Chapter 6 Ask Me Right
Vinny had asked girls out before. Plenty of times.
Too many times, depending on which version of his mother was telling the story.
He knew how to ask someone to grab coffee.
He knew how to ask someone to meet up after work.
He knew how to make it sound easy, like the answer didn’t matter that much, like he hadn’t spent half the day thinking about it.
That was the problem. With Sophia, the answer mattered.
A lot. Every way he tried to ask sounded wrong.
Hey, teach, want to go out sometime? Too casual.
Sophia, may I formally request—absolutely not.
He sounded like Brett Anderson reading a legal notice.
Do you want to have a picnic with me? Too sudden.
Do you like parks? What was wrong with him?
Vinny stood at the prep table before service, rolling meatballs while his brain kept making every version worse.
Across the kitchen, Antonia checked the stockpot. Gia was counting silverware near the service station and complaining that forks were always uneven “in a suspicious way.” Sophia hadn’t arrived yet, which was good because Vinny still had no words.
For once, he had no words. For Vinny, it was a disaster.
Gia looked up from the silverware. “You’re doing the quiet thing again.”
Gia noticed the quiet thing almost immediately and dragged the truth out of him before the meatballs were even round.
He was going to ask Sophia out. A picnic, public and easy, with food she could enjoy without feeling trapped.
Gia approved more seriously than he expected, and Antonia did too after making him define where, when, and how Sophia could say no.
“Small ask,” Antonia said. “Clear. Honest. Then stop talking.” The food advice came fast after that: sandwiches, something lemon, enough napkins, and absolutely no meatballs for a first-date picnic.
Vinny went back to work with too many rules in his head and Sophia due any minute, then promptly rolled one meatball into the shape of Illinois.
Gia passed behind him and muttered, “That one looks like Illinois.”
“Go count a fork.”
“Already did. Forks are complete. Your meatballs aren’t.”
The kitchen door swung open before Vinny could answer. Sophia stepped in with her apron folded over one arm, and he froze with the misshapen meatball still in his hand.
Sophia glanced over. Vinny froze. Sophia smiled. Not big or for everyone. Just enough.
“Hi,” she said.
He wiped his hands on a towel. “Hi.”
That was all. Painful. Adult, probably, but terrible.
Sophia looked at the tray. “Are those supposed to be that shape?”
Gia made a delighted sound. Vinny looked down. One meatball did, in fact, look like Illinois.
“Experimental,” he said.
Sophia’s mouth curved. “Geography meatballs?”
“Limited menu item.”
“Very limited,” Antonia said from the stove. “Fix them.”
“Yes, chef.”
Sophia laughed, then turned toward the cubbies.
Vinny watched her go for exactly one second.
After one second, he made himself fix the meatballs.
Progress. The shift went well enough, except his brain kept yelling at him to ask her every time Sophia came near the pass.
No flirting during rush stayed alive. Barely.
He said “table six,” “hot plate,” “behind,” and “thank you” like they were the only words he knew.
Sophia noticed. He knew she noticed because she kept giving him small looks, like she was trying to figure out if he was upset or behaving. Behaving, mostly. Near nine, Sophia came for table eleven’s dessert plates. Vinny slid two tiramisu servings toward her.
“Table eleven,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
She waited half a second. So did he.
Then she said, “Are you all right?”
The question almost knocked him flat. Not because it was big. Because she asked, like she had been wondering for a while.
“Yeah,” he said. “Why?”
“You’re quiet.”
Gia, from the service station, coughed into her hand. Antonia looked over. Vinny ignored both of them.
“Trying not to get fired by a garnish,” he said.
Sophia smiled. “Good plan.”
“Best one I’ve had all week.”
Her eyes warmed. He wanted to ask her right then. No. They were still at the pass with the rush too close and too many people around. He bit it back. Sophia seemed to know. Which was becoming another problem.
She took the plates. “Luck with the plan.”
“Thanks, teach.”
Good. Her smile stayed as she left. Vinny exhaled.
Gia slid up beside him. “That was almost mature.”
“Almost?”
“You looked like you forgot how to breathe.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re panicking.”
“That isn’t how people work.”
“In kitchens, it is.”
Antonia said, “Gia.”
“I’m leaving.”
She didn’t leave. Antonia pointed. Gia left. By ten-thirty, the dinner rush had thinned into coffee, dessert, and lingering couples who didn’t understand that closing time wasn’t a suggestion. Vinny finished wiping the line, checked with Antonia, and tried to act normal. He failed.
Antonia came up beside him with a stack of plates. “Go take five.”
