Page 150 of Theirs to Corrupt

“I know just the place,” she says.

Twenty minutes later, we park in front of a small, local restaurant near her apartment.

“David introduced me to this place, and it’s become my favorite.”

According to the sign and the decorations on the windows, I’m guessing the food is Italian.

“Carb lovers heaven.” She grins.

“Sounds perfect.” Comfort food is exactly what I need.

“The lasagna is to die for. But David loves the fettuccini alfredo.”

We walk in, and she’s greeted by name and swept into a hug by the woman she introduces as the owner.

Mouthwatering scents fill the air: fresh baked bread, maybe herbs, and bubbling cheese. Suddenly I’m hungrier than I realized.

As we’re sliding into a booth across from each other, Natalie orders each of us a glass of house red wine, along with a dozen garlic knots to share.

“I’ll be right back,” the owner promises.

“Come here often?” I tease.

Natalie blushes. “If David didn’t keep me so…busy, I’d already need to buy a whole new wardrobe.” She giggles.

Moments later, our drinks are delivered, and we each have a menu in front of us.

Natalie peeks at me over the top of hers. “Save room for the dessert trio.”

“Oh?” I scan to the bottom. “Oh my God. No.”

“Cannoli, tiramisu, and torte caprese.”

Which, according to what I’m reading, is a decadent rich, flourless chocolate-and-almond cake.

“I’m going to be in a coma at the end of this meal.”

“That’s the plan.” She grins. “You’ve been thinking too damn much. Did you decide on your entrée?”

I’m thinking the dessert and garlic knots should be more than enough food. Then my gaze stops on my favorite dish of all time. Gnocchi. Pasta and potatoes all in the same delicious bite.

Now I’m convinced. Within an hour, I’m going to be in a food coma.

The appetizer is delivered, and once we’ve placed our orders, we both sit back with our glasses of wine.

“I can’t thank you enough for going with me today.”

“Are you kidding me? I love this kind of thing. House hunting. Seeing different interiors, decorating styles. I’ve become addicted to home improvement shows on television. My favorite takes place in New Orleans. There’s a contractor on it who is so yummy. Part of me watches just to see his muscles ripple. Mason Sullivan. Have you seen it?”

“No.” I transfer one of the garlic knots onto my plate. “But now I’m tempted.” I take a bite, and the rich, buttery flavor explodes in my mouth. “Oh dear Lord.”

“Warned you!” She shoots me a triumphant grin.

“Did I die and go to heaven?”

“You’ll definitely think so by the end of the meal.”

We both laugh.

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