Chapter 2
2
ENNIO
I pushed open the door to Giovanni’s, the jingle of the small brass bell announcing my arrival like a fanfare suited for someone far more important. The scent of garlic and oregano wrapped around me like a warm embrace from an old friend. My heart was racing, a jumble of nerves and butterflies duking it out in my stomach. Tonight was about taking chances, about potentially finding that elusive spark with someone new.
“Table for Frant,” I announced to the hostess, barely able to conceal the tremor in my voice. She nodded, her eyes skimming the reservation list before she motioned for me to follow.
As we wove through the maze of tables, I eagerly scanned the room for Luke. The soft clink of wine glasses and the murmur of conversation provided a comforting backdrop to my anxious anticipation. And then, there he was—Luke, sitting solo at a table. I immediately recognized his broad frame, black hair, and sturdy build from the pictures he’d sent me over the last two weeks as we’d gotten to know each other through chat.
He was staring down at his menu, but as I approached, he looked up. A flicker of surprise danced across his face before he could mask it. It was clear he hadn’t expected the burst of color that was me—my hair perfectly styled, subtle makeup in the same shades of pink and purple as my top to enhance my features, and nails impeccably painted a pearly pink. I was even wearing a pair of super-sexy lacy pink panties, just in case. But it looked like they would stay on tonight. Dammit.
“Luke?” I asked, extending my hand with practiced ease despite the flutter in my chest. “I’m Ennio.”
“Hi, Ennio,” he replied, his handshake firm, his tone cordial. But his blue eyes lingered for a fraction too long on my appearance, taking in the bright splash of my presence. My heart fell.
I willed myself not to shrink away, to not apologize for being the vibrant swath of paint on an otherwise muted canvas. This was me, in all my glory, and if Luke—or anyone else—couldn’t handle that, they weren’t worth my time. It had taken me years to accept that, but dammit, I wouldn’t compromise.
“Great spot by the window,” I said breezily, sliding into my seat, determined to keep the mood light and inviting. “You get to watch the world go by.”
I flashed him my best smile, which I hoped radiated friendliness and chased away any awkwardness lingering between us.
Luke chuckled, a sound that eased some of the tightness in my chest. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, his gaze flicking out the window before meeting mine again. There was still a hint of reservation there, but I brushed it aside, unwilling to let it dampen our start. Maybe this could still be saved.
“Have you been here before?” I asked, leaning forward, my elbows finding a home on the edge of the table, bringing me just a breath closer to him.
“Once or twice,” Luke admitted. “It’s nice, cozy.”
“Cozy” wasn’t precisely how I’d describe myself or my tastes, but if it was common ground we were seeking, then cozy it would be. I gave an enthusiastic nod, agreeing wholeheartedly. “It certainly has a lot of atmosphere.”
As the waiter approached, I turned my attention to him, ordering a glass of red wine—a Chianti, robust and full of life, and dare I say, like me?
“And what about you, Luke? What’s your poison?” His eyes traced the menu, and I silently urged him to reveal something personal, a clue into the man behind the polite smiles.
“I’ll go with the same,” he decided after a moment. A spark of triumph ignited within me. Was it a sign that this was still salvageable? Perhaps too soon to tell, but it was a start, and every story worth telling had to begin somewhere.
“Excellent choice.” I let my fingers dance fleetingly over his hand as I withdrew my menu. It was a move laden with flirtation, a habit I couldn’t seem to shake. But that, too, was me.
“Should we order some ciabatta with olive oil?” Luke asked. It was the first time he’d taken the initiative. Maybe he was warming up to me?
“I never say no to bread.”
He grinned. “Same.”
We both perused the menu, and my choice was quickly made. With the ciabatta as an appetizer and pana cotta for dessert, I wouldn’t need a big entrée, so a half-portion of the chicken marsala would suffice.
The server came to bring us our wine, and we both put in our order. Luke was going for the chicken parmesan, rarely a favorite of mine because the chicken was often dry and overcooked. The downside of being a chef was that I tended to be critical of the food prepared for me. Occupational hazard.
“Here’s to new experiences.” I raised my glass.
“I’ll toast to that.” Luke gently clinked his glass against mine, and his smile was genuine now. Was I winning him over?
“How did you become a chef?” he asked.
“My mom is a great cook. Not professionally or anything, but she allowed me to help her in the kitchen from when I was young, and I took a liking to it. When I was ten, I could cut vegetables faster and neater than she could. A few years later, I could prepare a five-course dinner without breaking a sweat. So the decision to apply for culinary school was a logical one.”
“And you’re happy where you are now? Or do you dream of owning your own restaurant?” Luke leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table’s edge, his gaze fixed on me. There was no mistaking the spark of interest lighting up the blue depths of his eyes, and my heart did a pirouette.
“Isn’t that every chef’s dream? I do worry about the business part of it though. Finances are not my forte. I’m a creative, not an accountant.”
He nodded. “I can understand that. As a small business owner, I have to say that the administrative side of being a physical therapist is not my favorite.”
I leaned forward. “What is your favorite part?”
Our conversation flowed easily now, both of us sharing stories from our work and our lives. Luke was fully engaged now, but it failed to ignite the spark within me I longed to feel. I sipped my wine, appreciating its boldness while grappling with a sense of detachment. The conversation flowed easily enough, peppered with laughter and shared interests, but it lacked the electric charge of a potential romance.
