Page 29 of DadBod

ELIZABETH

Steppingup to Rome’s front door, a chill runs up my spine. And no, it’s not cold outside. On the contrary, it’s quite balmy for May in Chicago. No. It’s the fact that I’m about to step into his house. His home. Honest to goodness, I never in a million years thought I’d be at Rome’s place. Sure, maybe if he invited the entire staff here for some sort of party, but not alone. It makes me wonder if anyone from the restaurant has ever been here. Maybe Antony? Jackie?

Working up the courage to knock, I turn and look at his neighborhood.

“Way nicer than mine.” Because of course it is. His home is only a few blocks from the restaurant in the Lincoln Square neighborhood. This house is west of North Halstead, a main thoroughfare through the city, except for up here, it’s all residential homes. And by homes I mean fancy-ass expensive brownstones. At least that’s what’s on this block, and Rome’s house is no exception. His looks a bit more modern from the front. It’s brick, yes, but the windows are black, and he’s got a two-car garage as part of the front.

I’m nervous, sure, but the truth is, I’m dying to see the inside of his house.

“How long are you going to stand out here?”

His deep voice startles me; I nearly fall down the steps backward. Luckily, Rome’s arm is long enough to grasp mine. Once he knows I’m on safe footing, he lets go. “Oh,” I say, panting. “I was just, um.” Oh hell. What was I doing?

“Come in.”

Thank goodness he stopped me from making up some stupid excuse for why I was still on his porch. “Nice neighborhood.”

“Thanks.”

As I step over the threshold, I gasp. It can’t be helped because, my God, this place is amazing. The second you walk in the front door, you see all the way back. First, there’s a living room, then the dining room. The kitchen is next, and wow, what a kitchen. It’s huge. Beyond that looks like another sitting area with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto a courtyard. “Wow.” I can’t help but say what I’m thinking. “This is amazing, Rome.”

“Yeah?” He’s stopped walking and has turned to face me. “You like it?”

I snort, then laugh. “How could anyone not like it? It looks like it should be in a fancy home magazine.”

He turns and continues to walk into the house. He points to a comfy-looking chair, stool really, in front of the huge island, as he moves around the same island to the other side. The cooking side. Rome turns and opens the right-side door of a massive refrigerator.

“My mother will be pleased to hear that.”

“Why?”

“She worked with the architect to design the interiors before I bought the place two years ago. This is her ‘vision.’” He rolls his eyes as he raises each hand to gesture air quotes. I want to laugh but think I’d better not.

“Well, she did a great job.” I look around the space and notice, for the first time, that every wall is white. Glancing down at the island countertop, I see it’s black stone of some sort. As for the cupboards, I can’t help thinking how traditional they look. They’re white as well, but I guess I’m sort of surprised at how ornate they are. Knowing Rome, I guess I figured his space would be what they call industrial on those home shows. I suppose, though, if his mom had free rein to design it the way she wanted…

“Would you change anything?”

I’m taken aback by the question. I mean, who asks guests things like that? “I, uh…”

“Be honest.” He looks behind me to the living room. “It’s a little formal, don’t you think?”

I rotate in my stool and look out into the living room. “Well, I’m not an interior designer…”

“I’m not asking you as a designer. I’m asking Elizabeth.”

“Okay.” I sigh because no way do I want to step on any toes. Bianca’s in particular. “I like the white walls.”

“But…?”

“But I’d probably paint it a soft color.” I scan the room. “I’d have furniture that looks like you could curl up and read a book. Those—” I point to his current sofas. “You’d always have to sit with your back straight up. There’s no getting comfortable on those things.” I add, “Oh, and a few soft throw pillows and fluffy blankets.”

Rome chuckles. “Don’t hold back, Elizabeth.”

“What?” I say, affronted. “You asked.”

“I did. And I thank you.”

“Now I feel terrible.”

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