Page 29 of Better Than Gelato
And apparently I say that out loud, because Jake smiles and says, “Yeah, me too.”
My seventy percent just got bumped up to one hundred percent.
All the way home and as I take the elevator up to the Rossi’s apartment I relive the feel of his lips on mine and his hand pulling me closer.
I text Maggie just before I crawl into bed.
Jake and I are officially dating, and he kisses like a freaking rock star. Okay, I haven’t actually kissed a rock star, so that may be inaccurate. But man can that guy kiss!
* * *
We’re celebrating Diego’s birthday tonight with a dinner party at Paolo’s house. Jake picked up a gift from the two of us. I guess that’s something we do now that we’re a couple.
As we knock on Paolo’s door, I’m hyper aware of the fact that I’m holding Jake’s hand. In front of everyone. Because I’m his girlfriend.
How did I end up here?
I feel like a salamander wearing shoes, conspicuous and unnatural.
“Benvenuti, Americani,” Paolo says, opening the door wide. He gives me a kiss on the cheek and takes our gift from Jake. He sees Jake holding my hand and gives me a raised eyebrow but makes no comment.
Paolo’s apartment is just like Paolo—good looking and rich. The couches are leather, the rug looks expensive, and there’s a mahogany bookcase filled with intimidating volumes. My brain pulls up the apartment Mags and I shared last year, furnished with thrift store finds. It’s a stark contrast. My Italian bestie is an actual grown up. And I am…something else.
Jake gives my hand a squeeze, then heads over to talk to Diego who’s sitting on the couch. I go help Carmen and Valentina set the table.
“So you and Jake!” Carmen whispers to me while she places plates around the table. “Wow! I did not expect that. Although I guess I should have. What happened with you and Paolo?”
“Me and Paolo are just friends,” I whisper back.
“I think you and Jake look really nice together,” Valentina whispers, setting a napkin at each place.
“Thanks,” I say. “I feel weird.”
“Why?”
I shrug lamely.
We finish setting the table, and I go looking for Paolo. I find him in a spotless kitchen filled with gleaming appliances.
“How can I help?” I ask.
“Sit on that barstool and tell me charming stories while I mix up this salad. The lasagna should be ready in a few more minutes.”
“Ooh, I love lasagna.”
“Well, you’re in luck. This is my grandmother’s recipe. Upon eating your first bite, you will immediately fall in love with me. But don’t do anything rash. I promise you, it’s just the lasagna influencing you.”
“Thanks for that warning.”
“Wouldn’t want Jake throwing a punch in the middle of Diego’s birthday party.” Paolo drizzles olive oil over dark romaine lettuce.
“Sure wouldn’t. Though he doesn’t seem the type does he?”
“No, he does not.”
I want to ask Paolo what he thinks of us dating, but I’m not sure I want to pull that thread right now. So instead I say, “How’s work going?”
“It brings me no pleasure but pays me enough to pursue pleasure elsewhere.”
