Page 32 of Don't Remind Me
“So why didn’t you become a dancer?”
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. “I wasn’t good enough.” Which was true. Also true was the fact my mom would have developed a stomach ulcer if I’d tried for the arts. Following in my dad’s footsteps instead of her own, shattering glass ceilings? Absolutely not. “I joined a dance club freshman year of college, but it didn’t quite feel the same, and…” I shrugged. “I figured it was time to focus on something else. I just had a harder time than I thought I would finding what that something should be.”
I’d switched my major twice before settling on marketing. It wasn’t that I’d loved it so much as it seemed like a reliable way to make a living, and I hadn’t been able to think of anything I might like better. My mom’s easy acceptance of it hadn’t hurt either.
“Rachel and I still talk, though. We send Christmas cards to each other and try to get together in person at least once a year.”
And when I broke up with Alec, she’d been the only person who didn’t second-guess the decision, including myself. She’d trusted my instincts more than I had, in a way not even my parents had before, and her trust in me was a huge part of why I didn’t try to get back with him right away. Or rather my trust in her. Like if she believed in my judgment, maybe I should too.
I’dthoughtfor a long time that I’d made the right call. Seeing how happy Alec was with Stephanie, like they were made for each other, made me think we were never really meant to be together. But it was only recently I’d started tofeelthat way too.
The sidewalk opened up to the main thoroughfare of Broad Street, and Jase and I both looked left and right, deliberating which way to go. My apartment was left. Ardena was right. I didn’t know if that was where Jase would go or if he had other plans for his night off, but I figured this was where we would part ways. My stomach sank at the thought.
He gazed over at me, something almost shy in his expression. “You…wanna grab something to eat?”
That sinking feeling evaporated, my entire chest lifting as my lips tugged up. “I know a place.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jase
We loopedaround a few blocks toward the Italian Market until we reached a quaint restaurant on the corner of two side streets. It had a white brick exterior and green awnings over the windows. Josie’s was sprawled in black letters on the sign hanging over the entrance.
“Have you been here before?” Dani asked as she walked ahead of me up the three steps to the door. I tried not to stare at her ass as she reached for the handle and failed miserably.
Her outfit was driving me insane. I’d kept my hands in my pockets most of the night just to stop myself from touching her. Her belt emphasized the delicate curve of her waist that my palm would tuck perfectly into, and her top cupped her small breasts, which swelled against the fabric with every breath she took. I wanted to run my tongue along the edge like an ice cream cone. My cock throbbed in my jeans.
“No,” I said, forcing the gravel from my voice as I followed her inside.
It looked like the quintessential Italian family restaurant. Tables draped with red-and-white checkered cloths were scattered throughout the narrow space, topped with shakers of grated cheese and chili flakes. The lighting was low, made homey by string lights hung across the ceiling, and framed photos and old movie posters covered the walls.
It was busy for a Wednesday night. The kind of busy that came from regular customers rather than college kids going out for the weekend or tourists visiting from out of town. The server, a teenager in a black T-shirt and apron, waved Dani over and pointed at an empty table in the corner. Dani waved back, then nodded for me to follow.
We weaved our way through the tables, so tightly spaced I could hardly move without bumping into someone’s chair. It gave me the opportunity to check out the food on everyone’s plates.
Hints of nutty parmesan and cracked pepper caught my nose from what appeared to be cacio e pepe. The salty scent of guanciale hit me from another table’s pasta all’Amatriciana. The sautéed chicory greens I spotted really caught my attention. I hadn’t had a plate of those since leaving Italy. A spark of nostalgia flared in my chest that had me moving quicker for the table.
Dani slid into the chair against the wall, giving me the seat with a little more legroom. The server came by to drop off menus and water glasses.
“You need some time?” she asked Dani, eyeing me. I was clearly the new one here.
“Yeah, but put in an order of the eggplant to start,” Dani said. She lowered her voice. “Did he make it?”
The server flashed her brows. “Only three slices left.”
“Can I call dibs on one?” Dani asked.
“You got it. I’ll be back with your eggplant in a little bit.”
The server left, and I raised a brow at Dani.
“The owner makes the best tiramisu in the state,” she explained. “But he doesn’t make it every day, so you have to jump on it when you can.”
“How’d you find this place?” I asked. Philly’s food scene was impossible to keep up with for even the most diehard, and this seemed like the kind of gem you had to stumble upon. The regulars probably hurled empty wine bottles at reviewers to prevent word from getting out.
“The owner’s my landlord,” she said as she played with a corner of the paper menu. “I live a block away, and this is pretty much the only place I’ve eaten at since moving here.” She shot me a small grin. “He doesn’t give me a discount or anything, so don’t think that’s it. It’s just really good. Plus, his family runs it—his daughter’s our server tonight—and they take good care of me. They’re the only people besides Robin I really know here so far.”
I knew what that was like, being alone in a new city. Sometimes one where English wasn’t the native language and the only familiar thing to cling to was food. Even when the dishes were different from back home, at the core, food carried the same meaning no matter where you went. It was about community and connections, culture and customs. To feed others was to nurture them, and that was a very personal thing.