As Luke spoke about his own dreams, I nodded along, offering words of encouragement while secretly mourning the absence of butterflies in my stomach. He was everything polite society would deem a perfect match—kind, engaging, and attentive—but the chemistry I’d hoped for was stubbornly elusive. Still, I kept trying.
“Then, just as I’m about to serve the dessert, the soufflé collapses like a deflated balloon at a birthday party,” I said, recounting the time I managed to turn a disastrous kitchen mishap into a five-star dessert, demonstrating the fall with a dramatic slump of my shoulders.
Luke chuckled, his eyes alight with amusement. “I take it you managed to salvage the situation?”
“I transformed it into a deconstructed soufflé. Told them it was an avant-garde presentation. They ate it up—literally and figuratively!”
My laughter echoed through the Italian restaurant, a bright counterpoint to the soft clinking of cutlery and murmur of conversations. Luke shared my mirth, and for a moment, I basked in the warmth of shared joy. But that comfort was fleeting, as my peripheral vision caught the less-than-subtle stares from the adjacent tables. My buoyant spirit dipped, and I forced my hands to stillness, clasping them tightly in my lap under the table.
“Is everything okay?” Luke’s voice pulled me back, his brow creased with concern.
“Of course,” I said a little too quickly, offering him a smile that felt like it might crack at any minute. “Just realized I’m being a bit…loud.” The last word came out as a whisper, betraying my faltering bravado.
“Nonsense,” he replied, though his gaze briefly flitted to the other diners before returning to mine. “Your stories are captivating.”
“Thanks.” I sipped my red wine, hoping the rich flavor would ground me, but the ruby liquid couldn’t wash away the creeping self-consciousness.
Luke leaned forward, the soft glow of the overhead lamp illuminating the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. “You’re amazing, Ennio. You’re so uniquely you. I love it.”
Did he? Was it unfair to hold the flicker of rejection I’d spotted in his eyes when he’d seen me against him?
As our meal continued, I tried to focus on the rich marsala sauce, the juiciness of the chicken, and how perfectly it had been prepared. Still, the weight of watchful eyes pressed down on me, heavy and unrelenting. Snippets of hushed whispers reached my ears and flickers of judgment radiated from glances that lingered a beat too long.
Luke’s laughter, rich and warm, spilled over the table as he finished another amusing anecdote about a client he’d treated. Despite the symphony of our easy chatter, I couldn’t shake the dissonance within me. Luke was charming and kind, but we weren’t meant to ever share more than a meal. It was a bittersweet epiphany, cloaked in the warmth of newfound friendship rather than the heat of passion. Even the most delightful company couldn’t conjure a romantic connection out of thin air, and that realization stung.
I pushed back the last remnants of the superb pana cotta since I couldn’t possibly eat more. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed tonight.” My smile was both genuine and tinged with melancholy. “You’re incredible, truly, and this”—I gestured vaguely at the space between us, the candlelight flickering shadows across our meal—“has been wonderful.”
He set down his fork, his brow creasing ever so slightly. “But?” he prompted gently, his intuition catching the unspoken words still dancing on my tongue.
The weight of my confession pressed against my chest, but I refused to pretend. “But I don’t feel that…spark. You know, that zing that tells you there’s something more or at least a possibility of more?”
His eyes met mine, clear and understanding, and he nodded. “I get it, Ennio. I’ve had a fantastic time talking to you. There’s no denying you’re one of the most vibrant people I’ve ever met. But I feel the same. We’re missing that romantic connection.”
A mix of relief and disappointment surged through me. “I’m glad you understand.”
We said goodbye with a lingering hug, the kind that spoke volumes more than words ever could. “Thanks for a wonderful evening,” I murmured into his shoulder, my voice sincere despite the emotions churning inside me.
“Thank you. You’re delightful, Ennio, and I wish you all the best.” He kissed my cheek and walked away.
I started the short walk back to my car, the heels of my boots clicking rhythmically against the pavement. The restaurant was only one town over, so it wouldn’t take me more than ten minutes to get home.
I loved Forestville. Always had, always would. The little town, nestled among the firs and snow-capped mountains, had always been my home, but the world was vast. Maybe it was time to look beyond these mountain shadows.
Seattle. Could I find what I was looking for in the vibrant pulse of the city? Seattle’s vast dating pool shimmered invitingly. Surely, among the throngs of gay men there, there would be someone who could embrace my vibrancy, match my passion—someone for whom my heart would sing.
I could head there on my days off, perhaps. Set up a few dates beforehand so I wasn’t wasting my time. Or hit the gay clubs there. I was a bit old for the clubs, but Marnin scored there all the time, so maybe they were worth a try.
Wait. Marnin. He had a condo in downtown Seattle. A condo with a nice guest bedroom, from what Auden had told me. Could I ask Marnin if I could stay with him while there? That would save me a fortune in hotel fees. I could hook up elsewhere if needed—I was so not having sex in my brother’s best friend’s condo—but I’d have a place to stay.
I’d see him at Violet’s birthday party, so I’d find a private moment and ask him. He wouldn’t refuse me. Marnin was all bark and no bite, I had discovered, and his prickly exterior didn’t scare me one bit.
My plan made, I already felt better as I turned into my driveway. Finding love was no easy path, especially for someone who wore his heart not just on his sleeve but emblazoned across his entire being. But love was out there. I had to believe that.
Somewhere out there was my other half. All I had to do was find him.