Chapter 13 The Secret Dinner #2
Vinny sat straighter. “I’ll make it permit.”
Sophia looked at him. He looked nervous but serious.
“School?” he asked her softly.
She appreciated that he asked.
“I have class in the morning,” Sophia said. “But I can study before and go after lunch.
“Only if it doesn’t interfere,” Brett said.
“It won’t,” Sophia said. Then she thought of her quiz, her planner, and the way one text from Vinny could still pull her attention sideways. “I’ll make the study block first.”
Vinny smiled down at the table, like he was trying not to be too obvious. Sophia wanted to kiss him, but not here, not in the middle of a secret proposal meeting with Brett sitting across from them.
“Monday after hours?” Brett asked.
Sophia nodded. “Bella Luna is closed Mondays.”
“Antonia usually comes in for paperwork in the afternoon,” Vinny said. “If you tell her you forgot something in the office later, she might believe it.”
Brett looked pained. “I dislike lying.”
Sophia smiled. “Then forget something on purpose.”
Brett paused.
“That is acceptable.”
Vinny laughed.
Brett looked offended. “It is.”
Sophia leaned toward the table. “The dinner should be brief.”
“Yes,” Brett said.
“And personal. Not too fancy.”
Brett looked at Vinny. “I will need help with that.”
Vinny nodded. “I can do personal.”
“I know.”
Again, the words hit. Vinny looked down. Sophia saw his fingers curl once against his knee. Brett was trusting him. Not with a side dish. With Antonia. With a night that would matter for the rest of her life. Sophia knew what that meant to Vinny. Maybe Brett did too.
Brett stood. “Thank you.”
“We haven’t done anything yet,” Vinny said.
“You agreed. That isn’t nothing.”
Then Brett looked toward the kitchen, where Antonia had disappeared. His face changed in a way Sophia had seen only a few times. Softer. Less polished. Like he wasn’t thinking about risk or logistics or timing. Just her.
“I want it right,” he said.
Sophia stood too. “It will be.”
Brett nodded once. Then he left through the front door, tense enough that Sophia kept watching after he was gone. Vinny and Sophia stayed at the table. For three seconds. Four. Then Vinny turned to her.
“I’m cooking Antonia’s proposal dinner.”
“Yes.”
“I am going to throw up.”
“No.”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
He looked at her. Sophia put her hand over his.
“You can do this.”
His gaze dropped to their hands. Then came back to her face.
“You trust me with that?”
“Yes.”
That word was different now. Not real yes. But close. His throat moved.
“All right,” he said.
Gia’s voice came from the bar. “I can see hand contact.”
Sophia pulled her hand back.
Vinny looked at the ceiling. “Every time.”
Gia pointed a towel at them. “Whatever you are hiding, it has romantic lighting.”
Antonia stepped into the dining room. “Gia, wipe the bar.”
“I am being excluded.”
“Correct.”
Gia stared at her. “You admit it?”
“I do.”
“That is worse.”
Antonia looked at Sophia and Vinny. “Do I want to know?”
Sophia’s heart stopped.
Vinny answered too fast. “No.”
Antonia narrowed her eyes. Sophia’s mouth opened. No words came out. Brett had chosen the wrong people. Antonia looked from Sophia to Vinny, then toward the front door. Something flickered across her face.
Then she said, “Fine.”
Sophia almost sagged in relief.
“But if this is something that affects my kitchen, I find out before service.”
“Yes, chef,” Vinny said.
“It doesn’t affect service,” Sophia said.
Antonia looked more suspicious. Not less.
“Interesting clarification.”
Gia whispered, “Terrible liar.”
Sophia covered her face. Antonia shook her head and walked back into the kitchen.
Vinny leaned closer to Sophia. “We are very bad at secrets.”
“Yes.”
“We need professional help.”
“We are getting Antonella tomorrow.”
“That counts.”
The next day, Sophia completed her reading before going to Antonella’s apartment. She didn’t do it perfectly. She checked her phone twice.
Once was a text from Victoria asking if Gia had figured out “whatever weird rich-man thing was happening.”
The second was from Vinny.
Vinny: I am wearing a clean shirt to ask an old woman about proposal food. Is that enough?
Sophia: Clean is a clear start.
Vinny: Brutal.
Sophia finished enough notes to feel honest about leaving, then met Brett and Vinny at Antonella’s apartment the next afternoon.
The building smelled faintly of garlic, old wood, and someone else’s laundry.
Antonella listened to Brett’s proposal plan without letting him hide behind polished words.
She asked what Antonia loved, what she remembered, and what food would make the night feel like Bella Luna instead of a performance.
The menu came together around memory rather than spectacle: bruschetta with tomatoes and basil, cavatelli with brown butter, lemon, herbs, and roasted mushrooms, greens with shaved fennel, and a dessert that nodded to lemon cream without turning the whole dinner into a show.
Vinny took messy notes and asked Sophia to read them back so the page stayed useful.
He said it softly, not ashamed, and Sophia felt proud enough that she had to look down at her own hands.
Antonella sent them away with biscotti and one firm warning: love kept learning the person.
Brett looked terrified and grateful in equal measure.
Vinny shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Do you think I can do it?”
Sophia looked at him. “The dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes.”
He nodded, but his jaw was still tight.
“Vinny.”
He looked at her.
“You heard Antonella. Not perfect. Personal.”
“I know.”
“And Brett trusts you.”
“That is part of the problem.”
“Why?”
“Because if I mess it up, I mess it up for him. For Antonia. For Antonella. For you, kind of.”
“For me?”
“You believe I can.”
Sophia stopped walking. He stopped too. Brett kept moving ahead, still on the phone.
Sophia turned toward Vinny. “That doesn’t mean you have to be perfect.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that when I’m not sure you know.”
His mouth opened. Then closed. Good. He was listening.
Sophia stepped closer. “I believe you can do this because I have seen you care. Not because I think you can’t make a mistake.”
His expression changed. She kept going before she lost nerve.
“If something goes wrong, we fix it. Together. That doesn’t mean I was wrong to trust you.”
Vinny looked at her for a long second.
Then he said, “You said together.”
Sophia’s face warmed.
“I meant the dinner.”
His mouth curved slightly. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Mostly.”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
He glanced toward Brett, then back at her. “Can I kiss you?”
Her stomach flipped. Here? Sidewalk. Afternoon. Brett ahead. Not hidden. But not work. Not rush or a kitchen. Sophia looked down the street, then back at him.
“Briefly.”
His smile warmed. “Briefly.”
He leaned down, and she met him halfway. The kiss was quick. Soft. Still enough to make the sidewalk feel less steady for a second. When he pulled back, he looked happier and more nervous at the same time.
“Good?” he asked.
Sophia smiled. “Good.”
Brett’s voice came from ten feet ahead. “If we are done here, the florist has questions.”
Sophia jumped.
Vinny closed his eyes. “Of course.”
Brett turned back toward them, phone lowered, face almost expressionless, almost. Sophia could tell he was trying not to smile.
“I saw nothing,” Brett said.
“You absolutely saw,” Vinny said.
“I saw nothing useful to the florist.”
That evening, Sophia studied before texting Vinny about menu notes.
He sent a photo of his notebook page, messy but readable, and asked her to check it because he wanted to get the dinner right.
She corrected two measurements, finished her own school notes, and let the middle space stay unnamed for one more night: not official, not casual, and not something she was willing to let swallow her planner.
Monday was close now. The proposal dinner was planned.
Gia mostly didn’t know, and Antonia definitely suspected something.