Page 107 of Trust Again

“You can’t leave me hanging like this, Dawn. I need the next chapter. Tristan and Mackenzie belong together. You know it, I know it, the entire world has known it since the beginning of time.”

It felt like a lifetime ago that he’d said pretty much the same thing to me.

“So ask me,” I whispered.

“Hm?”

“Ask me again,” I repeated.

“I don’t understand.”

I cleared my throat to get rid of the lump in it. “We could talk for hours about our mistakes, or we could skip that part and get it right this time. So just ask me out on a date so I can finally give you the right answer.”

He took a deep breath. “Go out with me.”

I laughed. “That wasn’t a question.”

“Fuck, you’re right.” He inhaled again. “Dawn Lily Edwards, would you do me the honor of going out with me?”

I gave him the answer he deserved the first time he asked me.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”

Chapter 38

Tonight was my first date. My first real date. With Spencer.

I was dying with excitement as Spencer drove us to my favorite Italian restaurant, Cassano’s. They had the best pasta and pizza in Woodshill. From the outside, the place looked unremarkable. But the interior made up for that, with its black-and-white photographs of Italian tourist destinations and the owners’ own photos. The atmosphere was personal and warm. Today there was even a pianist playing live music. The sound of the piano filled the space, as did the wonderful aroma of freshly prepared food.

Spencer entwined his fingers with mine and guided me past the tables toward the kitchen. I almost stopped and asked him what he was up to, but I trusted him. So I let myself be pulled through the swinging doors.

The Cassano kitchen was a whirlwind of activity. On the huge gas stove were a few pots in which sauce was bubbling, and across the aisle, between gaps in the huge steel shelves, I could see someone twirling pizza dough in the air.

None of the kitchen staff was surprised by our appearance. Most even greeted Spencer and me warmly. Spencer confidently led me between the rows of pots and pans until we reached the very back.

“Ah, there you are.” The man who’d just been spinning pizza dough came toward us with outstretched arms. His hands and apron were covered with flour, and he wore a bandana decorated with stars over his hair. His tan face was lined, and he had gray stubble on his cheeks.

“Dawn, this is Antonio Cassano, owner of the restaurant. He’s going to show us how to make an authentic Italian pizza,” Spencer explained.

Antonio grabbed Spencer by the hand and pulled him into a half-hug, clapping him on the back. Then he bowed slightly to me.

“Hello, Dawn, nice to meet you. Call me Tony.” His light accent gave his voice a lovely melody.

“My pleasure,” I said, still unsure of what was happening.

“Okay now, friends.” Tony clapped his hands and walked over to a counter, grabbing two fresh, white aprons and handing them to us. “You’re dressed far too nicely for the messy work ahead of us.” He raised his eyebrows and Spencer gave him a lopsided grin.

I could tell why they got along so well.

Spencer came over to me with one of Tony’s aprons. He lifted the upper loop over my head, careful not to mess up my hair. Then he walked behind me and tied a bow. His fingers grazed the bit of skin between my lace top and skirt, and I shivered. Then he removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves—it wasn’t just the heat of the ovens that made my cheeks glow—and loosely tied his own apron around his hips.

Tony led us to a sink where we were to remove any jewelry and wash our hands thoroughly. Then we returned to the counter.

“Okay. I’m gonna show you how you throw pizza dough.” He shoved two huge wooden boards with lumps of dough across the steel surface. “First, take a handful of flour to keep the dough from sticking to your fingers.”

We did as he said. Meanwhile, Tony walked around us and turned up the radio that was hanging on the side of the steel shelf. Italian music filled the kitchen, and the other employees cutting vegetables cheered.

I looked over at Spencer. He was gently covering the dough with flour and letting his fingers slide over it. Hmmm…

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