10. Ella
10
ella
In the back of my mind, I knew there were a dozen reasons why I shouldn’t accept, but at that moment, with my stomach growling and Dom looking at me like his very life depended on me accepting his invitation, I couldn’t recall a single one.
“All right,” I heard myself say.
His smile was radiant, spearing through me like sunshine after a week of rain. I felt the warmth inside and out.
“Excellent.” He looked down at his dirty clothes and frowned. “Can you give me an hour to shower and change?”
“For the good stuff, I can wait.”
Besides, I needed time to change and make myself more presentable as well. I hadn’t intended to make any public appearances today, and my outfit and hair reflected that.
“I’ll be back to pick you up,” he said, already moving to the door as if he was afraid I’d change my mind if he didn’t hurry.
Admittedly, that was a distinct possibility. My thoughts ran a different path when I was around him.
“I can just meet you there,” I said, but he was shaking his head before I finished.
“I don’t mind,” he said.
Again, he was probably worried that I wouldn’t show, and again, it was a distinct possibility.
But I wasn’t going to change my mind. He’d baited the hook with some of my favorite dishes. Also, Mama C’s was on the other side of town, and I really didn’t want to walk it.
“Side entrance, okay?”
Another brilliant smile. “You got it.”
“Dom?”
“Yes?”
“Just to be clear, this is dinner, nothing more.”
“Duly noted. I’m not really big on labels anyway.”
He was halfway out the door when something occurred to me.
“Wait. What’s the dress code?”
“Casual. See you soon.”
When the door closed behind him, the room suddenly seemed darker, and it had nothing to do with the lighting. I pulled out my phone and texted Ben. In retrospect, I should have checked with him before accepting, but as I’d already established, I wasn’t thinking clearly.
Me : Can you do without me for a couple of hours tonight?
Ben : Yes, but is everything okay?
Me : Yes, I just need to get away for a few hours.
Ben : Finally! And, yes, please take some time for yourself. Take the whole night if you want. I’ll make sure everything is covered here.
After assuring him I would only be gone a couple of hours, I set the phone down, then spent the next thirty minutes searching for something acceptable to wear.
This isn’t a date , I reminded myself, finally settling on a pair of nice jeans and a loose, flowy top. It was a good outfit for a simple dinner that was definitely not a date—even if the sense of anticipation and excitement just below the surface suggested otherwise.
My hair hung in loose waves, thanks to the ponytail I’d put it in while it was still damp. Some light gloss, a swipe of mascara, a spritz of light fragrance, and I felt fit for dinner in public.
I slipped out the side entrance with fifteen minutes to spare. No one else was around, for which I was grateful. I half expected there to be someone lurking about, given the traffic in and out of the shelter today. Volunteers, potential adopters, media—Ben had warned me today was going to be busy, and he was right.
Dom arrived early, too, driving a higher-end midsize SUV. Black, of course. I stepped out from among the shrubs so he wouldn’t have to park.
He pulled alongside the building and was about to get out, but I opened the passenger door and climbed in before he had the chance. Allowing him to open my door seemed like the wrong message to send since this wasn’t a date .
His grin was crooked, which was unexpectedly endearing. “That hungry, huh?”
“You’re the one who mentioned ossobuco alla milanese ,” I said. The words rolled naturally off my tongue, just as they had when he said them, thanks to my Italian upbringing.
His eyebrows rose, and I realized my mistake immediately and changed the subject before he could ask questions I didn’t want to answer.
“Nice ride.”
“Thanks. It gets me where I want to go.”
What would have taken me a lot of time to walk took hardly any time to drive, and we arrived at the restaurant in a matter of minutes. I was looking forward to an authentic Italian dinner. I’d overheard many people say that Mama C’s was the best. I tried not to get my hopes up too high though. I’d been disappointed so many times by listening to people who had no idea what real Italian food tasted like.
The front lot was packed, but Dom pulled around to the back. I put my hand on the door to open it, but he stopped me with a light touch on my arm.
“Please, don’t,” he said with pleading eyes, inclining his head toward the building and the windows overlooking the lot. “If mia madre sees that I didn’t open the door for you, she’ll banish me.”
I laughed, but I understood perfectly, especially if his mother was anything like mine. I waited.
“Thank you,” he murmured quietly as he opened my door and helped me out of the vehicle like a perfect gentleman. “I usually go in through the kitchen to avoid the dining room. Is that okay with you?”
