Page 12 of Can't Kiss the Chef

“I saw you three days ago, and things have been a little crazy here.”

I hear my name being called, and behind the counter is my coffee and sandwich, along with Cora’s scone.

“Thank you,” I say quietly to the girl who made my coffee.

“Why are you thanking me?” My Nonna asks, confusion extinguishing her anger.

“I wasn’t thanking you, Nonna. I just got some coffee.” I shake my head. I love her but sometimes this woman drives me crazy.

Like she can see me from her house in Philly, “Don’t be shaking your head at me, missy.”

“I’ll never understand how you are able to do that,” I murmur. “Is Nonno there? I want to say hi before I have to go to an appointment.”

Purposefully leaving out what kind of appointment because even though my relationship with my grandparents is much better than my parents, they still hate my tattoos.

“Mario, Lola is on the phone,” she screams to my Nonno in Italian. They only speak to me and my siblings in Italian.

“You don’t need to yell, Antonella. I am sitting right next to you. How are you doing, Lola?”

“I’m good, Nonno. Are you guys having everyone over for dinner today?”

“Yes, the sauce is simmering on the stove now.” Pride oozes in his voice.

My phone vibrates against my ear. It’s a message from Cora saying that she finished the sketch.

“I have to go.” I hate hanging up the phone after talking to them. “I love you guys, tell everyone hi from me and Ollie today.”

“We love you too, Lola,” they say in unison.

I find Cora at her station, the sketch of the tattoo lying on her bench. I’m not shocked to see that it is perfect. The outline of the vintage stamp fits perfectly between my cowboy, representing my trip to Austin and my Byron Bay lighthouse.

Suddenly It feels like my heart stops. A hazy memory plays out for an audience of one. Byron looked sad when he saw the tattoo that bore his name. He told me with so much confidence that it was a sign that we were meant to be together. I told him it was just a coincidence that one of my favorite places in the world happened to have his name in it. That night I made him promise me that one day we would travel there together. For a while, I really believed we would make that trip.

“It looks so good!” I tell her as I look at the placement in the floor-length mirror.

Once you get a couple of tattoos you become unfazed by the continuous pricking and somehow are able to talk through the pain.

We fill each other in about our summers, other than my trip, there isn’t much to tell. Just the balance of good and bad of being at home. Cora shows me the business plan she wrote up for her own shop. It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to jump off the bench and tug her into a hug. Since I met her, Cora has toyedwith the idea of opening her own place, only to decide it was too dicey since she was making great money where she was.

“It was you changing your major that was the final push. Can’t have my friend pursuing her dreams and be too scared to achieve my own.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been an inspiration to anyone.” I say softly. I’m normally just a disappointment.

Cora takes a paper towel and cleans off the extra ink. Like always, I’m not allowed to look at the finished product until I’m in front of the full-length mirror. I’m in awe of what I see, another flawless tattoo from Cora.

“It’s amazing. I’m obsessed.”

I squeeze my friend and make her promise to come out with me and my roommates next weekend.

After she wraps my arm to protect my new ink I leave the shop. I get halfway out the door, when I remember that I have the sandwich from the coffee shop in my bag. I’m digging through my large tote bag when I run into a wall. When I look up, a beautiful pair of golden brown eyes are locked on mine.

“I’m so sorry,” I say at the same time he says, “Lola? Is that you?”

“Dalton! How are you?” I tuck my sandwich back in my bag before I hug him. “Why are you in Westvale?”

“Some guys on the team heard about a new brewery, so we decided to come here for the day.” He shrugs like it’s not totally weird that we’ve run into each other

“New tattoo?” His eyes are glued to the saniderm wrapped around my arm.

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