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With my first destination being less exciting than I’d hoped, I make my way to the closest cafe. I should be able to order a coffee with little hassle, and try a pastry to see if they are any better than back home. Stephan suggested I eat my way through Italy, so there’s no time like the present to begin. When in Rome, or in my case,Verona.
The cafe is quaint, feeling more like a restaurant than a coffee shop. I’m able to get a table with little wait and peruse the menu using my translation app. While some items are familiar, many are not. There’s no point in ordering something I can have at home, so I order thebombolini, which are described as a fluffier doughnut, and a coffee.
When they arrive, instead of a coffee, it’s a glass of red wine. “Mi scusi, uh, I didn’t order this.”
He huffs a laugh with a smirk. “No, she did.” I frown and he gestures with a nod to a woman two tables down from me.
Is this normal? This isn’t normal, right?
First Andrea, now this mystery woman? I’m about to decline the wine when he insists, placing it closer to me on the table. He gives me a knowing look, and to not offend either of them, I raise my glass in silent cheers to the woman who does the same. He nods and walks away as I take a sip.
The woman finishes her wine and stands. I expect her to invite herself to my table. Instead, she leaves the cafe, making the exchange even more strange. I shrug it off as being a cultural difference and finish my wine and the fluffiest damn doughnut balls I’ve had in my life. If the pizza and pasta are as good as these, it seems my luck is turning after all. I wipe my mouth and take out the piece of paper from the hotel.
TRATTORIA PERRELLI
Andrea 39 123 456 7890
Shaking my head with a chuckle, I put the note away. While I have no desire for Andrea to join me, I know where I’m having dinner tonight.
RICHARD
The cab pulls up to the restaurant and it’s everything I hoped it could be. Back home, the smaller the restaurant, the better the food. From what I’ve read, Italy is no different.
I open the heavy wooden door and am met with the smell of fresh garlic, baked bread, and a blend of spices and herbs. My mouth waters from the aroma and, with no host at the host stand, I let my nose lead me to the bar. I take a seat and the woman facing away from me turns to greet me.
Unlike the other women I’ve encountered since landing in Verona who are flirty and sweet, she snaps, “Siamo chiusi.”
I have no fucking clue what that means, so I take out my phone to translate it phonetically but come up empty. “Uh,scusa.” She waits impatiently as I type. “Non parlo italiano.”
Fuck, my pronunciation is shit.
“American?” she asks with a sneer.
“Yeah, how did you know,” I sheepishly reply, rubbing the back of my neck.
“We’re closed.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t think to check the sign on the door. I got your information from the receptionist at my hotel, she said you have the best carbonara in Italy,” I embellish, trying to smooth things over.
Her jaw tics. “Well, she’s right. We do.”
We remain in a silent stand-off for nearly a full minute. I’m not sure what would happen if I blink, but I feel like it wouldn’t be great for me. “Fine, I can make you something,” she concedes and I blow out a long breath. Then, with a clipped tone, she asks, “What do you want?”
I offer a bright smile. “Surprise me.”
Her hard features soften and a small smirk tugs at her lips. “Oh, it’ll be a surprise.”
“Fantastic.”
No, this is not fantastic! She’s going to poison you!
She has no reason to poison you.
Plus, this girl’s too beautiful to be an assassin.
Play it cool.
She walks to the back and a minute later another woman walks out, this one equally pretty but has a bounce in her step. “Hello there,” she purrs as she approaches the bar.
