Page 9 of Paging Dr. VanRyan

“No menus,” he insisted. “I cook special for you!”

Matthew grinned. “That would be wonderful, Marco.” He glanced at me. “Any allergies or dislikes?”

“Nope.”

“Magnifico,” Marco enthused. “Beautiful girl,” he whispered to Matthew. “Bella.”

He left after pouring us each a glass of wine and setting a basket of bread between us.

“You come here a lot?” I asked.

He looked bashful suddenly. “My parents brought us here a lot. My dad loves this place.” He tapped a picture on the wall with a sheepish grin. “We were regulars.”

I leaned close and peered at the picture. It was a couple sitting in this booth. They sat next to each other, the man’s arm around a small woman. The man was handsome, confident. The woman delicate and pretty. I had no doubt they were Matthew’s parents. “My goodness, you look like your father.”

“So I’m told regularly.”

I studied the picture closely. “Not as arrogant. You have your mom’s expression too. It’s easy-going.”

He gaped at me. “Seriously. My sister says the same thing.” He took a sip of wine, then lifted a piece of focaccia bread, dipping it in olive oil. He bit and chewed, shutting his eyes as he swallowed. “You have to try this.”

I took a piece and hummed around the fresh bread. The rosemary and olive oil were rich and pungent. The bread pillowy and warm. “Delicious.”

He smiled and continued our conversation. “I look like my dad, but in many ways, I’m more like my mom,” he mused. “I’ve always been a little reserved. Quieter.”

“You don’t strike me as reserved.”

“I was very quiet as a child. Introverted and nervous at times. I mostly grew out of it, but there are times I’m still caught in the moment. In groups, or with new people.”

He paused before taking another bite, meeting my eyes. “But I forgot to be nervous with you,” he said, the words honest and simple. “You made me feel different somehow.”

I paused and blew out a long breath. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you, Matthew?”

“The best kind, I hope.”

I smiled as I dunked another piece of bread into the fragrant olive oil in the small bowl.

“We’ll see.”

“What do you do?” I asked him as we ate the delicious stuffed shrimp Marco had set on the table. Loaded with garlic, Parmesan cheese, and spices, it was highly addictive.

“I’m an ER doc.”

I paused, my fork partway to my mouth. “Where?”

“Victoria General.”

I took a bite, chewing and swallowing before responding. “Wow. The ER is a high-pressure game. You need to think on your feet and make life-and-death decisions all the time.”

He tilted his head, studying me. “You sound as if you’ve had experience.”

I smiled as I picked up my glass. “I’m studying to be a nurse.”

His eyes widened. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “The bakery gig is helping to pay for my tuition. My aunt owns it—she lives in the other apartment.”

“That’s great.”