Page 132 of Ruthless Chaos
Standing in the frame is a thin, lanky man.
His cropped hair and mustache are almost completely white, and wrinkles frame his eyes and mouth. He might be in his sixties, but there’s a lot of youthfulness in his gait and demeanor.
The man gives us both a toothy smile.
“Alex, you made it!” he exclaims, capturing Alexander in a hug.
Surprisingly, Alexander returns the hug. I just stare. I’ve never seen him hug anyone before—well, he did hug me, but that felt situational.
When they are finished with their greeting, Alexander steps aside.
“Tommaso, this is Miss Allie Clarke,” he says. “My special guest for today.”
Tommaso’s smile grows, glancing at Alexander then at me.
My heart sinks a little that he introduced me as hisspecial guest, but I remind myself that he never promised me a relationship, or a title. He promised me a date.
I should feel okay with that.
“Miss Clarke,” Tommaso kisses the back of my hand, I chuckle. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance!” He turns to Alexander, crossing his arms. “What have you done to this fine young lady that you are making amends for? Is that why you have brought her to my restaurant? To beg for her forgiveness?”
My jaw drops, and I clutch Alexander’s forearm.
Instead of getting angry though, Alexander bursts out laughing. He slaps Tommaso across the shoulders in jest, and the old man laughs as well.
Huh, not the reaction I expected.
“Forgive me, Miss Clarke,” Tommaso says when they have calmed down, bowing his head in my direction. “This is the first time Alexander has introduced me to any lady of his. I figure he must desperately need my help to impress you.”
“Are you going to talk her ear off, or cook, Tommaso?” Alexander asks with a smirk.
Tommaso laughs again, wagging his finger at Alexander. He moves aside, allowing us to enter the restaurant. Alexander guides me over the threshold with a hand on my shoulder. When I step inside, it’s so much cozier than I expected.
In some respects, inside the restaurant is just like the town.
The cast iron chairs and tables are weathered, like they’ve been here for generations. The gingham tablecloths, the colored string lights wrapped around the thick wooden beams holding up the sagging roof, even the faint smell of oregano soaked into the walls—it’s like I’ve stepped into acasa rustica.
Tommaso closes the door behind us, then leads us to a booth that looks out to the street. I take a seat opposite Alexander, and our host disappears while mumbling something to himself about menus.
“So, what do you think?” Alexander says, gesturing to the empty room.
My eyes follow his movement, giving the place another appreciative glance. I can’t even find the right words to describe it. “This place, it’s beautiful. It feels like we’re in Italy.”
Alexander nods. “That’s what I love about it. The food is just as good, too.”
Tommaso returns then, bearing two laminated sheets of paper that look like they have seen better days. The menu items are handwritten in Italian. Though it’s been a while since I’ve spoken or even read the language, I remember enough to understand most of the options.
“I will give the lady a moment to decide,” Tommaso says, retreating to the door on the opposite side of the room. It probably leads to the kitchen.
“Everything looks so good,” I mutter, perusing the choices. “I can order anything?” I eye the empty restaurant again. “Do you think he will have it? There’s no crowd today.”
Alexander smirks. “It’s empty by design, Al.”
I raise an eyebrow. He continues. “I rented the entire restaurant. It was very short notice, but Tommaso agreed to close for us.” He points to a wall filled with pictures of Tommaso and groups of people. They look like tourists. “Usually, it’s a full house. This is the best Italian spot this side of the country.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, hastily looking back at the menu.
Alexander rented a restaurant so we could be alone.
