Page 65 of Roguefinder

He replied in Italian, and they went back and forth while I watched like a spectator at Wimbledon. Eventually, her dark gaze landed on me. She looked me over before slanting Jesse an approving look.

“Bello, Yes-say. Molto bello.” She rattled off a few more lilting words that made Jesse’s smile spread.

He looked at me. “Consolata says I’m too thin, but you’re very handsome and I should be grateful that you agreed to sleep with me.”

My startled laugh filled the restaurant.

Consolata’s eyes lit up. Turning to Jesse, she spoke again as she ran her finger over the bridge of her nose.

Jesse grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Her husband had freckles like yours.” He looked at me. “She says if she were twenty years younger I’d have serious competition.”

More like fifty years, but who was counting?

I put a hand over my heart. “Consolata, you had me at bello.” I winked at Jesse. “Tell her I only accept compliments from beautiful women, so it’s a good thing she’s here.”

Jesse translated, and Consolata flushed pink and swatted my arm. More Italian flew back and forth, then she disappeared into the kitchen.

“She agreed to feed you,” Jesse said, resuming his seat. “That means she likes you.”

I didn’t need to see a menu. The food was going to be amazing. “How long have you known her?”

“Longer than she realizes. I came here decades ago, when she was a young bride just starting out with her husband.”

An ache shot across my heart. “And then you couldn’t come around anymore?” The same pattern had happened at other points in his life, when his immortality had forced him to stop teaching.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on the swinging door. “I visited a few years ago. Consolata is nearly deaf, and her eyesight is poor. She thinks I’m my own grandson.”

The ache deepened, and I reached across the table and took his hand. “So you became friends again.”

He smiled. “We became friends again.”

The door swung wide, and Consolata reappeared with a tray laden with food. When Jesse stood, she barked something that made him drop back into his chair like he’d been electrocuted.

I folded my arms in a feeble attempt to hold back my laughter. Jesse sat sheepishly as she unloaded plates of steaming rigatoni glistening with olive oil, a basket overflowing with bread, glasses of red wine, and a plate of oval-shaped cookies coated with powdered sugar.

Tucking her tray under her arm, she spoke a string of Italian at Jesse. He shook his head and started to respond, but she talked over him with a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Finally, he raised his hands. “Va bene.”

She held his stare, her eyes so fierce they rivaled Jesse’s when his wolf was close to the surface. Apparently satisfied she’d won their argument, she nodded.

Jesse turned to me. “Consolata says lunch is on the house.”

Having faced down a dominant werewolf more than once, I knew when to pick my battles. I met her eyes and lowered mine. “Grazie mille, signora.”

Her face split into a smile that must have broken hearts once upon a time. Cheeks pink, she waved me off with muttered Italian and returned to the kitchen.

When I turned back to Jesse, he watched me with a bemused expression.

“What?” I asked.

“Where did you learn to say thank you very much in Italian?”

Surprising Jesse van der Meer never got old. I put my napkin in my lap and reached for my wine. “I pay attention, Yes-say.”

He made a soft sound low in his throat, and I smiled at him over the rim of my glass. The red went down dry and sharp. I took another sip and let it roll on my tongue. We had plenty of time before tonight’s performance. If we returned to the house right after lunch, we could squeeze in reciprocal hand jobs. Maybe a docking session in the shower.

A buzzing sound drifted from Jesse’s pocket.