That’s another thing – if Delaney is unsure about something, she says so. She doesn’t pretend, she doesn’t care if she sounds ignorant… She embraces confidence and humility equally – a trait I couldn’t admire more. Because the person who admits they don’t know everything, the one who asks questions – they’re often the smartest person in the room.
Her eyes continue scanning the menu and I observe her, enthralled, as she mouths words to herself while contemplating other items on the menu. I’m still watching her when she looks up.
‘Let’s get both pizzas,’ she says. ‘I mean, isn’t this, like, the birthplace of pizza?’
‘That’s Naples.’
She shrugs. ‘Close enough. It’s only twenty-five miles away. Surely some of those secret family recipes made it across the water.’
‘I guess we’ll find out,’ I say with a double raise of my brows.
She makes a face like she’s tasted something sour.
No fucking flirting, James – what did she just say?
I clear my throat. ‘So, do we call down or…’
She holds up her phone. ‘QR code.’
‘Right.’
She gets on with ordering, and I go to the bar cart in search of wine.
Should we keep drinking, considering everything that’s happened?Probably not. Do I give two shits? I do not.
Ignoring that my mind is in conversation with itself, I kneel in front of the cart and pick up a bottle from the lower shelf, a Nero d’Avola from Sicily.
Sicily got us into this mess, Sicily can get us— Stop. That makes absolutely no sense.
Geez – how much prosecco did Ihave?
‘All done,’ Delaney declares, looking pleased with herself. ‘Should be a half-hour or so.’
‘Great. Red?’ I ask, holding up the bottle.
‘Sure.’
She comes over to the record player, shooting me a smile that makes my pulse kick up a notch. While she puts on Billie Holiday, I busy myself with opening the wine and pouring two glasses, doing my best to ignore that she’s right next to me. Thankfully, when I’m done, she’s back on the armchair, her feet tucked under her right side.
I walk over and hand her a glass, then sit on the sofa.
‘Salute,’ I say, lifting up my glass.
‘Salute.’
We both sip and I revel in the way the wine coats my tongue – it’s juicy on the front palate, balanced with a hint of smoky chocolate on the back palate.
‘God, that’s good,’ she says.
When I look over, Delaney’s licking her lips and regarding her glass with reverence. ‘Don’t ya think?’ She takes another sip without waiting for an answer, closing her eyes as she lets the wine roll around on her tongue, then swallows.
It takes every ounce of my resolve to stay put.
She opens her eyes. ‘It reminds me of a Napa Merlot – only less oak.’
I laugh, caught completely by surprise. ‘You know your wines.’
She scoffs. ‘Uh, yeah. Hello? I was raised in California – we know our wines.’