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The server appears at the table, delivering our order of Spaghetti alla Napoletana. I take a bite, savoring the rich tomato sauce and perfectly cooked noodles. As good as always.

“There it is. That smile.” He leans back in his chair, grinning. “You know, you should do that more often.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What, smile? I smile plenty.”

“Not like that. That’s a real smile. It lights up your whole face.”

Heat rises to my cheeks. I lower my gaze to my plate, twirling spaghetti around my fork. What is happening to me? Since when do I get all shy like some smitten schoolgirl?

“You’re just trying to butter me up so I’ll forget you stole my phone.”

Connor chuckles. “Is it working?”

“Maybe a little.” I glance up at him, unable to stop the corners of my mouth from twitching upwards.

“Why is this your favorite?”

How do you explain to a stranger why something as simple as pasta makes you happy? Why the mere sight of it transports you back to happier times, simpler moments.

“It’s silly.”

“Tell me.”

“We used to go to this tiny Italian place every Sunday night. Nothing fancy, just a tiny restaurant run by this lovely older couple. But they made the best pasta. We’d sit at the same checkered tablecloth booth by the window, and my dad would let us try sips of his wine. He’d laugh like I’d never heard him laugh since.” Back when life was easier, problems were less complicated. “The owner, Mr. Rossi, would fuss over us like we were his own family. And the best thing, he would give me and my sister gummy cherries after dinner.”

Gummy cherries became our favorite candy, and we ate it while watching reality TV before…

I gaze up at Connor, his intense eyes fixed on me.

“You don’t go there anymore?”

“Not exactly. After my father took over the hotel from my grandfather, he hired the older couple, and they ran this restaurant before their son took over. So, now I can get a taste of my favorite food whenever I want.”

“I guess there’s a lot I still have to learn about you.”

God, what am I doing? I stuff another bite of pasta into my mouth.

“Blue?” He leans across the table, holding a napkin, and dabs at the corner of my mouth, his eyes lingering on my lips. “You had a little sauce there.”

I let out a nervous chuckle. “Th-thanks.” The mere closeness to him causes my brain to go haywire.

“So, tell me more about yourself, Connor Milton. What’s your story?”

“There isn’t much to tell, really. Boring life, boring job, boring hobbies… Pretty standard fare.”

Standard fare? From what I’ve seen thus far, Connor is anything but ordinary.

“Where are you from originally?”

“Let’s see... born and raised in the UK. One little brother.”

“Age?”

Connor raises an eyebrow. “Mid-30s. Is this an interview now? Should I have brought my CV?”

“Since we’re on a date and supposed to get to know each other… It’s only fair you share something about you, too.”

“Oh, so it’s a date now?”

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