Only You by K.T. Quinn

8

Molly

The Day We Had Dinner

I thought about his invitation the rest of the day. He never even gave me a chance to reply. He just assumed I would say yes. But I didn’t have to accept it. I could stay in my room and watch more episodes of Italian-dubbed Seinfeld.

The problem was that I was hungry. The half-sandwich hadn’t done much to fill the pit in my stomach, and the growling had only gotten worse after my eighteen laps around the building. After a lot of internal struggling, I decided I could handle a little bit of awkwardness.

It’s just about the food, I told myself.

I took a shower and washed my hair. When it eventually dried, I straightened it, then found another dress to wear. Despite the informal balcony setting, it did feel good to put on makeup and get dressed like I was going out for a night on the town. It helped make things seem a little more normal.

At six, I carried a bottle of wine out to the balcony. Like last night, the sun was falling toward the Colosseum. The city looked older in the dying light, long shadows accentuating the imperfections in the architecture. If I squinted I could pretend I was back in ancient Rome, watching the same sunset as Roman senators and emperors.

I glanced down at the plaza below. The shattered bowl of pasta was still there, and two cats were gently licking up the remains of the sauce.

The balcony door opened and Donovan walked out holding two plates of food. The way he looked in the gym flashed in my head like an intrusive thought: muscles and sweat and bulging veins. Knowing what was underneath his shirt made him just a little bit sexier than before, if such a thing was possible.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he said through his mask.

I pulled my T-shirt-converted-into-a-mask up over my mouth. “Like you said, I don’t have any other plans. What’s on the menu tonight?”

I still felt awkward, like the unpopular kid who was pretending to be aloof to hang out with the cool kids. But Donovan only smiled behind his mask.

“Eggplant parmesan. Since you’re an Israeli vegan and all.”

It took me a moment to realize he was referring to the joke I made via text message the other day. “Is parmesan cheese vegan?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Guess not. If you don’t want it then…”

“I was joking!” I quickly said. “I’m not even close to vegan. I’ll eat anything.”

I’ll eat anything? I winced. What a stupid thing to say.

He held a plate across the railing. “Be careful with this one. My room only came with six dishes, and one of them is shattered on the ground below.”

Ugh, did he have to mention that again?

“Sorry,” I said while taking the plate. It felt like a hostage exchange. Fortunately I didn’t drop this one.

“How about some of that wine?” he asked.

“Oh, right.” I opened the bottle while he retrieved a glass from his room. He held the glass across the balcony while I poured. One or two droplets fell to the ground below, but those were the only casualties of the transaction.

We sat at our separate tables and began eating. The eggplant Parmesan was phenomenal, crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside. Everything was quiet except for the scraping sound of forks and knives on plates as we enjoyed our meal together.

I eyed him across the balcony. When I had seen him earlier, his thick hair was damp with sweat and messy, but now it was combed down the side. He had the perfect amount of dark stubble along his jaw.

I’m having dinner with a ridiculously-sexy guy and I can’t think of two words to say to him.

“Where did you get the mask?” I asked.

“I always travel with a mask,” he replied. “A habit my dad gave me. He was stationed in Korea, and over there everyone wears a mask while traveling. Guess they had the right idea long before all of this.” His fork gesture encompassed our balcony, the city of Rome, and the entire pandemic.

“Guess so,” I replied.

Another silence stretched, both because I didn’t know what to say and because I was busy wolfing down the food. The cheese covering the eggplant was gooey and fresh.

Finally Donovan put down his fork and fixed me with his steel-grey gaze. “This is dumb. What happened in the lobby was a misunderstanding. Hell, it’s funny looking back on it. If I can laugh about it, so can you. In case you didn’t notice, we have more important things to worry about. So stop being embarrassed, all right?”

He was firm and said it with a disarming smile. Not like a stranger scolding me—but like a friend nudging me away from my destructive thoughts. It was easy to believe him.

