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ROMIRO

T he smell of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee greets us as we step into the diner, the familiar warmth wrapping around me like a well-worn coat. This place hasn’t changed in years, and maybe that’s why I like it. It’s constant, dependable, a small slice of normal in a life that’s anything but.

Alessia slides into our usual booth, her red hair catching the harsh diner lighting just above our heads. She tucks a few stray strands behind her ear and reaches for the menu, even though I know she doesn’t need it. I settle across from her, leaning back against the cracked vinyl seat, my fingers drumming lightly on the tabletop. I know she’s got something on her mind—her smile is too wide, too forced, and there’s a light in her eyes that tells me she’s scheming.

“What?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

She glances up, feigning innocence. “What, what?”

I narrow my eyes, smirking. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The look that says you’re about to drop something heavy on me,” I reply, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the table. “So, spill it, Red.”

She laughs, that soft, melodic sound that always manages to draw me in. “You know me too well,” she says, setting the menu down. She toys with the edge of her napkin, her gaze flicking to mine, and I feel the tension in my shoulders tighten. Whatever this is, I know it’s going to be something I won’t like.

“I was thinking…” she begins, and I brace myself. “Since things are getting serious between us… maybe it’s time for you to come over for Sunday lunch at Vito’s.”

There it is.

I feel my stomach tighten, my mind flashing back to the dinner with her family not too long ago. The polite smiles, the measured words, Toni’s unyielding stare. I’ve spent my life navigating these kinds of situations, reading people, understanding what they want, what they need. But this feels different. This feels… personal.

“Alessia,” I start, keeping my tone light, “we’ve just started this… officially. It might be a bit soon, don’t you think?”

She frowns slightly, leaning back against her seat. “Too soon?” she repeats, incredulous. “Romiro, we’ve known each other longer than most people our age have been adults. It’s not like you’re meeting strangers.”

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “I know, but… meeting the whole family, at Vito's, no less. It’s a big deal. And you know your father?—"

“My father,” she interrupts, a spark of determination in her voice, “has already given you his blessing. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want you around.”

I can’t help but chuckle at that. “Given his blessing or threatened me with my life if I hurt you?”

She rolls her eyes, but I see the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Maybe both ,” she concedes, “but that’s just how he shows he cares.”

I shake my head, still hesitant. “I don’t know, Red. What if things get… complicated?”

Alessia leans forward, her hand reaching across the table to cover mine. Her touch is warm, grounding, and for a moment, the tension eases from my muscles.

“Romiro,” she says softly, her voice steady, “this isn’t about them. It’s about us. I want you there because you’re important to me. Because I want my family to see that.”

I take a deep breath, trying to push back the creeping feeling of dread. I know she’s right. I know this is important to her, and by extension, it should be important to me. But the thought of sitting at that table, under the watchful eyes of her family, feels like a test I’m not sure I’m ready for. The only reason I was able to sit at the dinner table in their home was because I had Alessia, Emiliano, and Valentina there with me.

“You know I’m not great with these kinds of things,” I admit, my voice low. “Family… gatherings.”

She smiles, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. “You were fine at the last dinner,” she points out.

I snort. “Barely. Your Nonna is planning to leak nudes that aren’t even mine as we speak.”

Alessia laughs, a real, genuine laugh that lights up her face. “She loved you, actually,” she corrects. “She just has a… unique way of showing it.”

“Unique is one way to put it,” I mutter, but I can’t help the grin that pulls at my lips.

She gives my hand a squeeze, her eyes earnest. “I promise it won’t be as scary as you think,” she says. “Just… come. For me?”

There it is, the ace up her sleeve. The way she says, for me , like it’s the simplest request in the world, knowing damn well I’d do just about anything to keep that smile on her face.

I sigh, a long, dramatic sound that makes her giggle. “Alright,” I finally relent, “but if your Nonna starts talking about cocks and vaginas, I’m out.”

Alessia grins, her eyes sparkling with triumph. “Deal,” she says, and I feel the weight lift just a little. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

The waitress approaches, and we place our usual order—two cups of coffee, scrambled eggs for her, and an omelet for me. As she walks away, Alessia settles back into her seat, looking far too pleased with herself.

I watch her, the way her fingers dance along the edge of her cup, the way her lips curl into a soft smile. I’ve known her for years, seen her in every mood, every light, but somehow, she still manages to surprise me.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence, “what’s the story with Vito’s?”

She blinks, as if surprised by the question. “You mean, besides the fact that it’s been in my family for generations?”

I nod. “Yeah, besides that. You said it’s a big deal. Why?”

Alessia takes a sip of her coffee, her expression thoughtful. “It’s… well, it’s like the heart of the family,” she explains. “It’s where all the important things happen. Birthdays, celebrations, Sunday lunches… It’s where we come together. Where we’re reminded of who we are.”

I nod, understanding. “So, it’s more than just a restaurant.”

She smiles, a touch of nostalgia in her eyes. “Yeah. It’s more. It’s home.”

I feel a pang in my chest, an unfamiliar ache that I can’t quite place. I’ve never really had a place like that. A home that feels like it’s more than just walls and a roof. The closest I’ve come is here, in this diner, sitting across from her.

I take a sip of my coffee, letting the warmth seep through me. “Alright,” I say again, more firmly this time. “I’ll come. For you. For… us.”

Her smile widens, and she leans over the table, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. It’s quick, just a brush of warmth, but it sends a jolt of something electric through me. “Thank you,” she murmurs against my mouth.

I chuckle. “You’re welcome. Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Promise me there’ll be good food.”

She laughs, a light, joyous sound that makes the corners of my mouth lift. “Always,” she promises. “You’ll love it. Just wait and see.”

We finish our lunch, the conversation drifting to lighter topics, the ease between us returning like it never left. The worry still lingers in the back of my mind, but with Alessia’s hand in mine and her laughter filling the air, it feels manageable, almost insignificant.

As we step back out onto the street, the sun high in the sky, I feel a strange sense of anticipation. Maybe this is the next step. Maybe this is what we need.

Alessia slips her arm through mine, resting her head on my shoulder. “You know,” she says softly, “you’re braver than you think, Romiro.”

I glance down at her, my brow furrowing. “What makes you say that?”

She smiles up at me, her eyes warm and bright. “Because you keep choosing me, even when it scares you.”

I feel a lump form in my throat, her words settling deep in my chest. I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll always choose you,” I whisper, the words coming out rough, and honest.

She leans into me, her grip tightening around my arm. We walk down the street, the city buzzing around us, and for the first time in a long time, I feel… settled. Like maybe, just maybe, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. As I glance down at Alessia, her hair shining like fire in the sunlight, her smile soft and true, I realize that, yeah, I am.