“Works for me.” In fact, I preferred it.
Mouthwatering aromas wrapped around me like a warm blanket the moment we stepped inside. At least a dozen people bustled about in white aprons. Dom was greeted by all of them. I didn’t miss the double takes and the way their eyes flicked to me with keen interest.
He greeted each of them in return, but he only bent down to kiss one. “ Mamma ,” he said to a beautiful woman with silver-streaked black hair. “This is Ella.”
The woman’s dark eyes widened as she looked at me. “This is the one, isn’t she?” she murmured in Italian, not knowing that I spoke Italian as fluently as I did English.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Cerasino,” I said politely.
“And it is a pleasure to meet you, my dear,” she said with a big smile and sparkling eyes.
“I promised Ella an authentic Italian meal. She doesn’t believe I can cook.”
His mother looked me right in the eye and said with all seriousness, “He can cook, but not as good as me.”
Dom placed his hand over his heart. “Ouch, Mamma .” Then he turned to me. “She’s right though. No one makes a better ossobuco .”
She waved the spoon she had in her hand. “Go. Sit. Have some wine. Angelo will bring you fresh bread.”
“ Grazie .”
With Dom’s hand resting lightly on the small of my back, he guided me to what looked like a private banquet room. It was empty.
“Where is everyone?” I asked, remembering the packed front lot.
“In the public dining room. This room is reserved for famiglia ,” he explained. “We’re lucky to have it to ourselves tonight. There’s almost always someone here.”
I certainly wasn’t complaining, even if it did feel strangely intimate.
A young man—Angelo, I presumed—brought in a basket of warm, crusty bread and a bowl of dipping oil. He and Dom had a brief exchange in Italian as Angelo lit the table candle and left.
“I ordered us some wine. I hope you don’t mind.”
I didn’t. Nor did I read into it. In my family, wine was always served with dinner.
I gave him a small smile. “I like wine.”
He seemed pleased.
I forced myself to look away from the man sitting across from me, which sounded easier than it was. Dom was an incredibly good-looking man. Long, dark lashes surrounded beautiful midnight eyes I could easily get lost in. Thick, silky-looking black hair framed a perfectly masculine face that could have been carved by Michelangelo himself.
With the soft lighting, candlelight, and dark wood, the ambiance was warm and cozy. Add in the quiet murmur of voices in the background and the delicious scents permeating the space, and it was the perfect place to share a meal. For the first time in a long time, I felt comfortable. Safe.
“This is nice,” I said.
“I’m glad you think so. My parents believe that good food is best served in the proper atmosphere,” he said with obvious pride.
“Your family is very close.”
“Very,” he agreed.
“Big?”
He laughed. “Oh, yeah. We meet here for family dinner every Sunday, and we can barely fit.”
I could picture it so easily. “Tell me,” I said.
So, he did. While we sipped wine and shared a truly exceptional meal, he told me about his grandparents coming over from Italy and settling in Cecilton. About his parents opening Mama C’s and how everyone in the family had worked there at one point or another. I listened with rapt attention as he spoke of his three older brothers and two younger sisters. The love he had for his family came through in the warmth of his eyes and the way he talked about them. It made me think of my own brothers, even though my family was nothing like his.
“I’ve been talking about myself all night. What about you?” he said after a while.
“Nothing much to tell,” I said.
His eyes were intense when he murmured, “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Your eyes,” he said. “They speak volumes.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I lowered my gaze and said nothing.
“It’s okay,” Dom said. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
That was the thing though. I wanted to tell him. If not everything, then at least something. I hadn’t shared anything personal about myself in so long.
I cleared my throat. “I haven’t seen my family in years,” I began, feeling the pain of that statement cleaving through my chest.
“Why not?”
“Let’s just say, we didn’t see eye to eye on some things.”
“You miss them.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “but sometimes, we have to make difficult choices.” I laughed softly. “Not that they really gave me a choice.”
His hand reached out and touched mine. “I’m sorry, Ella.”
“Don’t be. I did what I felt I had to do. I don’t regret it.”
He nodded and removed his hand. I missed the contact immediately.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
“For tonight. For having dinner with me and listening to me ramble incessantly.”
“I enjoyed it,” I said honestly.
The food had been fantastic. The company had been even better. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so comfortable in anyone else’s presence. There was Ben, I supposed, but being with Dom felt more personal.
“In that case, maybe we can do it again sometime.”
“I’d like that.”