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I met his eyes, not bothering to hide the fury in mine since Dahlia wasn’t looking.

Like the manager, the kid’s face paled, though he held my glare longer before moving away to speak to a table.

Double-checking that Dahlia was still enjoying the view of the busy city street, I looked back at the manager as he held out a drink to another waiter, nearly dropping it when he saw my expression. Only then did I let my features soften.

“How does it taste?” I asked, returning one hand to her knee and using the other to eat.

“So good. The difference in house-made cheese and store brand is astronomical. Do you like it?”

I nodded around my mouthful, which was impressively delicious, but slid the rest of my risotto cake back onto her plate.

“Hey, I was sharing.”

“I know.” I squeezed her knee, my fingertips slowly stroking up the inside of her thigh, giving her the chance to stop me. I stopped myself midway since my control was already razor thin. “But I like you too.” I forked up a tomato. “Now eat before I change my mind and take it back.”

As we finished the appetizers, a new waiter approached, dropping off Dahlia’s cocktail and two salads. “I’m sorry, Joseph was called away urgently. My name is Sam; I’ll be taking over. Can I get either of you anything?” At our headshakes, he smiled politely at us both. “I’ll be back with your dinner shortly.”

Spicy fra diavlo and a twist on an Italian-Cajun fusion pasta were brought out shortly after, split into four small bowls so we could each try both. Our conversation was light as we ate, often falling into comfortable silences.

“This is the best pasta I’ve ever had,” she said, pointing to the Cajun one. “I want to keep eating, but I’m so full.” She pushed the bowls away.

“I don’t want to take up your whole weekend off,” I lied, “but are you free tomorrow afternoon?” At her nod, I continued. “Do you drive?”

Her brows lowered, but she answered anyway. “I have my license and know how to drive, but I don’t have a car. Why?”

“Take my SUV tonight.” She opened her mouth, her impending protest clear, but I continued. “Tomorrow would be outside of the city, and there are no T stops anywhere near it. A taxi or Uber would cost a small fortune. It wouldn’t make sense.”

“But—”

“Would you like me to box these up?” Sam asked, gathering the empty glasses.

“Please,” I said.

Dahlia tucked her hair behind her ear before tapping her fingers on her jaw. I wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but I hoped it would end in my favor.

As Sam walked away with the leftovers, she tried again. “About the car—”

“I hope you aren’t too full,” I heard from the side. Looking over, I saw a sweaty and tired looking Faust walking toward us with a serving tray in his hand. When his eyes fell on Dahlia, his smile grew into a grin.

Maybe he’ll be the one going through the window.

Taking the small plates from the tray, he set them all in front of her in a line. “Dark chocolate tiramisu. This one is a strawberry and basil compote panna cotta. I know, basil in a dessert is odd, but it works, trust me. Traditional cannoli, of course. Finally, we have a Nutella and mascarpone tart with brown butter caramelized bananas. Actually,” he rearranged the dishes, putting the last one in front, “eat this one first. Then the panna cotta. The others will be good tomorrow.”

“Thank…”

Her words trailed off as she noticed Faust positioning the empty tray like a Frisbee he was planning on flinging across the restaurant. Luckily for the other diners, Sam briskly walked by, taking it as he moved.

“I never get to have any fun,” Faust pouted before smiling at Dahlia.

“Dahlia, this is Tony Faust. He’s the head chef and owner. Tony, this is Dahlia.” My phone dinged with Luc’s tone. “I’m sorry, I have to check this.”

Luc:Let me know when you’re ready.

Me:Give me 20.

I returned my phone to my pocket and picked up a dessert fork, handing it to Dahlia. “Sorry, just Luc.”

“That’s okay,” Faust said. “Dahlia was trying to decide whether she liked the risotto cakes or the Cajun pasta better.”