Page 18 of Spell Ya Later

“No, it’s nice. Too many people are scared nowadays to show actual emotion. I like knowing that you’re enjoying the food.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Is that a weird thing to say?”

If only you could hear my inner monologue, BEBE. You don’t know weird.

“Not at all. Are you enjoying yours?”

“Yeah, of course! Nonna Ricci’s recipes are always the best.”

“Nonna Ricci?”

“Oh, yeah.” He swallows a forkful of pasta. “My friend from last night, Benji, his Grandma owns this place. I basically grew up here.”

He brought me somewhere this special? For a first date? My heart clenches just a tad.

“Does that mean you’re going to get a big hug from an Italian woman at some point?”

His eyes flit toward the kitchen. “Uh, that’s actually entirely possible. I don’t think she’s working tonight, or I would’ve already seen her.”

“I’ll try not to get jealous.”

He smiles cautiously. Wait. He has a little dimple in his chin that comes out when he smiles. Swoon.

“You’ve got nothing to be jealous about.”

At this point I may just melt.

“So, when you say that you grew up here. What do you mean?”

“My parents worked a lot when I was younger—they both had demanding careers. So I would often get dropped off here with Benji, and Nonna Ricci would make us an after-school snack. We’d help her clean off tables and play boardgames in the back room.”

“That’s so sweet. It sounds like she means a lot to you.”

His eyes go soft as he smiles down at his plate. “She does. I didn’t have any grandparents, so she basically adopted me as her own. She’s an amazing woman.”

I reach for his hand and the moment I touch his skin, the electric pulse shoots up my arm. I can’t hide the gasp this time.

“Do you slide your feet on the floor before you touch me?” He chuckles. “You’re always shocking me.”

He feels it, too? I gotta figure out what this is. I’ve never had this with anyone else. Maybe there’s something about this in the books at the shop?

“I guess I’m just a little staticky.” I shrug. “Um, you mentioned you work at a publishing house last night. Does that come from a love of books?”

Look at me forming legitimate sentences like an adult while changing the subject. I’m so proud of me!

“Yes, but I’m a writer, actually. I’m not anywhere as good as the people we publish, but it’s something I enjoy doing.”

“Uh huh. I’m an artist. I know impostor syndrome when I hear it. You’re probably better than you think.”

He chuckles, a light flush staining his cheeks. “I try.”

“Can I read something of yours sometime? I figure it’s only fair if you plan on crashing one of my classes.” Who is this bold bitch and where has she been my whole life? I could’ve used her around.

The bushy eyebrows raise. My dear BEBE. “I guess that’s fair, yeah. Are you sure? It’s fantasy and the world-building is a bit excessive, and I’m pretty sure I just info-dump at the beginning for thirty pages.”

Shit. He’s adorable.

“Painting for writing. That’s the only deal I’ll take.”

“Noah!” An older feminine voice with a touch of an Italian accent calls.