Page 6 of The Lucky One
I shake my head. “I get the same one every time.” In spite of my heartbreak, this is still my favorite place in Brooklyn. No—it’s my favorite place outside Finland.
Chiara’s heels click towards us, and I already feel better. I take her in, and my heart lifts as a smile curves across her face. “Ivo! So you do have friends.”
“One friend,” I say as my face reddens. “He likes pizza a lot.”
“You have that in common, then.” She pulls her phone out. “Okay, are you ready to play?”
I nod my head. “Let’s do it.”
She holds up a picture on her phone. The deal is that I get four questions—each one something I might see in New York. If I get them all correct, my dessert is free.
I always tip a lot, so the money is not really the point. But I do enjoy the game. And the first picture is one I can do. It’s akoira. “Dog,” I say in English.
“Good! Next one.” She swipes.
“Train.”
“Yep. Although I also would have acceptedsubway.” She flips to the next picture, and it’s easy.
“Taxi! We say it the same in Finnish.”
“Good to know in case I ever visit Helsinki.”
That is, of course, my dream. But she can’t know that.
“Okay, last one?”
She flips and I see… Oof. “We call itsateenvarjo. I don’t know the English for that.”
“Oh, ouch. It’s anumbrella.” She gives me a big smile, and her eyes grow warm. “Better luck next time. It’s a damn shame, too, because the special dessert is lava cake.”
I make a pouting face. “I’ll pay double.”
She laughs, and clicks her pen. “You want your usual?”
“Of course.”
“And you, sir?” she turns to Silas.
“No quiz for me?” he chuckles, handing over the menu. “I’ll have whatever Ivo is getting. He has big opinions, and my gut says to trust him on this.”
“Suit yourself, dude. Drinks?”
We order a couple of beers, and she trots off toward the kitchen, while I try not to stare at her ass.
Silas chuckles, sitting back in his chair. “That is more English than I've ever heard you speak in an entire day before. Actually, I think I know why you like this restaurant so much.”
“The pizza is very good.”
Silas laughs harder.
* * *
The pizzaisvery good,though, and after our salads, Silas is forced to admit it. “I had my doubts, but this crust is terrific,” he says. “She brings you this half-and-half pie every time?”
I nod, but I have a question. “If you are the master of pizza, why have you not tried this place before?”
“I like the little old school joints,” Silas says. “The uglier the better. Di Fara, for example. Or Jo and Pat’s on Staten Island. I’m a purist.”
