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?”
Fenrir’s eyes snapped to the bottle when it was set on the table between them with an audible thunk. Those icy blue eyes trailed up to Michelangelo’s red face via his arm, then the flame of the candle that had also been brought. An amused smirk lit his features, eyes twinkling with innocent entertainment. He rather liked this fellow. A lively chap indeed.
His smile widened at Michelangelo’s words and Summer’s bashfulness. Oh what great fun this all was. His gaze jumped from one Midgardian to the other as the two interacted. They were promised privacy, and Fenrir had to hold back a jovial protest. This Michelangelo man was such a treat!
When asked what they would desire, Fenrir gestured with head and hand to Summer, smiling at her kindly. “Ladies first.” He offered.
Summer gave a little roll of her eyes, cleared her throat, and told Michelangelo, “I want the fettuccine alfredo. And can I get a soda, please?” She eyed Michelangelo. “You know I don’t normally drink.”
“This is a special occasion!” Michelangelo responded, scribbling. “One glass, bella, it will be good for you! What shall I bring you, my boy?”
“I would very much like the Veal Marsala.” He responded when asked, remembering what Summer had told him to try. His pursed his lips, trying to stop himself from smiling at the two. They were an amusing sight, and the man who ran the restaurant acted quite alike to a father for Summer. It was… a cute scene, he decided.
Once again Summer dropped her head on her hands as soon as Michelangelo left. “I’m so sorry. I really am. He just … I don’t even know what to say.” Picking up the glass of wine, she took a long sip, turning the glass in her fingers afterward. “I just want to make sure you have a good time here before you have to go back, Fen.”
“Ye needn’t be sorry, Summer. Your friend Michelangelo cares for you greatly. And besides, he is an amusing fellow!” He took her lead and picked up his own glass, taking a sip from it. “Worry not for that, for I have been enjoying myself greatly thus far.”
He held out his glass over the table for her to touch her own glass against. “Come, no more fretting or worrying. We are friends are we not? Do not be bashful.”
She let Fenrir make her feel better, toasting her glass with his. “May you deserve everything you want, and want everything you deserve,” she said, drinking again. Setting her glass down and tapping her fingers against the base of it, she rested her chin on the other and watched him for a moment. Tried not to admire too closely.
Failed.
As a distraction, Summer said, “So, is there anything you want to know that I can answer?”