Page 4 of The Lucky One
“It’s a warm-up round. Don’t get cocky.” Her smile almost blinds me.
“Fine. That is a hockey puck.”
She flips to another picture. It’s ajääkiekkomaila, or hockey stick, and I tell her so. “I am a super genius, no?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to get cocky?” She flips to a picture of aherkkusienestä. It’s one of the words I had to look up the first day I came here.
“Uh oh. Starts withM. Mush…thing?”
To her credit, she doesn’t burst out laughing. “Close. Mushroom. I’ll give it to you this time. Last picture.”
“Tomato,” I say quickly. “That one is almost the same in Finnish.”
She flashes me a smile. “The cookies are all yours, big guy. Want your usual lunch?”
“You know it.”
She pauses before she turns away. “It’s nice to see you again. I missed you on Tuesday. Were you out of town?”
I nod. “L.A. and Dallas.” I haven’t told her what I do for work, because it is not nice to brag. But I can tell she is curious.
She pats me on the shoulder and then hurries off to order my pizza from the kitchen.
* * *
The food is magic,as always. Walking into this place was the best decision I ever made.
There is another Finnish saying that I am repeating to myself today as I polish off my pizza. It means:the brave eats the soup.
Romano & Bianchi is a haven for me, and I don’t want to ruin it with awkwardness. But if you want to eat the soup, as they say, sometimes a man must take a risk. If I want to have a real date with Chiara, I’ll have to ask for it.
My English will never be good enough, so I don’t think I should wait for that. Besides, there is something between us—I can feel it when she smiles at me. It’s there, whether I know the right words or not.
The next time I see her, she brings the salad.
“Chiara, I have a question for you,” I say. “It’s about the weekend. How do you feel about sports?”
She shrugs, giving me an amused look. “I like sports, but I’m better at watching them than playing.”
“That is fine. I wondered if…”
I do not even get the sentence out when the surly man—his name tag says Stefano—arrives at Chiara’s side. To my horror, he clamps an arm around her waist and kisses her on the mouth. “Honey, table twelve is sat.”
The expression flickering across her face is pure annoyance. “Territorial much?” she snaps, and I make a mental note to look up that word later. “Sorry,” she says to me, sidestepping Stefano. “I’ll be back with your pizza in a few minutes.” She hustles away.
And as he turns to follow her, Stefano gives me a smug look over his shoulder.
That bastard. He’s dating my girl. I want to punch him, I really do.
If she were dating a nice man, would I be so annoyed? No.
Okay, I would still be annoyed. Just a little less. Because I waswrong. I thought there was an attraction between us.
I saw something that was not there.
Fuck. Another useful English word.
I have the worst urge to put money on the table and leave the restaurant before I eat my lunch. Except I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. And I don’t want Chiara to know that I’m upset.