“You’re right about having more important things to worry about,” I said. “Did you see there are six new cases in Washington?”

He nodded. “Wonder how long before it spreads. You from there? Washington?”

“I’m from Indiana,” I replied. “No cases there so far.”

He took a bite of eggplant and said, “That’s because nobody wants to visit Indiana.”

“Hey!” I said. “We’re not that boring. I live in Elkhart, just two hours from Chicago.”

“Two hours is a long way. Where I’m from, if you go two hours in any direction you cross through a bunch of states.”

“And where might that be?” I asked.

“Boston.”

“You don’t have an accent.”

Donovan shook his head. “My dad was in the Army. We moved around a lot. California, Texas, South Korea. Never stayed long enough for an accent to stick.”

“Is that why you’re in Italy?” I asked. “The Army brought you here?”

He chuckled. “Nah. I didn’t follow in my dad’s footsteps. Don’t laugh, but I came here to go to cooking school.”

“I should have known!”

Donovan shrugged. “It’s dumb.”

The more we talked, the less I felt embarrassed. We were just two neighbors sitting on their balconies, chatting during dinner. And he was easy to talk to, so long as I stared out at the view and not at his chiseled, charming profile.

“I don’t think it’s dumb.” I put down my fork. “You’re good at it. And I’m not just saying that because anything is better than the supply package sandwiches they’ve been giving us.”

“Thanks.”

“So you want to be a chef? When did you know that’s what you wanted to pursue?”

He chewed his food, swallowed, and took a long pull of wine. “It took me a while to figure it out. The problem with moving a lot is that everything changes too much. I had a really good history teacher in San Diego, but then we moved and my new history teacher sucked. So I got into astronomy at my new school.”

“You were an astronomy geek?” I asked skeptically.

He frowned over at me. “Why do you say that?”

Because you look like a cologne model.

“No reason.”

“I wasn’t one for very long,” he said in a voice that was deep and smooth. “Just when I was getting the hang of it we moved to South Korea. Always jumping from one place to the next before we could put down roots. I couldn’t keep a part-time job like that, either. My resume looked thin. When I was old enough I did handyman work, or construction. Manual labor. The kind of thing you didn’t need a lot of experience for.”

“So how did you get into cooking?” I asked.

“Well,” he said, “no matter where I went, the one consistent thing was food. Everyone eats. Restaurants have the same feel no matter where you go. People eating, drinking, smiling. So, I took a job as a line cook. The only shift I could get was working at night at a diner by the freeway, which was good because it meant I could keep my day job in construction. Bacon, eggs, pancakes. Not a lot of variety, but that just meant it was a good place for me to learn. When you cook the same eight dishes over and over again, you get pretty good at it.

“I loved it,” he went on. “Creating something from scratch and then watching hungry people eat… It felt like I was accomplishing something.” He gestured with his hand. “People come in hungry, and they walk out happy. Simple, but satisfying. I looked for jobs at other restaurants so I could learn more and expand my repertoire, but nobody was hiring. That’s when I heard about this big cooking school here in Rome. So I saved up my money for a few years and finally flew out here. Guess I got lucky that my classes ended the day before everything shut down.”

He’s chasing his dream, I realized. I found it endearing. He knew what he wanted to do and was going for it. Knowing his story also made it easier to forget about the lobby incident.

“It paid off,” I said, flashing him my empty plate. “That was delicious. Everything you’ve made has been really good.”

He shrugged. “The stuff I learned is still fresh in my head.”

“What’s next?” I asked.

He pulled his mask over his face and carried his glass over to the railing. “Now I’m going to enjoy more wine while waiting out the pandemic.”

I filled his glass and said, “I mean, what’s next for your career? What are you going to do when you get home?”

He leaned his elbows on the railing and looked out over the city. “I don’t know. I’m not good with long-term planning.”

“Saving up to go to cooking school in Rome seems awfully long-term,” I pointed out.

