he points to a dish. “Penne ala vodka. Not too heavy, but good for refueling.” He turns back to the girl, smiling like he’s proud. “He’s a dancer.”

Her lips form a small O, and she bobs her head, her reaction making me blush. “I knew I recognized you. I’ve seen you on the posters around town.”

“He’s the lead,” Samson says. Is he…bragging? That thought has my stomach doing pirouettes. “Going to blow them all away come opening night.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t know that.”

He frowns. “I do know. I’ve seen you dance.”

“You’ve seen me teach,” I correct him. “It’s not the same.”

Samson opens his mouth but quickly closes it before offering me a strained smile. “Guess you’re right.”

Our waitress taps her pen on the pad. “Either way, Nonna will be so pleased to have someone famous here.”

Samson raises an eyebrow. “Tell Nonna I’m famous too.”

“She doesn’t think so.”

That makes me laugh, and I watch as she rips the piece of paper from the notepad and waves it around. “I’ll give it to Nonna, and I’ll bring you some grappa and water while you wait.”

As she disappears through a swinging door, I turn my attention to the black-and-white photos lining the walls. All of them feature the same woman, just at different ages.

“Is this Nonna?” I gesture at the photos.

Samson smiles at them almost fondly. “Yep.”

“What did you do for her that the food is free?”

“Paid off some debt.”

Not the answer I expected. Although, I don’t know what answer I was expecting. “That’s amazing. I didn’t know that the Buckinghams did that.”

“They didn’t. I did.”

I feel my cheeks warm, and I nod, my fingers fiddling with the silverware. “That was very generous of you.”

His gaze bores into mine, and I turn away slightly, needing a moment to breathe. And as I do, I see an older woman—the same one from the photographs—make her way toward us, wiping her hands on her white apron.

Then she reaches out and touches Samson’s cheeks. “Tesoro. Too long. My heart has been sad without you.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy. Caught up with work. A lot has happened in the past few months.”

She tuts. “Busy, everyone is always busy, but you are here now, so this is good. And I have improved my spaghetti recipe. You will like it.”

Samson looks scandalized. “Nonsense. It was perfect to begin with.”