Page 68 of Dirty Dix

“Good morning, Concetta,” I reply with a smile, as the elderly lady hobbles out and gives me a kiss on both cheeks.

“Dove sei stato?” she asks, scolding me for being MIA.

“I’ve been busy with work,” I reply in English, as Madison looks completely lost in translation.

“You work too hard,” Concetta says with a thick Italian accent. “Look at you. You’re too skinny. Here sit, sit. I will make youfrittelle di ricottaand bring somepane.”

I laugh as she escorts us over to a booth. “Thank you, but just coffee and those biscotti.” I point at the endless display of baked goods. “This is Madison, by the way,” I add, and Madison smiles.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, and she surprises me as she bends forward, giving Concetta two kisses on the cheek before taking a seat.

When Concetta looks at me approvingly, I know what she’s thinking.

“You are aprincipessa,” she says, and Madison giggles.

“Thank you. I think.”

Concetta cackles, patting my arm. “Mi piace il suo,” she says, voicing her approval of Madison before heading over to the coffee machine.

Taking a seat, I look over at Madison, who’s looking around the store in awe.

“Wow,” she gushes, her eyes widening when she sees the variety of food on display.

Growing up amongst these traditional Italian items, I’ve completely forgotten how overwhelming all this cultural stuff can be. But when Madison bounces in her seat and claps her hands, I know she’s not so much overwhelmed as overjoyed.

“Is that for us?” she asks Concetta, who has a huge tray of sweets in her hands.

“Si, principessa,” she replies and places the platter on our table.

“Thank you,” I say, looking up at Concetta, who I’ve known since I first moved to Manhattan.

“Anything for you,” she replies, and I give her arm a gentle squeeze.

A contented sigh has me turning around to look at Madison, who has slumped back in her seat, happily munching away on a cannoli.

“That’s some good shit,” she says dreamily, taking another bite.

When her pink tongue darts out to lick up any missed sweetened ricotta on her lips, I barely contain my self-control.

“So,” I say, needing an immediate distraction. “I couldn’t help but notice you have quite the sweet tooth.”

Madison pauses chewing, and I chuckle at her guilt. She swallows quickly. “You got me. I don’t eat desserts often, so when I do, I kind of make up for lost time. Sorry,” she says, embarrassed.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” I stress, pushing the platter toward her.

Madison smiles and shyly reaches for a biscotti.

“So why don’t you eat dessert?” I ask, stealing a mini fruit tart. “I like that you feel comfortable enough to eat this way around me by the way.”

Madison stops chewing, and her cheeks turn a ghastly white.

“That was a compliment,” I explain, wondering what I’ve said that’s wrong.

She nods but pushes the plate away from her while I raise my eyebrow, confused.

“Are you okay? Did I say something to upset you? I just meant—”

But she cuts me off. “I know what you meant,” she says, lowering her eyes. “Thank you, I just…” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “I was a chubby kid, and well, something, um…it was…” And I see her clam up as she twists a napkin in her hands.

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