Page 129 of From Rivals to I Do

He turns away from me and clears his throat just before the elevator door opens, and we step off. I walk behind him with a faint smile growing on my face.

Something about Leonard and Monica’s relationship does feel right to me and makes me anxious. She is beautiful and very attracted to him, but Leonard is so

kind I would hate to see him with someone so cold.

I am becoming more attracted to him and feeling a little jealous of his relationship with Monica.

Chapter twelve

Chapter Twelve

Rayne and I walk down the street to DiSanto’s, one of my favorite Italian restaurants in Manhattan, to grab lunch. During the walk, Rayne keeps trying to tell

me about events I have on my calendar, but I tune the work talks out.

She and I have been spending a lot of time together since she started working at the office. I can hardly deny that I like her anymore. As much as I wish I could tell

her, I really can’t. But we can still be friends. I can find out what her favorite foods are, what roles she has always wished she could play, and her favorite spots

in the city. There are no rules against us being friends.

“Mr. Mason called yesterday and wants a meeting soon,” she breathlessly rattles off as she tries to keep pace with me.

“Okay,” I reply absently. “Oh, did I tell you the Metro-graph will be screening The Princess Bride?”

“No, you didn’t. I just need to know when Mr. Mason can come in,” she continues.

“It’s one of my favorites,” I continue, ignoring her work comments.

She sighs and sits across from me in the booth at the restaurant. What I love about DiSanto’s is how quaint it is. Hands down, it has some of the best food I

have ever eaten, all made in-house from scratch. Yet the restaurant isn’t always packed like so many others in Manhattan. Its design is hardly anything special,

exposed brick with some paintings of Italian vineyards and pictures of famous people who have eaten here hanging alongside them. Small figures of plump

chefs carrying bottles of wine, pizza, or plates of spaghetti line shelves and rest on the occasional table. There is a bar with racks full of DiSanto’s wine, which is

surprisingly delicious. It is unpretentious and underrated in every way, and coming here is like an escape from the rest of the city.

But I own it so I might be a bit biased. I bought it a few years ago when it was going out of business and helped revitalize it to stand on its own. So I may

be the only customer this restaurant ever has, but I would still say it was a sound investment, and the food is fantastic.

We order our lunch, and Rayne rests her hands on the table staring at me as if she were waiting for an answer.

“What should I tell Mr. Mason?” she asks again.

“Schedule him for some time tomorrow,” I concede. “I’d rather not talk about work right now, alright?”

She nods her head and looks around the restaurant. It’s kitsch, and most people in my circle would be judging it and looking down on the people who

patronize it. But Rayne isn’t.

“Ashton Kutcher ate here,” she says, pointing at the photo wall above my head.

“Would you look at that,” I laugh, smiling at her. “How’s the move been treating you? Are you all settled in yet?”

“Don’t get me started,” she sighs, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been living with my mom and house hunting, but I just can’t find a place. It’s either too far

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