Only You by K.T. Quinn

9

Molly

The Day We Had Dinner, Again

I thought about Donovan while trying to fall asleep. He was a lot friendlier than I expected. Most guys who looked like that were jerks, because they didn’t need to be nice. They could skate through life on their good looks and nothing else. But Donovan didn’t fit the mold.

I also replayed the entire night from start to finish in my head, analyzing and over-analyzing everything I said. Our balcony dinner felt like a first date. We shared a bottle of wine and got to know each other. We traded friendly banter and teased each other.

Was he sitting in his bed, on the other side of that wall, doing the same thing? Thinking about me?

The next day dragged on while I waited for us to have another dinner together. I downloaded the New York Times Crossword app, which killed a few hours. When the hour drew close I took a shower, did my hair, and put on a little more makeup than last night.

When I went out to the balcony, Donovan was already there. He wore a grey T-shirt instead of a polo tonight, which hugged his frame and accentuated the broad muscles of his shoulders.

“Food’s gonna take another thirty minutes,” he said. “But we can get started on the wine early, right?”

I unscrewed the bottle. “I don’t see why not! I hope you like white. We’re drinking pinot grigio tonight.”

“I’m partial to reds,” he said, “but beggars can’t be choosers.”

We shared a bottle of wine and talked about anything and everything. The lockdown, grounded flights, the weather back home in America. Once I had a glass of wine—or two!—in me, I didn’t feel awkward around Donovan at all.

It helped that he was so damn charming. He treated me like we had been lifelong friends, reacquainting after a long absence.

Dinner was spiral pasta in a tangy red sauce. After bringing the food out, Donovan pressed a button on his phone and classical Italian music began playing from a portable speaker on his table.

“What is that, opera music?” I asked.

“There’s a phrase for this sort of thing,” he pointed out. “When in Italy… No, that’s not it. When in the Mediterranean…”

“When in Rome, ha ha. I was just joking. I like the music.”

“The best part is that we don’t have to worry about bothering anyone. I could blast Metallica at the highest volume and nobody would care.”

“I heard you listening to it in your room the other day,” I said while finishing up my food. “It sounded so romantic, I assumed there was a couple on their honeymoon next door.”

“Nothing that exciting,” he said.

“Forget exciting, I’m glad it’s you instead!”

He looked sideways at me.

Crap. I didn’t mean to be that forward.

“I mean, if it was a couple next door,” I said in a rush, “I’d have to listen to their loud, passionate honeymoon sex. Plus the food is a plus. With you, I feel like I have my own private chef next door. I don’t know what I would do without you feeding me.”

“I knew what you meant. I’m glad you’re next to me too.”

I gave a start. “You are?”

“Yeah,” he replied in that deep voice of his. “Because you have wine.”

“Oh yeah, right. The wine.”

“Plus, if a newlywed couple was next door to me, I would have to share my food with two people. With just us, it lasts much longer.”

“It would last longer if you weren’t sharing it with me,” I said. “If you start to run low on supplies and can’t share anymore…”

I was giving him an out in case things got bad. But he shook his head and fixed me with one of those charming, heart-melting smiles.

“No way, Feisty. The way I see it, we’re in this together now. My food is your food. Until I run out.”

“And then what?”

“Then I’ll really go all Hannibal Lecter on your ass.”

I laughed and said, “I’ve never had someone threaten cannibalism on a date before.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I winced.

“What I mean is, this feels like a date. On some weird reality TV show.”

“It kind of does,” he said. “Cannibalism is off the table. Noted. What do you normally do on a second date, then?”

“It’s been so long I don’t even know! Usually just dinner I guess, although I think the last guy I dated took me to the movies on our second date…”

I trailed off as he began chuckling. That’s when I realized what he really meant. Donovan was talking about sex. He was casually asking how far I went on a second date with a guy.

“Oh,” I said.

He waved it off. “Wasn’t trying to get too personal. Just making a joke.”

“I don’t like to move too fast, I guess,” I said awkwardly. “I think it’s better to get to know a guy first, you know? I don’t like to sleep with a guy until, um, a while.”

“Sure. Totally,” he said.

Damnit. I didn’t mean for that to sound so prudish. I wasn’t opposed to moving fast with someone, if they were the right guy. It’s just that I’d never had the opportunity. Out of the three serious boyfriends in my life, I had only slept with two of them. Donovan probably thought I was one of those save-it-for-marriage types, which was not the impression I wanted to give.

Not that it mattered, anyway. Regardless of whether or not this was a date, we couldn’t get close to each other. Not with everything going on.

