Page 17 of For Butter or Worse
His cell phone vibrated.
It was Nina:Knock knock.
There was an antique mirror his dad had tacked onto the wall near the server’s station, so the waitstaff could check their appearance before seeing customers. Leo eyed himself. He’d gotten a fresh haircut, not because of Nina—well, a little because of her, but he was also due for one. He’d trimmed his stubble, as well as the stray eyebrow hair that always stood straight up. He looked good. Not that he was trying to look good, exactly.
He unlocked the front door and looked out. Nina wasn’t there. He didn’t see anything until a movement in the parking lot caught his eye. She was in skintight black pants, a black, V-neck T-shirt and a black leather jacket. She wore sunglasses—even though it was the middle of the night—and her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail.
She was like a sexy assassin coming to make her kill. At least he’d go out with a nice view. He needed to speak so he’d stop staring. “You know, you made fun of me the other day for trying to look incognito. I think you’ve taken it to a new level.”
“I wore my best I-don’t-want-to-be-here outfit.” She ducked under Leo’s arm, which was holding the door, and took off her sunglasses.
“Believe it or not, you texted me.” He closed and locked the door behind him. The waiting area, where they were standing, was wide and lined with chairs, but they were only a few inches apart. He didn’t move. Vinny’s was his home base, after all.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice now that everyone thinks we’re dating.” She cocked her head at him.
Oh, so now this was his fault?
“It wasn’t all bad. I seem to remember you saying I had amazing pecs.” Seeing as this was the only nice thing Nina had ever said to him, he planned to remind her of it as much as possible.
“You’re exaggerating.” She crossed her arms and shot him a warning look. “I didnotsay that.”
He smirked, pleased at her discomfort. They both knew what she’d said.
“So this is what a Vinny’s looks like, huh?” She’d changed the subject and turned to eye the space.
He held his breath. He was, in theory, fine with Nina insulting him, but he wasn’t sure how he’d react if she started to lay in on his dad’s restaurant.
“This is the original Vinny’s my dad opened thirty years ago.” Leo gestured to the photo wall: his dad smiling in a chef’s apron, a picture of his dad, mom and babies Leo and Gavin outside of the front of the restaurant, seven-year-old Leo twirling spaghetti on a fork, Gavin holding a meatball the size of his head. They’d replicated that wall in every single Vinny’s Ristorante, but these were the original photographs.
“Cute kid.” She turned to him. “It was thoughtful of your parents to hire a child actor, knowing these would be hanging up for everyone to see.”
“That is the nice thing about living so close to LA.” He surprised himself by playing along with the joke, instead of taking the bait.
Nina didn’t notice, though. She was busy staring at a photo of his dad, who was smiling widely in an apron that read, I’m Not Yelling, I’m Italian!“So, your dad’s an Irish guy who opened an Italian restaurant.”
Leo was acutely aware of the fact that a popular Italian chain being founded by a non-Italian wasn’t traditional, but his dad had never been conventional. When he was passionate about something, he just went for it.
“He opened Vinny’s for my mom. He met her in Rome, where she was from, while he was studying abroad. He fell in love with my mom, and the city. She agreed to marry him so long as he never asked her to cook.” Leo paused, remembering the way his father loved telling people this story, and how most people laughed at that line. When he looked over at Nina, he couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but he knew she was paying attention.
“He’d been studying business, but switched to culinary school when he came back home. Everyone apparently thought he was crazy, except for my mom. He sent my mom his first report card, where he had straight A’s, and she agreed to marry him. My dad opened Vinny’s, because his name is Vincent. Then he named me Leonardo, and my brother Gavino. Dad always said he was Italian in spirit.”
“Wow.” She licked her lips.
He’d been listening so intently for her reaction that he heard her swallow.
“That might just be the grandest romantic gesture I’ve ever heard,” she added.
He blinked. There wasn’t even a trace of sarcasm in her voice. That was...different.
“So-o-o-o-o-o,” she said, elongating the word as she spun around the room. “Where should we talk?”
Leo set Nina at a booth while he went to the kitchen to get an espresso for himself, a sparkling water for her and a slice of tiramisu. When he came back, she looked at him cautiously.
This was foreign territory for both of them. He’d sat next to her at the judges’ table for dozens of episodes of their show, but this was the first time they were sitting down to eat together without the presence of camera operators.
His leg jiggled under the table. Maybe he was just hungry, and the lack of sleep was getting to him, too.
He handed a spoon to Nina and she took it. “I know what you think of Vinny’s, but there’s no way you won’t like this. It’s my dad’s recipe, the most perfect tiramisu you’ll ever have. It’s won actual awards.” That wasn’t a lie. His restaurant was a chain, but that tiramisu never tasted like it came out of a “vending machine,” as she liked to say.
