“You checked out his package?” I asked, shocked.
“Sure, didn’t you?” she asked.
I shook my head.
Margo placed her hand on mine and gave it a pat.
“Stick with us, babe, and we’ll make sure you, and your vagina, are taken care of.”
Oh Lord, what have I gotten myself into?
Fourteen
Luca
After some flirty, but relatively tame texts with Whitney, I’d bitten the bullet and asked her to my place for dinner.
I’d seen her a couple times during the week, but since I was busy meeting my dad’s clients, as well as taking care of my own, we’d barely said more than a dozen words to each other.
I’d found it wasn’t enough … texting and passing each other in the halls … I wanted more time with her and was eager to get to know her better. It was funny, because I’d always been more of an out of sight, out of mind kind of dater.
But with Whitney, I found myself thinking about her more often than not.
I hurried around my studio apartment, making sure everything was put in its place. My ma had been a stickler for cleanliness and organization growing up and it was something that had always stuck with me, so cleaning for company wasn’t something I ever really had to do. But since this was Whitney’s first time coming over, I really wanted to make a good first impression.
Still, all that meant was some light dusting, folding and putting away my laundry, and lighting a few candles.
I’d also stopped at the florist and gotten an arrangement.
Satisfied the studio looked good, I moved to the kitchen area to check on the sauce I’d had simmering for the last few hours. It may have been too soon for me to introduce Whitney to my mother, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appeal to her tastebuds.
When I lifted the lid, basil, oregano, and spicy tomato filled my senses. Pleased, I dipped a spoon into the sauce and gave it a taste.
Perfetto.
I was putting the lid back on and about to put the spoon in the dishwasher when there was a knock on my door.
Excitement flooded me as I went to greet Whitney.
I opened the door to find Whitney on the other side, her head turned to the left as she glanced at something down the hall. I peeked around the corner to see Mr. Bracco, my neighbor, looking back at me from his doorway.
Mr. Bracco was a nice man, but nosy as hell.
“Hey, Mr. B,” I called, before looking back at Whitney and saying, “Please, come in.”
Whitney walked in and I quickly shut the door behind us.
“Sorry about him. Anytime he hears a knock on any of the doors on this floor, he pops his head outside. He’s lonely.”
“It’s fine. He didn’t bother me.”
“Let me take your coat,” I said as Whitney looked around.
I took her coat and purse and hung them on the rack by the front door, then turned to follow her gaze.
“Not much to it, but it’s home,” I said, trying to see the space through her eyes.
The décor was minimalist and contemporary. Lots of grays and dark blues. I liked clean lines and bare surfaces. It was a studio, so the fact that you could see my bedroom, living room, and kitchen all from the front door only drove home my need for things to be tidy and visually appealing.
“It’s beautiful,” Whitney said easily. “And something smells amazing.”
“That’s the sauce I was telling you about. We’re having a caprese salad, gnocchi with my ma’s red sauce, garlic bread, and some homemade tiramisu ice cream for dessert.”
“You made ice cream?” she asked, her eyes conveying her surprise.
“Sure, I made everything. My ma wouldn’t have it any other way,” I began as I moved to the counter to pour the wine I’d had breathing. “She taught all of us to cook, although Charlotte and I weren’t as enthusiastic about it as Vanni was. I prefer to order out for the most part, but I can throw together a meal that would make Ma proud when I want to.”
“What do you mean you made everything?” Whitney asked, accepting the wine with a thank you. “I mean, when I cook, I cook. But the pasta is store bought, and so is the ice cream. Are you saying everything you are serving is from scratch?”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, I didn’t make the cheese, but I made the gnocchi and the bread, in addition to the sauce and the ice cream.”
“Wow. I’m impressed,” Whitney said, and I felt pride swell my chest. “And now a little nervous to cook for you.”
I grinned at her mention of a future date, one where she cooked for me, but didn’t remark on it for fear of scaring her off. Each step felt like a hard-won victory and I’d realized I needed to treat Whitney differently than I had women in my past. She was wary of starting something new, even though I could tell she was as intrigued by me as I was by her, so I needed to use more finesse and less arrogant confidence.
“Is the Pinot Grigio good for you?” I asked.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Great. If you’d like to be seated, I’ll bring over the first course,” I said, moving to my small glass table set for two and pulling out her chair for her.
Once she was seated, I grabbed the chilled caprese salad out of the fridge and the balsamic reduction off the counter and joined her at the table. I’d prepared everything beforehand so we could enjoy our meal together, rather than having my attention divided between Whitney and the kitchen.
“Mmmm, this is so good. I love a nice, fresh caprese salad,” she said after her first bite.
“You’ll have to try my mothers in the summer after her tomatoes are plump and ripe from her garden. Those, along with her fresh basil, give the salad a remarkably robust flavor.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“Do you like to garden?” I asked, curious to know everything I could about her.
“I do,” Whitney replied. “I don’t plant as much as I used to, but I still like to grow my own tomatoes, cucumbers, and fresh herbs every year. We also have some fruit trees that we planted when we first bought the house, which are now mature and bear fruit.”
“You live in the same house?” I asked.
“Yes. Marcus and I bought it when we first got married and raised our kids there. When he left, we agreed I’d stay in the house at least until the kids graduate … I’ll figure out what to do from there. I’m guessing I’ll sell and get something smaller.”
“Makes sense. And I’m sure it made the transition a little easier for your kids, to be able to stay in their home.”
“Yeah, I think it was the one good thing that happened during that whole time … at least in their eyes. I did my best to help them and be there for them, but it was still very difficult. Luckily, with time they’ve been able to adjust and are both doing really well now.”
Whitney glanced at me and pursed her lips. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my ex or divorce.”
I waved her apology off and said, “Don’t worry about it. I asked. It’s part of your life and how you got to be who you are today. And I am very interested in learning all about you.”