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“Don’t take shots at the new guy,” our captain says. “Our issues aren’t as simple as that.”
He’s almost certainly right. But if we don’t pull it together, I won’t need to find an apartment after all.
Forty minutes later I stride into Romano & Bianchi. My eyes sweep the place and land on Chiara right away. She’s making someone’s dessert just inside the kitchen.
I linger a moment, because there are two waiters during the lunch rush. Today it’s her, and the man who does not like me. I’d made the mistake of sitting in his section one time, and he was so surly to me that I’d wondered how he kept his job. But then I’d heard the cook call “Hey, Bianchi!” and I’d realized he’s the son of one of the owners.
Chiara is a niece of the other owner—she is a Romano. Two families own this place, which is a thing I have learned over time, along with Chiara’s schedule, and her thoughts about pizza toppings.
I have also memorized the precise shape of her smile, and the way she lifts her chin when she laughs.
Now Chiara comes out of the kitchen and spots me. Her smile is enormous. She juts her chin toward an empty table at the front, indicating that I should sit there.
I do, and she arrives at my side just a couple of minutes later. “Ivo! How’s your week going?”
“Okay. And yours?” My English is so much more functional than the first time I came in here. I make an effort to speak to Chiara, and it gets a little less awkward each time.
Actually, I asked her to help me with that, and she said yes.
I still haven’t asked her out for a date, though.
“Can’t complain,” she says, setting an ice cold glass of sparkling water with lemon down in front of me. “I had an idea for your English lessons,” she says, crossing her arms over her perfect chest. There is a little gold cross on a delicate chain around her neck, and I often fantasize about kissing here there, where her pulse flutters at her throat. “A game.”
I’m a little distracted by this image, so it takes me a moment to respond. “A game?”
She pulls a phone out of her apron pocket. “I know how much you like the almond cookies. Get four English words right, and I’ll bring them to you for free.”
“That is very…” I pause to find the right word. “Motivating.”
She laughs, and I feel it in my nuts. Another new word, this one learned in the locker room. I know a lot of dirty English words these days. It’s the company I keep.
“Okay, here you go. I made the first round easy.” She holds up her phone and shows me a picture that makes me laugh.
“You are kinder than any of my teachers in school.”
“It’s a warm-up round. Don’t get cocky.” Her smile almost blinds me.
“Fine. That is a hockey puck.”
She flips to another picture. It’s ajääkiekkomaila, or hockey stick, and I tell her so. “I am a super genius, no?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to get cocky?” She flips to a picture of aherkkusienestä. It’s one of the words I had to look up the first day I came here.
“Uh oh. Starts withM. Mush…thing?”
To her credit, she doesn’t burst out laughing. “Close. Mushroom. I’ll give it to you this time. Last picture.”
“Tomato,” I say quickly. “That one is almost the same in Finnish.”
She flashes me a smile. “The cookies are all yours, big guy. Want your usual lunch?”
“You know it.”
She pauses before she turns away. “It’s nice to see you again. I missed you on Tuesday. Were you out of town?”
I nod. “L.A. and Dallas.” I haven’t told her what I do for work, because it is not nice to brag. But I can tell she is curious.
She pats me on the shoulder and then hurries off to order my pizza from the kitchen.