Which was too bad, because if things were normal I could see myself moving awfully fast with Donovan, if he took the initiative…

Donovan leaned on the railing and gazed out at the sunset to the west. I did the same. The sun had dropped below the top rim of the Colosseum, scattering orange and pink rays through the multitude of Roman arches. It was breathtaking.

“Okay, be honest with me,” Donovan suddenly said. “Yesterday, you kept walking by the gym to check me out, didn’t you?”

The question caught me off guard, and I sputtered for a moment. “I was walking around the floor. That’s all.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Five times in a row?”

“I was doing laps around the building!” I protested. “For exercise. Because unlike some people, I respect the fact that the gym is closed.”

He looked back out at the plaza. “You walked awfully slow every time you passed the gym. I could see you in the mirror.”

“I was tired. From walking so much,” I said curtly.

He laughed, and I laughed with him. I didn’t feel embarrassed anymore, even though getting called out like that normally would have sent me fleeing into my room. Like he had said: the pandemic seemed to make all other problems and awkwardness shrink away. That and the three glasses of wine I’d had.

“What would you be doing right now?” Donovan asked, changing the subject. “If things weren’t, you know, apocalyptic.”

“Right now? Probably going to a night club in the city. Dressing up, dancing with my girlfriends, maybe flirting with exotic Italian men. Then walking back to the hotel through Rome, drunk and happy.”

Donovan nodded along, then glanced over at me. “If it’s any consolation, you look beautiful. Even if we don’t have anywhere to go.”

I sipped my wine to hide my blush. “Do you flirt with a lot of women during global pandemics?”

“So far, only you,” he said with another white smile. “But this is my first pandemic, so…”

The music changed to something a little more upbeat. Brass instruments and a pounding drum. Donovan pushed away from the railing and swayed back and forth, like he was dancing with himself.

He looks like he can dance, I thought while trying not to check him out too overtly. The way he moved was hypnotizing, and the twilight only accentuated his dark features.

“This is almost like a nightclub,” he said.

“This is nothing like a nightclub. For one thing, the music is totally different.”

He pointed a finger at me. “Exactly. Club music sucks. This makes it feel like we’re actually in Rome. Which, in case you didn’t notice, we are.” He swept his wine glass across the plaza and city while dancing on his balcony.

I smiled as I watched him. He looked remarkably dashing in plain jeans and a T-shirt, dancing with his arm around an imaginary woman. The smell of Rome was in the air, the view of the city was stunning, and the music was setting the mood. I suddenly wished I was on his balcony, filling the empty space in front of him, his hand on the small of my back as he guided me in a circle.

“I wish we could dance,” I said wistfully.

“Why can’t we?”

“We’re supposed to stay six feet apart,” I said. “Just in case.”

“Do you ever break the rules?”

“Almost never.”

Donovan closed his eyes while dancing with his imaginary woman. “You’re not living up to your nickname, Feisty. Sometimes breaking the rules is fun.”

I watched him longingly, wanting nothing more than to throw caution to the wind, go over to his balcony, and dance with him. I wanted to do something fun, something more than just share wine together. If Donovan pushed the issue, I knew I would give in. Part of me wanted to.

Instead, Donovan stopped dancing and leaned on the railing again. He swirled the wine around in his glass and then knocked his head back to gulp it down.

“What’s for dessert?” I asked hopefully.

He grimaced. “There’s no more chocolate in the vending machine. I think there are a couple of bags of cookies, but I can’t do much with that.”

I snorted derisively. “You went to cooking school and didn’t learn how to bake delicious treats for your neighbor?”

He spread his hands apologetically. “I don’t have an oven in the room. Just a single stove top.”

“Darn.”

I reached for the bottle of wine to refill my glass, but it was empty. I put it back down and looked at Donovan. This was one of those crossroads where a night could go one way, or it could go another. We could open another bottle of wine and hang out more, and see where the night took us. Or we could end things here.

I waited too long, because Donovan glanced at the empty bottle and said, “I’m going to tidy up the kitchen. I only have one pot and one pan, so I have to keep them clean.”

I smiled sadly. “I’d offer to do the dishes, but… You know. Six feet.”

“A likely excuse.” He opened his balcony door. “You going to stay out here a bit longer?”

“Yes!” I said hopefully. Was he going to stay after all? “I am. Why do you ask?”

He gestured at the table. “I’ll leave the music on for you. Thanks for the wine. How about a third date tomorrow night? Unless you have other plans…”

“I’ll check my calendar,” I said, “but I think I can squeeze you in.”

He started to go into the room.

“Donovan?” I asked.

He stopped. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you in the lobby.”

Thick black hair swayed as he shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m glad you did.”

The door closed behind him, and then I was alone.