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"Someone's already been into my Skittles," I smile, pulling away before I can start tearing clothing off his body.
"I couldn't help myself. If we don't leave soon, we won't be leaving at all."
I laugh. One part of me would totally be okay with that scenario. The other part has missed Ryan's playfulness, and the time he takes planning and executing our dates.
After saying goodbye to Holly and Luke, Ryan leads me down to his SUV, opening my door before giving me another quick kiss and jumping into the driver's side.
"So where are we going?" I ask.
"First, I'm going to feed you," he says, pulling out from the garage onto the street.
Downtown Toronto is always busy.
Even though it's well past rush hour there are still cars, buses, and streetcars crowding the streets. It's nothing like New York City, but Toronto is still a bustling place full of different cultures, sights, sounds, and things to do. When Ryan and I first started dating, we'd always drive to the city to try different things. One weekend we would go to The CN Tower, and the next we'd go to Medieval Times.
He took me to see my first musical at the Royal Alexandra Theatre. He didn't complain about seeing Mamma Mia with me and even hummed and tapped along to the musical stylings of ABBA.
We went to baseball games and tried different foods and restaurants. Any time there was a big festival or event, Ryan would fill up his car with gas, pick me up, and we’d go exploring. When the Canadian National Exhibition came to town, we were the first to line up to try the latest deep-fried craze. The food was ridiculous and huge. Not going to lie, I still crave deep-fried Mars Bars every now and then. And one year, we had this monstrosity called a Fat Baby. It was a cheese pizza folded like a massive waffle cone, filled with spaghetti, meatballs and some type cheese sauce to go along with the marinara. It was disgustingly good. We learned about it on a viral food blog called Fat Fucks Unite. I mean, how can you resist a recommendation like that?
Toronto has excellent food.
One of my favourite things about living here is all the little cities within the city. We have Little Italy, Greek Town, Kensington Market, and Little India. We have diverse cultures with unique flavours waiting to be tasted and discovered.
When Ryan turns onto a familiar street in Little Italy, I have a sneaking suspicion about where we are headed. Seven years ago, after Ryan was drafted to Montreal, he took me to a swanky, ridiculously expensive, romantic Italian restaurant. It was featured on one of those Food Network programs highlighting the best restaurants in Canada.
I was watching and commenting on how romantic the place looked with its old Italian renaissance decor, private, cozy seating, and cute Italian nona and papa owners. The food looked sublime; all homemade pasta and imported ingredients from Italy. I love watching cooking shows, but I can barely boil water without burning it. I live vicariously through social media food blogs and the Food Network.
Ryan surprised me and took me to the little Italian eatery. We ordered expensive wine—even though I was a couple months shy of nineteen—and decadent food. The owner gave us a private table with candles and the whole shebang. It was disgustingly romantic and still gives me the warm and fuzzies just thinking about it. Ryan ordered the best spaghetti we'd ever tasted and immediately proceeded to Lady-and-the-Tramp me. I still have the picture buried in a folder on my phone. It tends to resurface when I want to torture myself with memories of him.
That night was one of the best nights of my life.
After dinner, Ryan took me to Canada's Wonderland, a massive amusement park outside the city limits. We rode rollercoasters until the park closed and Ryan won me the stereotypical teddy bear playing an impossible bowling game where you have to roll a bowling ball just right to make it over a hump and stay on the other side without rolling back. When we finally got home, he kissed me goodnight at my door, parked two streets over from my house, and then ten minutes later, he crawled through my bedroom window. We had amazing, but quiet, sex, and I fell asleep in his arms.
I'll never forget the feeling of being absolutely loved, just lying there, tucked between his arm and chest. It was perfection.
"You sneaky devil," I grin as Ryan parks the SUV near the restaurant. It's a warm night, and people walk the streets, visiting various eateries and shops. He opens my door and takes my hand, leading me to Bottega Dei Sapori—Shop of Flavours.
"I couldn't resist," Ryan says, kissing my cheek. "Signor and Signora Petrillo still have the best cooking I've ever tasted."
"Don't tell Luke's sister, Lily, that. She's a culinary mastermind, on the verge of Top-Cheffing Toronto."
"Luke says she's a force to be reckoned with, but until I sample her food, my taste buds belong to the Petrillos."
If Holly has it her way, it won't be long before the team enjoys Lily's cooking skills. Holly pitched an idea to team management last week, but until it gets the green light, she's not mentioning anything. If our magic eight ball is right, "All signs point to yes."
If Lily can out-cook some other foodies, the proposed new position of team chef will go to her. She doesn't know it yet, but we're rooting for her. The goal is to hire a nutritionist to create ingredient lists and portions for the players and then have a professional chef make magic from them to fuel the team. Fuck nepotism. Lily deserves this break.
Holly and I will be cataloguing and sharing the recipes with fans and hosting cooking and nutrition nights with underprivileged youths alongside a few players.
Ryan leads me through the restaurant door, hand firmly on my lower back, just as he did the first time we came here. I'm surprised that we are the only patrons in the restaurant, and I shoot Ryan a confused look. This place is usually packed full.
"I'm not on an entry-level contract anymore. I can afford a little privacy." Ryan grins, motioning me toward the only candlelit table in the room.
The decor is still the same as it was the last time we were here. The walls are cream, styled with richly designed crown mouldings. Corinthian columns extend to the ceilings, with palm leaves carved into their capitals and flutes running down their lengths. The furniture is dark and sleek, to offset the white, light colours of the walls. The whole effect makes guests feel like they've walked through a door straight into Rome.
"Signore Gunner," a loud, baritone voice booms behind me. "Benvenuto! Welcome! And you have brought back your donna molto bella. My wife still says you were the most innamorato couple she had ever seen. The amore is still there, I see."
I blush as Signore Petrillo gives Ryan's hand a hearty shake before pulling him in and slapping him on the back. When he turns to me, his smile grows even wider as he leans in to kiss my cheeks. He's the most stereotypical, jovial Italian man I have ever seen, with his olive skin, dark, greying hair, and stocky frame.
