Page 94 of My Infatuation with Isabella

“Really? What kind of training?”

“Anything. Most of the time, they’re new business owners that don’t have much experience in running a restaurant, so we try to support them as much as possible because their success is our success. I do workshops on brand management, quality checks, customer loyalty programs, even cooking classes.”

“Wow.” I pull my lips in to stop a smile. I like seeing this side of him, this more grown-up, mature version of the boy I used to know. “And here I thought you were just a pretty face. Do you enjoy what you do, or do you wish you could’ve tried something else?”

“Dana isn’t too keen on working in the family business. She’s branching out and trying different things. She’s there every day to help out, but that’s just because she doesn’t want to be bored at home. But me? I love it. I love that it’s challenging but flexible, and there’s just always something to learn and change or innovate. I change the menu, like, every six to eight months and I will perfect every recipe before I put it on there. That’s the thing I love most.”

I smile because his passion is dripping off every word. He stops the car, shifts it into park, then gets out and walks around to the passenger door. He’s about to lift me again when I raise my hand to stop him.

“It’s fine. I’ll walk barefoot.”

“Okay.” He reaches into the backseat to grab a paper bag, then shuts the door. “I got us some hot dogs like you asked, but I know you don’t eat meat on Fridays, so they’re vegan hot dogs. I’ll be honest, I’m not excited to try them.”

“You didn’t have to do that. Besides, it’s technically Saturday.”

He assists me out of the car, and we walk down a wide path with buildings on either side. The lamps and moonlight provide sufficient light, but it’s so quiet and our voices seem to echo in the dead stillness of the night. There isn’t a soul around and it feels like we have the entire world to ourselves. We weave our way between the tall buildings until we get to the fountain in the middle of a conjoined office courtyard.

“Oh, wow!” I gasp when it comes into view all lit up in pink, purple, and turquoise lights. It’s a little darker here, so the colors stand out even more. “It’s beautiful.”

He kicks off his sneakers, then balls up his socks, and sticks them into one. We both roll our pants up to our knees, and he holds my hand to help me climb up onto the smooth outer wall.

“Careful,” he says. “It looks slippery.” He waits for me to step into the water before he lets go of my hand.

“Shit, that’s cold,” I say as the icy temperature causes goosebumps to break out all over my skin.

Dylan sucks in a sharp breath as he steps in as well. “Yeah, that’scold.”

I push a few coins away with my toes, trying to adjust to cold seeping through to my bones. Despite the prickling sensation zinging through my feet and ankles, I still feel a sense of soothing calm. It’s the sound of running water, the subtle splash against my shins...and this man sitting beside me. The gleaming light from the water reflects off his face, the subtle colors dancing on his skin. I cannot think of anything that could make this moment more perfect.

“You’re shivering.”

He unzips his cotton hoodie, then pulls it off and drapes it over my shoulders. Yep, the moment just got more perfect because now I’m inhaling his woody cologne. I love that he still smells the same.

“So, what’s it like living with Pete?” I ask as I slide my arms into the sleeves. “I imagine it must be very disruptive to your sleep patterns with...all the women he brings over.”

“Pete doesn’t bring women over. It’s too personal for him to have them in his space. So, he either goes to her house or...he gets a hotel room. His longest relationship was maybe two and a half, three months, and he never took her home.”

“It’s weird how all of you are so different, yet you’re such good friends.”

He reaches to the other side and grabs the hot dogs. “We just understand each other, I guess.” He hands one to me, and he looks very skeptical as he unwraps it from its packaging. He sniffs it first before taking a bite.

It's midway through the third chew when he abruptly stops as if it took some time for his brain to register the taste. “Ah, fuck, no.” He looks around and when he can’t find anything, he turns to discreetly spit it out back into the packaging. He wraps it back up and tosses it in the paper bag. “Nope! Not eating that.”

“You’re just picky about what you eat,” I point out. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Okay, take a bite and tell me what you think.”

I do but it doesn’t take me three chews. I’m repulsed from the second it enters my mouth. “Shit, what is that? It tastes like sawdust wrapped in a cardboard casing.” I spit mine out, too. “Gross!”

He laughs because I’m trying to dust the granules off my tongue. “See? It’s disgustingly awful. If this is something you intend to do three days a week, then I need to learn how to make proper vegan hot dogs. We can’t go through life like this.”

I completely ignore everything he implied with that long-term statement and keep the conversation light. “When you get the perfect recipe, send it to Tom. He already has quite an impressive collection of vegan recipes. He’s taking this stuff very seriously.”

“You should tell him to collate the good ones and publish a recipe book.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“Yeah, he can call it The Culinary Adventures of Tom Soya.”

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