His head snapped up. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“But I’m not done with—”
“I am aware of what is and isn’t done in my kitchen.”
“Yes, chef.”
She set the plates down. “Sophia is almost finished with her section. She usually takes trash from the service station out before leaving. Don’t ask her by the dumpster.”
Vinny stared at her. Antonia looked back.
He swallowed. “Fair point.”
“Use the side alley, near the light. Public enough. Not in the restaurant. Not by the trash.”
“Yes, chef.”
“And Vinny?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t make a speech.”
He frowned. “I wasn’t going to make a speech.”
“You were thinking about it.”
He had absolutely been thinking about it.
“Small ask,” Antonia said. “Clear. Honest. Then stop talking.”
That sounded brutal. Also probably correct.
“Yes, chef.”
He went through the side door before Gia could see him and start chanting.
The side alley wasn’t pretty, exactly. It was brick, a small employee entrance, a motion light, and a row of planters Antonia had put out because she hated ugly corners.
Basil grew in one. Rosemary in another. Someone, probably Gia, had stuck a tiny plastic flamingo in the third.
The street beyond the alley was lit and busy enough that Sophia wouldn’t feel boxed in.
Good. He stood by the planter and immediately felt stupid.
Hands in pockets? Too casual. Arms crossed?
Too intense. Lean on the wall? Trying too hard.
He settled for standing like a normal man.
Then realized he had no idea what normal men did with their hands.
The side door opened. Sophia stepped out carrying a little bag of recycling. She stopped when she saw him.
“Oh.”
Not the start he wanted.
Vinny stepped back at once. “Sorry. I’m not blocking you.”
“You’re not.”
“I can take that.”
She looked at the recycling bag. Then at him.
“I can carry a bag.”
“Right.” He lifted both hands. “Sorry.”
Her mouth softened. “It’s fine.”
She walked to the recycling bin, dropped the bag in, then turned back. The motion light caught her face. She looked tired from service, cheeks still a little flushed, hair pulled back but not neatly anymore. One loose curl touched her jaw. Vinny forgot every sentence he had practiced.
Sophia tilted her head. “Were you waiting for me?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes widened a little. She didn’t look scared, only nervous. He made himself slow down.
“Not in a weird way.”
“That is usually what people say when it is a little weird.”
“Fair.” He let out a breath. “Can I ask you something?”
She glanced toward the open end of the alley. Then back at him.
“All right.”
“You can say no.”
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. He saw it. He hated that he made her nervous and liked that she stayed anyway.
“I mean that,” he said. “You can say no, or not now. I mean that.”
Sophia’s face changed. The tension didn’t disappear, but it moved.
“All right,” she said again.
Vinny looked down at the planter for half a second. Tiny flamingo. Not helpful. He looked back at Sophia.
“I want to take you out.”
Her eyes went very still. Not shut down, still. He kept going before he lost the words.
“I want to take you on a real date, away from work and everyone watching.”
Sophia’s mouth twitched. He counted that as a good sign and didn’t get cocky.
“I was thinking a picnic,” he said. “Somewhere public. A park, maybe. I’ll make food. Nothing fancy. You can leave whenever you want.”
Sophia looked at him. He stopped before he made it worse. He knew it. Small ask, Antonia had said. Clear. Honest. Stop talking. He stopped. Finally. Sophia was quiet long enough that his chest started to hurt.
Then she asked, “A picnic?”
“Yeah.”
“Like on purpose?”
He blinked.
Then smiled before he could stop himself. “Yes. I wouldn’t accidentally bring a blanket and sandwiches to a park.”
She looked down, but he saw the smile. Small. There.
“Why a picnic?” she asked.
“Because I like cooking for you.”
Her face warmed.
He added quickly, “And because I didn’t want to ask you to my apartment.”
Her eyes came back to his.
“I mean, not because—” He stopped, cursed himself silently, then tried again. “I don’t want you to feel like I expect anything. Or like you have to be alone with me somewhere because I asked.”
Sophia swallowed.
“My sisters are thirteen and fourteen,” he said. “If some guy asked one of them to come over alone, I’d lose my mind. So, public seemed better.”
That surprised a laugh out of her.
“Please don’t throw anyone into traffic.”
“I won’t if they behave.”
“Vinny.”
“I’m kidding.”
“Mostly?”
He smiled. “Mostly.”
Sophia’s fingers relaxed on her bag strap. Maybe. She looked down the alley, then back to him.
“When?”
“Whenever works for you. I know you have school.”
“I do.”
“I don’t want to mess with that.”