“Trust me: that’s the exception to the rule,” he replied. “I guess my next step is trying to find a better job. There are a couple of really nice restaurants around Boston I’ve had my eye on. They’re picky with who they hire, but with something like this on my resume? Maybe I can finally get my foot in the door.”

He glanced at me and shrugged like it was no big deal, or was embarrassed that he had revealed so much to a total stranger.

Him? Embarrassed? I almost laughed at the idea. He seemed so much more confident than me.

“The other day, you said you were between jobs,” I said.

“Yeah, my boss at the diner is kind of a dick. I told him about the trip months ago, but he pretended like he forgot. He wouldn’t approve the time off. So I quit.”

“That sucks,” I said.

“Eh, whatever,” he said with a smirk. “I wasn’t going to let him get in the way of my trip. What about you? Why’d you come to Rome by yourself?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be alone,” I said while refilling my own wine glass. “It was a trip I had planned with all my girlfriends. I flew in a day early, because I wanted to do some sightseeing by myself. Turns out that was a mistake. They got stuck at home.” I shook my head. “Well, I guess actually I’m the one who’s stuck, not them.”

“I’m sure they’ll open up flights in another day or two,” Donovan said. “What do you do for a living?”

“I own a small clothing store.”

“You’re an entrepreneur?” He nodded approvingly. “Nice.”

I sipped my wine. I didn’t want to tell him the truth about the store. That I didn’t care about it, that it had fallen into my lap and I was keeping it running out of guilt.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It feels good to get away. At least, it would feel good if things weren’t…” I gestured at the empty plaza. “It’s so weird being here. It feels like… like…”

“Like what?” he asked softly.

“A few days ago, you were cooking dinner next door,” I explained. “I could smell everything you were doing. It smelled incredible! My mouth watered, but I couldn’t have any. That’s what this whole trip feels like. I’m next door to something amazing. I can see it, hear it, smell it.” I swung my arm out toward the west. “The Colosseum is right freaking there, with the sun setting behind it! But I can’t actually enjoy any of it because I’m stuck in the hotel.”

Donovan grinned over at me. “What I just heard is that my cooking is as breathtaking as the Roman Colosseum.”

“Ha ha,” I fake-laughed. “I’m jealous you spent a week here before me. I bet you got to see everything.”

“Not really.”

“Come on. I’m sure you saw more than I did.”

“I had cooking classes every day,” he explained. “Then I came back to my hotel room every night and practiced what I learned. I didn’t have time to see the city.”

I put my wine glass down and crossed my arms over my chest. “You flew all the way to Rome, spent a week here, and didn’t see anything?”

“What can I say? I’m good with short-term goals,” he replied. “I was actually signed up for the same walking tour as you. That’s why I was waiting in the lobby that day.”

I groaned. “You had to bring that up, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t that bad!”

“I was a total bitch.”

“You were feisty,” he insisted. “There’s a difference.”

“Kittens are feisty,” I replied. “When women are jerks they’re—”

“Don’t call yourself a bitch,” he replied firmly. “If that’s what you were, I wouldn’t be giving you food.”

“Unless the food’s poisoned.”

He fixed me with a calming gaze. “I promise it’s not.”

“I still feel bad about the lobby,” I mumbled.

He flashed a perfectly white smile. “One more glass of wine and I promise we’re even, Feisty.”

We put on our masks and leaned across the railing toward each other. The wind shifted, and I caught a whiff of his cologne through my mask. He smelled masculine, like leather and oil. It sent a tingling shiver through my body.

I’m just lonely, I thought. I barely know this guy.

But did that really matter?

He grinned behind his mask like he knew what I was thinking, his grey eyes piercing into my soul.

“Thanks for the wine, and the good company. I’ll leave you in peace now.”

You don’t have to leave, I wanted to say. You can stay with me and share more wine and keep me company.

But I couldn’t muster the words before he took my plate and left.