CHAPTER THREE
AVERY
I’m so nervous I’m practically numb as I enter Bella Mia’s.
I’ve only ever gotten takeout from here, so the dim lighting is a bit of a welcome surprise, as is the relaxed atmosphere.
Mellow and relaxed is good. Hopefully, it will rub off on me and get me through this evening without hyperventilating or making a complete fool of myself.
A smiling woman around my age glides by with a huge tray piled high with dirty dishes and gestures with her head toward the dining area behind her.
“Sit wherever you like,” she says before disappearing into the kitchen area, the clang of pans unexpectedly loud before the swinging door mutes the noise.
Helplessly, my gaze follows her for a moment, the strap of my purse digging into my fingers as I cling to it like it’s a lifeline.
Drawing in a deep breath, I force my feet to move, and I take a few mincing steps into the dining room.
It’s the moment of truth. Is Bryce as real and amazing as I’ve grown to believe, or am I about to be crushed?
Either way, Sarah is on standby, eager to hear about this date and promising me she’ll be ready with a bottle of wine to toast an amazing time with a great guy or to help me drown my sorrows.
After she gets all the details out of me, that is.
Yesterday, I held her off by promising her an epic gab session soon and I know she’ll hold me to that.
The place isn’t that busy and for a moment I wonder if I arrived before Bryce when my gaze is drawn to a man standing up from a table in the back, a huge grin on his handsome bearded face.
My lips part and relief surges through me. He showed up! And he looks just like his picture!
My stride lengthens and I walk to him, my greedy eyes drinking him. It’s only as he comes to meet me that I realize something. The closer we get, the more it becomes apparent that I’m taller than him and I’m not even wearing heels.
And when we’re standing in front of each other and his firm jaw tilts up just the briefest amount so he can gaze into my eyes, unease slithers cold and icy down my spine and I feel the judging stares of the other diners on us and I want to sink into the floor.
Which I can’t do. But I can leave.
This just isn’t going to work and what the hell was I thinking, not asking his height in the first place?! Why didn’t that ever come up the dozens of times we’ve talked?
My damp hands clench into fists and my breathing speeds up as I feel a panic attack coming on. I hate all this attention. I should leave. Right now.
Then Bryce is reaching for me, his rough fingers smoothing so gently over my tight fists and shockingly, my hands relax into his touch as his warmth and calm transfers to me.
“Avery, I’m so happy to finally you meet you,” he says in the familiar deep voice that has my toes curling in my sensible flats and my stiff shoulders easing down from their bunched-up position. The man should do audiobook narration with a voice like his.
Before I’m even aware of it, he leads me to a table and pulls out a chair.
I plop into it and in a daze, I feel the chair being pushed in.
Blinking, I find Bryce sitting across from me and suddenly our height difference isn’t so apparent.
Most of my height is in my legs. Which was a curse growing up and being called a stork all throughout school.
Or even worse, when a few family members lamented about my model height being wasted on me since I wasn’t model beautiful.
Aunts can be brutal when they don’t realize you can hear them picking apart your physical characteristics that you’re not even responsible for. I get my height from my dad, and apparently, my bland looks from his side of the family as well. Lucky, lucky me.
That’s not how Bryce is looking at me. He has a funny look on his face, but it’s not disappointment… It’s, well, I’m not sure.
“Are you okay?” I ask. I mean, his height was a shock to me, I’m sure mine is to him as well. No man likes a woman to tower over him. And while I don’t exactly tower, I’m noticeably taller, which has always been a sore point to men, even tall men.
Talk about rotten luck. I’m tall and yet most of the tall men want petite women. Doesn’t really leave much for us height-blessed girls.
My inner musings stop short at his husky laugh, which has my stomach doing a slow roll. I lean across the table, yearning to be closer to him, a decidedly odd feeling considering I wanted to flee only moments ago.
“I’m fine. It feels a tad surreal to be sitting here with you.” A bit of pink blooms high on Bryce’s cheeks above his short, brown facial hair, and if I thought he was attractive before, he’s downright adorable right now.
“It does,” I agree, my lips inching up in a smile as I ogle him. His picture, which I loved, somehow failed to completely capture him and the positive energy he radiates. There’s just something about him that draws the eye.
