Page 18 of Only You
“Thanks for the wine, and the good company. I’ll leave you in peace now.”
You don’t have to leave,I wanted to say.You can stay with me and share more wine and keep me company.
But I couldn’t muster the words before he took my plate and left.
9
Molly
The Day We Had Dinner, Again
I thought about Donovan while trying to fall asleep. He was a lot friendlier than I expected. Most guys who looked likethatwere jerks, because they didn’t need to be nice. They could skate through life on their good looks and nothing else. But Donovan didn’t fit the mold.
I also replayed the entire night from start to finish in my head, analyzing and over-analyzing everything I said. Our balcony dinner felt like a first date. We shared a bottle of wine and got to know each other. We traded friendly banter and teased each other.
Was he sitting in his bed, on the other side of that wall, doing the same thing? Thinking about me?
The next day dragged on while I waited for us to have another dinner together. I downloaded the New York Times Crossword app, which killed a few hours. When the hour drew close I took a shower, did my hair, and put on alittlemore makeup than last night.
When I went out to the balcony, Donovan was already there. He wore a grey T-shirt instead of a polo tonight, which hugged his frame and accentuated the broad muscles of his shoulders.
“Food’s gonna take another thirty minutes,” he said. “But we can get started on the wine early, right?”
I unscrewed the bottle. “I don’t see why not! I hope you like white. We’re drinking pinot grigio tonight.”
“I’m partial to reds,” he said, “but beggars can’t be choosers.”
We shared a bottle of wine and talked about anything and everything. The lockdown, grounded flights, the weather back home in America. Once I had a glass of wine—or two!—in me, I didn’t feel awkward around Donovan at all.
It helped that he was so damncharming. He treated me like we had been lifelong friends, reacquainting after a long absence.
Dinner was spiral pasta in a tangy red sauce. After bringing the food out, Donovan pressed a button on his phone and classical Italian music began playing from a portable speaker on his table.
“What is that, opera music?” I asked.
“There’s a phrase for this sort of thing,” he pointed out. “When in Italy… No, that’s not it. When in the Mediterranean…”
“When inRome, ha ha. I was just joking. I like the music.”
“The best part is that we don’t have to worry about bothering anyone. I could blast Metallica at the highest volume and nobody would care.”
“I heard you listening to it in your room the other day,” I said while finishing up my food. “It sounded so romantic, I assumed there was a couple on their honeymoon next door.”
“Nothing that exciting,” he said.
“Forget exciting, I’m glad it’s you instead!”
He looked sideways at me.
Crap. I didn’t mean to be that forward.
“I mean, if it was a couple next door,” I said in a rush, “I’d have to listen to their loud, passionate honeymoon sex. Plus the food is a plus. With you, I feel like I have my own private chef next door. I don’t know what I would do without you feeding me.”
“I knew what you meant. I’m glad you’re next to me too.”
I gave a start. “You are?”
“Yeah,” he replied in that deep voice of his. “Because you have wine.”