Page 93 of My Infatuation with Isabella

Tom ponders a bit as he chews. “I like Dylan. I always have, but I’ve been there every time he’s hurt you. I’ve witnessed what it does to you...so I’m skeptical, too.” He ponders some more. “I think you should just throw caution to the wind, give him the benefit of the doubt, and put your all into it. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could totally shatter me.”

“You bounced right back the last time.”

“I’ve pretty much been single since 2019.”

“Everyone bounces differently. Yours was more like a...belly flop. Who am I to judge? Look, the point is, if you’re wrong, the result is still the same. You’ll grow old alone, so just take the risk.”

“You know, I’m not sure why we even got a relationship columnist to come in this week when we have you, Thomas. That was such great advice,” I mutter sarcastically. “But...I’ll take it. Now, the more important question is, even if I survive the impending heartbreak of Dylan De Lorenzo, how are we ever going to survive eating vegan three days a week for the rest of our lives?”

“Considering some of the other things I’ve put in my mouth, this isn’t that bad...and I found someamazingrecipes.”

“Do tell.”

He spends ten minutes telling me about the benefits of tofu before explaining to me what tofu actually is. I’m reluctant to try any of these recipes because they sound...bland and unappetizing, but he swears by them. He promises to make something with tofu over the weekend and bring a taster for me on Monday. We chat about the fundraiser while I write my daily blog post.

Because the day lacked a certain level of excitement, Tom and I go to the arcade after work just to ride the bumper cars. One is never too old for bumper cars. At least that’s what we tell the snotty ten-year-olds who try to tell us it’s just for kids. Once I get home, I shower, then eat a light dinner. It’s the microwaveable kind. After washing up, I curl up in bed to watch a movie, and I must doze off because a hard thumping on my front door wakes me up a few hours later.

Startled, I sit up and check my phone. It’s almost two a.m. There’s silence for a few seconds and I start to wonder if I’d been dreaming, but the thumping starts again. Slightly disoriented, I stand up and make my way to the front door.

“Who is it?” I ask nervously.

“Take a wild guess.”

“Dylan?” I unlock the door and open it.

“Hi.” A smile of satisfaction quirks up his lips. “It’s date two. I think I’m gonna take a few minutes with that mouth right now.”

I’m still in a sleepy daze when he grabs the back of my neck and brings my mouth to his. That kiss sure wakes me up because it’s filled with the kind of desperate lust that zings through my entire body. His mouth is insatiable, like he’s been dying to kiss me, and I respond with the same longing.

When he finally pulls away, he checks his phone. “Twelve minutes. I still have forty-eight to go.” He takes my hand. “C’mon.”

“What? No! Do you realize it’s two in the morning?”

“Yeah, I know. Pete kindly reminded me of the time when I woke him up to ask him about the De Lorean. That was very sneaky, by the way. I thought you meant to type De Lorenzo and your phone did a weird auto-correct, but once I figured out that itwasn’ta mistake, and you were actually referring to the car fromBack to the Future, I had to get Pete involved because no one knows more useless movie facts than him.”

It's so cute how he got everyone involved. “And what did Peter tell you?”

“He told me the De Lorean needs a speed of eighty-eight miles per hour to travel into the future, you said add on a zero in the last bit of your riddle so...here I am. Eight-eighty LincolnAvenue, not Lincoln Park.”

I smile because he’s so proud of himself for figuring it out. “I’m impressed. I thought it would take you longer.”

“If I had to go one more day without kissing you, I think I would’ve lost it.” He tugs my hand again. “Now, let’s go on our date.”

I look down at my pink and grey long-sleeved top that saysI’m not a morning personwith my matching grey pants. “I can’t go out like this. I’m in my pajamas. I don’t even have shoes on. I?”

He bends down, grips my waist, and tosses me over his shoulder. “Problem solved. Let’s go.”

After shutting my front door, he carries me to his car and deposits me into the front seat. He still has that weird habit of locking the door and he only unlocks it when he reaches the driver’s side. I don’t say anything about it when he gets in.

“You’re going to be exhausted later,” I say as he pulls away from the curb. “Don’t you need to be at the restaurant in a few hours?”

“We have most of our catering events over the weekends, so I alternate with Akeem otherwise we’d both end up working seven days a week. This is my weekend off.”

“Oh, so there is some rest for the wicked,” I tease. “What’s a typical day like for you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t have a typical day. Some days I work until one in the afternoon, other days I’ll stay there until we close at eleven p.m. Most days I finish between six and seven, and my dad stays until closing time, but that can change without warning. When you’re in a family business, you have to adapt and know how to doeveryone’sjob. Every day is different, so I can go from cooking to waiting tables, from inventory manager to cashier. I also do a lot of training courses for the franchisees.”

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