Summer put her hands to her cheeks, feigning a blush. Michelangelo bustled the two of them to a table, patting Summer on the shoulder, and said, “I’ll get you a candle, more romantic.”
“Um,” Summer started, but it was too late. She looked across the table at Fenrir. “He thinks you’re my date.” She covered her eyes with her hand. “I’m sorry. He’ll be digging at you all evening now.”
Fenrir blinked. “He thinks I am a date? Your date?” He turned around, though he didn’t know what he was looking for. He returned to a faced-forward position, staring at the table cloth before looking at her with curious blue eyes. “Is it a bad thing that he thinks thusly?” He took her warning and upped his guard. He was going to seem like a rather odd man, that was for sure.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind if it was the truth, but since it’s not … it’s a bit awkward.” She tipped her head to one side, studying him, then smiled gently. “But this trip is not about me! It’s about what you want. So just ignore Michelangelo, okay?”
Picking up the menu cards, encased in plastic to protect against spills, she chewed on the side of her finger and pondered out loud. “Now, do I want my usual thing, or shall I try something new?”
His eyes didn’t leave her as she spoke, nor when she picked up the menu to make a selection. He continued to watch her casually. His menu remained beside his arm for a long moment before he finally turned his gaze down to it and picked it up, leafing through the words written there.
He had no idea what to pick.
His eyes found her face again. “There is so much to choose from here… do you have a suggestion, Summer?”
She frowned at the menu for a second. “Mmmm … try the veal marsala.” Another second of chewing, avoiding Fenrir’s eyes, avoiding Fenrir’s face. “I think I’m going to go with my usual,” Summer announced. “I can always use the leftovers when I get buried in code.”
Looming over them suddenly, Michelangelo plunked a glass of wine down before each of them, and a candle in the centre, beaming. “For the happy couple! On the house, because this girl, she is like a daughter to me!”
Summer covered her eyes again. “‘angel’, please, it’s okay. Can you just … ” She pressed her lips together, and Michelangelo interrupted.
“No, no, I understand completely bella! You will tell me what you want to eat, and I will make sure you have perfect solitude!” More beaming. Summer tried not to look at Fenrir at all.
“Now,” the chef said, whipping out a pad and pen, “what shall it be?”