Page 32 of The Cruelty of Thorns

“So? He won’t bite you. He’s just a guy.”

“But what will we talk about?”

“He likes your art. Talk about that.”

There’s the problem. Talking about my art always led back to Poe. And I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about that.

I finished dressing and stared at myself in the mirror. What did he see in me? There were plenty of other girls prettier than me in the school.

Kristin walked up behind me and squeezed my shoulders. “You’re overthinking it again. Ron likes you. He wouldn’t have asked you out if he didn’t.”

“Yeah but why?”

“Who knows? If I had the answer to that I’d be a very rich girl. Now stop fidgeting so I can fix your hair.”

An hour later I was still fidgeting while I stood outside the dorm waiting for my date. I almost went back inside at least a half dozen times, certain that he had changed his mind and wouldn’t show up, but there he was, walking across the quad, looking good enough to eat, as Kristin would say, in a black sport jacket, a pair of black slacks, and a sky blue button-down shirt the exact shade as his eyes. I felt my throat catch; how was I ever going to get through this evening?

“Hey there,” he greeted with an easy smile. “You ready? I figured we could just walk.”

I hadn’t really thought about how we would get there, and I realized I didn’t even know if he had a car. Many of the kids who lived on campus didn’t, since the area around the school was so walkable. We set off across the quad toward the gate while Ron made small talk about something that happened today in one of his classes. I was grateful he took on the burden of conversation as I still didn’t have any idea what to say to him.

We headed down a side street I had never been on after we left the campus. Ron had said we were going to a small Italian restaurant he liked. “It’s nothing fancy,” he assured me, “but the food is excellent and Mama Capellini fusses over you like you’re family.”

I smiled at that and wondered if Julianus ate there, since he had mentioned he missed Italy. I immediately felt flustered for thinking about him while on a date with another man. You can get through this, I told myself for the tenth time.

The restaurant was every bit as homey as Ron described. The scent of garlic and baking bread enveloped me as soon as we walked in. It was a small space, less than a dozen candlelit tables draped in crisp white cloths, only half of which were occupied. The floors were worn terracotta tile and the plaster walls were painted with murals of the Italian countryside.

A plump older woman emerged from a door in the back when we entered and waddled over to us, her dark eyes lit with a smile.

“Ronnie. So good to see you.”

He grinned as she reached up and pinched his cheek. “Mama Capellini, this is Myra.”

“Ah, such a pretty girl, but too thin. Not to worry, Mama will fatten you up. Come, you two sit here. Best table in the house.” She herded us toward a table in the front by the window.

I didn’t know quite what to make of the woman’s comments as Ron pulled out my chair and waited for me to sit like a perfect gentleman. I sat down and watched him round the table as Mama Capellini handed me a menu.

“A bottle of good red?’ she asked Ron, who glanced at me then shook his head.

“Just water for now.”

The woman clucked her tongue and nodded. “I’ll be back with your bread.”

After she hurried off to the kitchen Ron looked over at me and grinned. “She’s a force of nature.”

“She seems to know you well.”

“I come here at least three times a month. It’s like eating at my nonna’s house.”

“Your family is Italian?”

“On my mother’s side. Family gatherings at Nonna’s were always chaotic affairs, but oh my god the food. As she would say, bellisimo.”

I smiled, picturing it. What are the odds that I would meet two men of Italian heritage? “You had a big family?” I recalled him saying something about a brother.

“Extended family. My mother was the middle of nine children. Lots of aunts and uncles and cousins. What about you?”

I lowered my voice, not wanting to spoil his good mood. “I was an only child, and both my parents are dead.”

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