Page 130 of The Best Friend Power Play

"From what I gathered, it happened hundreds of years ago. Anyway, the clergymen were apparently really gluttonous and ate so much pasta, they choked on it."

"That's horrible."

He reaches across the table, lifts my hand, and peppers it with soft kisses. "You have nothing to worry about on that front. Eat as much as you like. Just chew carefully."

I grin. "Will do."

We fall into a comfortable, settled silence while we eat.

I can't believe my hot girl summer has become my hot girl life.

I'm with Culver.

We're living in Italy.

I take art classes in the morning.

He joined a culinary school and goes to daily lessons in the afternoons.

In the evenings, we walk around the beautiful town, and most nights, we catch up with either his family or our new circle of friends.

Of course I miss my friends back home. No one could ever take their place—or talk as fast as them—but it's nice to have a circle of good people around us here, too.

And yes, we still make time for the important things like daily pasta, nightly foot rubs, and of course, trashy TV.

We're currently watching an Italian soap opera Amori e Inganni—or Love and Deception in English. It follows the loves and betrayals of two super rich families in Florence. It's so melodramatic, so overacted, so badly scripted, that we're completely addicted.

Some things will never change.

"Did you see the photos Chester posted to the group chat this morning?" Culver asks.

"I did," I say with a smile. I added Culver to the family group chat when we came over here. "He and Hailey are adorable."

They did an art gallery hop yesterday and, by the looks of things, had a wonderful time.

"I love how they celebrate their monthly anniversary," Culver says, his eyes gleaming. "It's so sweet."

"It really is." I set my fork down in my bowl. "And listen, can I just say again?—"

"No, you may not."

"Culver."

"Hannah. No."

"But you said I could keep thanking you until we leave Italy."

"I meant it as a joke."

"Based on your incredibly poor joke history, that wasn't clear."

He makes an exasperated sound. "We are circling back to this, but you've just reminded me. I have a confession to make."

I groan and brace myself for the incoming dad joke. "What is it?"

"I only know twenty-five letters of the alphabet." A slight pause, and his lips twitch. "I don’t know y."

Shaking my head, I say, "One of your worst yet."

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