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I realize I haven’t eaten since breakfast. “Starving.”
“I could make us some dinner.” Anthony gently disentangles himself from me and stands.
“If you want to help, we could cook together. I seem to remember you mentioning to Martha an interest in learning how to make tomato sauce from scratch.”
“You remembered that?” I’m touched by this small detail.
Anthony isn’t usually the sentimental type.
A hint of color touches his cheeks.
“Of course I did.” He holds out a hand, pulling me to my feet.
“So, are you up for an Italian cooking lesson?”
“With you as my teacher?”
I smile, giving him my hand as he helps me up from the couch.
“I’d love that.”
We move to the kitchen, gathering ingredients from the well-stocked pantry and fridge.
Chopping vegetables and browning meat side by side at the counter, I’m struck by how domestic this all feels, and how natural it is to fall into an easy rhythm with Anthony.
We laugh and tease each other, bumping hips at the stove.
A warm contentment settles over me, making me realize how deep my feelings for Anthony truly run.
When the hearty stew of chopped vegetables, canned beans, and diced meat simmers on the stove, filling the air with delicious aroma, Anthony passes me a plate with appetizers.
“For you,signorina” he says softly, gazing into my eyes.
“For forgiving me for bringing you into this mess."
“Not that I had a choice” I tell him, watching his expression fall.
Shit, I tell myself. I really shouldn't be so brutally honest all the time.
"But if it had to be with anyone, I'm glad it's with you."
He smiles. I guess, honestly isn't always so bad.
We move to the cozy living room, curling up on the plush sofa with bowls of steaming stew.
“So tell me,” Anthony says, “what's your favorite movie of all time? I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe we can watch one tomorrow?"
I laugh. “Really? That's your attempt at small talk?”
“Hey, I'm trying here,” he protests with a grin.
“What, you don't want to get to know each other better?”
“I know everything I need to about you, Mr. Giovanni,” I tease.
“You're a mafia prince who's terrible at idle chit-chat.”
“Ouch. My feelings.”
