checked to make sure her wallet and house keys were in there too, then ran back to the front door where she stopped, took a deep breath, and forced herself to take her time as she opened it again.
Mike still stood on the stoop exactly as she had left him. No, she decided, he wasn’t exactly the same as when she shut the door in his face. He wore a wide grin and his eyes were sparkling.
‘‘Come on, let’s go,’’ he said and grabbed her hand.
An electric shock shot up Hildy’s arm from his touch. ‘‘Oh!’’ she yelped.
‘‘What?’’ Mike asked. ‘‘You say something?’’
She shook her head. ‘‘Stone in my shoe, I guess. I’ll shake it out in the car.’’
He took her around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. She peered in at the napa leather seats and burled wood dashboard with its GPS screen.
‘‘Pretty impressive, huh?’’ he said proudly.
‘‘I’d be more impressed with a hybrid,’’ she said truthfully. ‘‘I’m saving up for a Prius.’’ She got inside, putting her tote at her feet, and glanced over at Mike in the open doorway. Disappointment clouded his eyes, so she quickly added, ‘‘But this car is very nice, beautiful. I’m sorry, Mike, I just never thought about owning a car that cost about as much as my house. I’m glad you’re doing so well.’’
He started to say something, then stopped himself. Once he too had gotten in and started the motor, he asked her if she had any suggestions where to eat.
‘‘I know where they make the best pizza this side of Italy. The Dark Star Café. You’re going to love it. Just go out the boulevard and turn right.’’
Since the Dark Star was only five blocks away, they rode in silence except when Hildy pointed to the purple sign in front of the restaurant and said, ‘‘There it is.’’ She felt so light and floaty, almost as if this were a dream. She didn’t want Mike to see how excited she was, but she could barely contain the emotions churning inside her. She told herself he just wanted to talk and this wasn’t a date and it wasn’t going to lead to a relationship. Yet the crazy hope, the hope she refused to acknowledge even existed, was that it would.
‘‘Hildy! Come sta ?’’ The owner of the Dark Star Café greeted Hildy like an old friend, even though she had been coming there for only a week. A psychedelic Grateful Dead poster from Watkins Glen, 1973, hung on the wall behind the counter. ‘‘Keep On Truckin’ ’’ played on the sound system.
‘‘ Va bene. I’m fine, Chef,’’ she said. ‘‘We’re going to have a pizza, the Caprese, the one that comes with slices of prosciutto, chunks of roasted pepper, and is topped with the homemade mozzarella.’’
‘‘That’s the house favorite.’’ From behind the counter, the chef smiled broadly at her and gave a questioning look at the tall, good-looking young man standing at Hildy’s shoulder. ‘‘A personal pizza? Or a large for the two of you?’’
‘‘Make it a large. I have help eating it tonight. Mike, this is Chef Salzarulo, the owner. Chef, this is Mike Amante, an old friend.’’
‘‘Ah, a paisan !’’ The chef spoke in a big voice even when he didn’t have to be heard over a Grateful Dead guitar riff. He leaned across the counter and offered Mike his hand. ‘‘You have a special lady there. You’re a very lucky man.’’
Hildy’s face reddened, and she began to sputter he wasn’t her boyfriend, but Mike cut off her protest. ‘‘She is very special. I couldn’t agree more.’’
Chef Salzarulo winked at Hildy before turning away to make the Caprese.
When they sat down at a table to wait for their pie, Hildy could barely make eye contact with Mike because all he did was stare at her while he grinned like an idiot.
Unable to endure the intense scrutiny any longer, she pasted a smile on her face and said, ‘‘So, here we are.’’ She felt that was lame, but she didn’t know what else to
Mike still stood on the stoop exactly as she had left him. No, she decided, he wasn’t exactly the same as when she shut the door in his face. He wore a wide grin and his eyes were sparkling.
‘‘Come on, let’s go,’’ he said and grabbed her hand.
An electric shock shot up Hildy’s arm from his touch. ‘‘Oh!’’ she yelped.
‘‘What?’’ Mike asked. ‘‘You say something?’’
She shook her head. ‘‘Stone in my shoe, I guess. I’ll shake it out in the car.’’
He took her around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. She peered in at the napa leather seats and burled wood dashboard with its GPS screen.
‘‘Pretty impressive, huh?’’ he said proudly.
‘‘I’d be more impressed with a hybrid,’’ she said truthfully. ‘‘I’m saving up for a Prius.’’ She got inside, putting her tote at her feet, and glanced over at Mike in the open doorway. Disappointment clouded his eyes, so she quickly added, ‘‘But this car is very nice, beautiful. I’m sorry, Mike, I just never thought about owning a car that cost about as much as my house. I’m glad you’re doing so well.’’
He started to say something, then stopped himself. Once he too had gotten in and started the motor, he asked her if she had any suggestions where to eat.
‘‘I know where they make the best pizza this side of Italy. The Dark Star Café. You’re going to love it. Just go out the boulevard and turn right.’’
Since the Dark Star was only five blocks away, they rode in silence except when Hildy pointed to the purple sign in front of the restaurant and said, ‘‘There it is.’’ She felt so light and floaty, almost as if this were a dream. She didn’t want Mike to see how excited she was, but she could barely contain the emotions churning inside her. She told herself he just wanted to talk and this wasn’t a date and it wasn’t going to lead to a relationship. Yet the crazy hope, the hope she refused to acknowledge even existed, was that it would.
‘‘Hildy! Come sta ?’’ The owner of the Dark Star Café greeted Hildy like an old friend, even though she had been coming there for only a week. A psychedelic Grateful Dead poster from Watkins Glen, 1973, hung on the wall behind the counter. ‘‘Keep On Truckin’ ’’ played on the sound system.
‘‘ Va bene. I’m fine, Chef,’’ she said. ‘‘We’re going to have a pizza, the Caprese, the one that comes with slices of prosciutto, chunks of roasted pepper, and is topped with the homemade mozzarella.’’
‘‘That’s the house favorite.’’ From behind the counter, the chef smiled broadly at her and gave a questioning look at the tall, good-looking young man standing at Hildy’s shoulder. ‘‘A personal pizza? Or a large for the two of you?’’
‘‘Make it a large. I have help eating it tonight. Mike, this is Chef Salzarulo, the owner. Chef, this is Mike Amante, an old friend.’’
‘‘Ah, a paisan !’’ The chef spoke in a big voice even when he didn’t have to be heard over a Grateful Dead guitar riff. He leaned across the counter and offered Mike his hand. ‘‘You have a special lady there. You’re a very lucky man.’’
Hildy’s face reddened, and she began to sputter he wasn’t her boyfriend, but Mike cut off her protest. ‘‘She is very special. I couldn’t agree more.’’
Chef Salzarulo winked at Hildy before turning away to make the Caprese.
When they sat down at a table to wait for their pie, Hildy could barely make eye contact with Mike because all he did was stare at her while he grinned like an idiot.
Unable to endure the intense scrutiny any longer, she pasted a smile on her face and said, ‘‘So, here we are.’’ She felt that was lame, but she didn’t know what else to
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