And I’m not the only one to notice.
The same server that greeted me is now at our table. Her eyes are locked on Bryce and her smile’s even wider than before.
“Good evening, I’m Marie. Sorry it took me a moment to get to you.” She hands two menus to Bryce, her brown eyes not leaving him. “Could I get you a drink? Or do you need a few minutes?”
My eyebrows shoot up when I swear she flutters her eyelashes at him. To his credit, Bryce doesn’t seem to notice, his smile and gaze going to me as he hands over a menu.
“Avery?”
Almost reluctantly, Marie tears her eyes away from him and looks over at me, seeming almost surprised to see me sitting here.
That makes two of us, trust me.
“Water, please,” I say, resting my clasped hands on the table and trying not to fidget.
“Same,” Bryce says, his eyes pinned to me.
“Coming right up.”
I’m dying to say something, but I don’t have the nerve, so I drop my gaze to the menu and pretend to decide on what to get even though I know I’ll get my usual, the Chicken Parmigiana.
Bryce clears his throat and says, “The Timballo sounds good. What are you thinking of having?”
Is he recommending it? Or just trying to make conversation?
This is the first date I’ve been on in a long time that didn’t consist of pizza, beer, and sitting around watching TV and my nerves are back in full force.
Or maybe it’s my insecurities at being here with a good looking, older man that the server, a much prettier woman than me, was almost drooling over.
The fact that I have no clue what Timballo is, isn’t helping matters, either.
In short, I’m a mess and I hate being like this.
“Avery?”
It’s a struggle, but I meet Bryce’s dark eyes and see no judgement, no censure, only warmth. If only everyone were like him.
“What’s Timballo?” It’s not what I wanted to say, but it pops out anyway.
“Like lasagna, only everything but the kitchen sink is tossed into it. Or at least that’s how my mom makes it.”
I latch onto that like a drowning man might to a life raft, because that’s what it is. A shred of normalcy in the vast sea of confusion currently rocking my mind. “Your mother’s Italian?”
The corner of his mouth lifts higher in a lopsided grin that gives me a peek at the boy he once was, causing my fingers to release their death hold on the menu as I relax further.
“A quarter, but heaven help you if you forgot that. Now my Nonna, she’s Italian through and through. None of this half or quarter nonsense and she will happily whack you with a wooden spoon if you get out of line.”
A startled laugh sneaks its way out of me, and I clap my hands over my mouth. “She wouldn’t!”
Bryce rubs at his head, drawing my eyes to his dark, wavy hair.
It's thick and lush and not a single strand of silver graces it. Not that he’s that old.
He’s only thirty-seven, so thirteen years older than me.
But that means nothing. I plucked a gray hair out of my bangs just last week.
I’m a dishwater dull blonde, yet that sparkly strand stood out like an annoying beacon to me.
“She did last week,” he counters with a gleam in his dark eyes that makes me wonder if he’s teasing or not.
Marie sets our water glasses in front of us, her smiling face tilted to Bryce once again. “Are you ready to order?”
Not taking his gaze from me, Bryce asks, “Avery?”
I lick my lips, a flicker of heat pulling at me when Bryce’s eyes follow that slight movement. “I’ll have the Timballo,” I say, feeling suddenly impulsive.
“I’ll have the same.” He plucks the menu from my limp fingers and hands both over to Marie.
I’m barely aware of Marie leaving. It feels like there is only me and Bryce, in our own private bubble of space.
Sheltered and protected from everyone else.
Which is crazy because we’re in a restaurant that isn’t full but is nowhere close to being empty either.
With a mental shrug, I stop questioning it and just enjoy the moment.
“Your mother’s family is Italian. What about your father’s family?”
“Ahh… that’s even more fun, Irish and Mexican. My great-great grandfather was right off the boat in Ellis Island. He met a charming senorita, and the rest is history. Namely a legacy of stubbornness and the famous Irish temper.”
This time I don’t even try to control my laughter and let it ring out, grinning when I finally can rein my mirth in. “Somehow I can’t imagine you having a temper.”
“Oh, I have one.”
His words are steeped in hurt, so bitter it’s a physical force that I recoil from.