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“Damn right,” he said. “Next time, it’s on me.”
We were mid-conversation when a presence arrived at the table, and expecting a waitress, I looked up and saw Sofia standing there.
Tony interjected and said hello, and I cracked a joke about her saying she was doing everything today, hoping to get a smile. When it did, it emboldened me, and when she openly challenged me in the chili cook-off, I took it a step further, shaking her hand and telling her I looked forward to it before moving on to more conversation. I wanted to keep her there as long as I could.
“Do you cook often?” I asked.
She nodded.
“I work in the kitchen most of the time, actually,” she said. “You’ve happened to catch me when I’m not back there, but I usually am.”
“She’s the one who makes the sauce I was talking about. Speaking of, can we get that with our sticks?” he asked.
“Uh-huh,” she said, not taking her eyes off mine. “I love to cook.”
“She really loves spicy stuff, apparently,” Tony said. “She has stuff on the menu from time to time, and like I said, this dip has a subtle…”
“I love heat,” she said.
Tony laughed.
“Well, you’ll love Kieran then. He’s a fireman.”
There was a look that flashed across her eyes, and I felt myself grinning like an idiot. Her eyes were gorgeous. I felt like I could lose myself in them forever. The way her hair curled in her ponytail tied tight behind her head was enticing, and I felt myself wanting to run my hand through it.
“Can you take a break?” I asked. “Would you want to sit with us?”
“I would love to,” she said, raising my heart rate and my hopes all at once before crushing them, “but I’m working. I can’t sit on the clock, and there’s no one to cover me at the moment.”
“Ahh,” I said.
At that moment, another person showed up and introduced herself as Jessica, our waitress. As Sofia walked away, I couldn’t tear my eyes off her, specifically the way her hips waggled from left to right and her ass shook in a manner that made my pants tighter. Jessica cleared her throat, and I forced my attention to go to the middle-aged woman with blonde tips and brown roots and a smoker’s grumble.
“Sorry,” I said. “What was that?”
“Your drink, hon,” she said. “What would you like?”
“Oh. Umm, I’ll take a Sam—if you have the Summer Ale, that one. If not, whatever is on tap.”
“Sure,” she said. “Sofia will probably bring the drinks over, and I’ll be back to take your order. Sticks will be out in just a few minutes.”
With that, Jessica disappeared, called by someone at another table. She disappeared through the door separating the restaurant and the bar, and I found myself impressed by her ability to wait on both.
“Jessica is alright, but keep an eye on your order,” Tony said. “She sometimes forgets modifications if you make any. But she’s attentive and always keeps your drink topped off.”
“Good to know,” I said distractedly. My eyes had already floated behind the bar, where Sofia was back, pouring a couple of beers.
“I like heat too,” Tony said. “It’s not my favorite thing in the world, but I like some spice once in a while.”
I looked back toward the bar but didn’t see Sofia and was about to give in to the idea that maybe I shouldn’t be eyeballing her all night when she showed up in my periphery. She had two beers in her hands and looked for all the world like an Italian version of the St. Pauli Girl.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “here are your beers.”
“Thank you, Sofia,” I said, making sure to make eye contact. She smiled again, and I felt my chest tighten.
“You are very welcome,” she said. “I have something special in the back for you two. Give me about ten minutes for it, alright?”
“Sure,” Tony said excitedly, apparently unaware that his sudden good fortune of special food might have something to do with the way Sofia and I were looking at each other.
“Be back in a bit,” she said.
While she was gone, Jessica arrived with the mozzarella sticks, complete with two dips, one a traditional marinara and the other the “special” dipping sauce. One bite of it and I thought I had it figured out, but a second bite made me doubt my initial thoughts.
“Is that sriracha?” I asked.
“I asked,” he said. “No. She won’t tell me what it is, but she said she would tell me what isn’t in it, if I guessed.”
“And what’s to stop her from lying to you?”
Tony looked crestfallen, as if the idea had never even crossed his mind.
“No,” he said in a half-whisper. “She wouldn’t. We’re both Italian.”
“That alone would stop her?”
“I mean, Italian in Tennessee. In a small town. There has to be some kinship there,” he said. “Plus, we both cook.”
