Page 48 of Fifth Avenue Flirt

“If we’re changing, I’m wearing jeans.”

She pauses, before she says, “Really?”

“Really. And I need to shower because the rot is beginning to smell.”

She grins, and it’s like I’m snowboarding down a mountain, the high is so intense.

“You do not smell,” she says.

If, when I come out of the shower, she still doesn’t want to go out, then we’ll order in or I’ll cook, but I’d really like to take her to Serenissima. It would be a perfect end to the day.

When I come out of my bedroom, Avril is waiting for me, dressed in jeans and a black top that’s kind of a vest underneath but a see-through poofy black blouse over the top. She looks incredible. Her hair is down and damp at the ends. She looks relaxed and happy. And somehow that makes me relaxed and happy.

“For reference, a typical bed-rotting day doesn’t involve showers or restaurants.”

“Noted,” I say. “I appreciate your flexibility.”

Twenty minutes later, we pull up outside Serenissima, just a little south of Little Italy.

“I’ve never heard of this place,” she says, as she takes my hand to step out of the car.

“The food is excellent,” I say.

“I feel a little overdressed.”

She’s wearing the same shoes that she wore to Aurora and Deacon’s engagement party, but in red. It was one of the pairs that I had delivered to her with her replacement dress, and a warmth swirls in my chest at the idea that she accepted those shoes. And the shirt she’s wearing was on the rail of clothes I had delivered for her. I don’t know what changed her mind about those clothes, I just know I’m pleased she knows I wasn’t trying to infantilize her or that I don’t see her as incapable. For some reason, I like buying her shit. It makes me feel more intwined with her. Closer. It’s a good feeling.

I internally cringe at my own pathetic reaction. I don’t know what’s happening to me.

“Did you book?” she asks me, as we get to the glass door.

The restaurant’s busy—which makes me happy. Beppe deserves people all over America knowing how good his food is.

“I didn’t. Hopefully they’ll squeeze us in.”

An idea starts to bloom. I pull out my phone, quickly drop a couple of words into my notes and then hold the door open for Avril.

“Benjamin!” Maria booms across the restaurant.

In seconds, the chef’s wife has my face in her hands. “Look at you. So skinny. We need to feed you up.”

She stops when she notices Avril beside me, and she breaks into a grin. “Why, who do we have here? A woman, Benjamin?”

I grin. “This is my friend Avril. Can you squeeze us in?”

“You know we always have room for you,” she says, looking Avril up and down.

“Lovely to meet you,” Avril says, a little more timid than she usually is. “I’m excited to be here.”

Maria nods. “It’s good to have you.” She turns to me. “She’s very beautiful.”

I chuckle. “She is.”

Maria glances between us again and smiles. “Follow me.”

I put my hand in the small of Avril’s back and guide her through the restaurant.

Some waiters get yelled at in Italian by Maria, some tables are shuffled around, and then Avril and I are shown to a table in the window. It’s the table where Maria normally seats me.