Kiss Me Goodnight in Rome (The Senior Semester Series Book 2) by Gina Azzi

breaks it. I’m grateful that he does.
    “I didn’t mean to press you about dance. It’s just that, when you’re lucky enough to actually discover your passion, and then succeed at it, you shouldn’t give it up for anything. Ever.” His eyes flash, the color of cobalt, and I avert my gaze, staring down at the pasta, the carbohydrates, that are going to coat the inside of my body with fat.
    “I’ll be right back with dessert.” He smiles, pushing back from the table.
    Oh God, dessert?

Chapter Nineteen
    Lorenzo
    I push the door to the kitchen open, taking a moment to lean against the stove and run my hand over my face. This is not going the way I expected. Mia. God, she’s so frustrating. I’ve only seen her dance in a club, and even I can tell she’s seriously talented. And to throw that away because of a surgery? There has to be more to the story.
    And, I don’t think she likes my pasta. Which is fine. But not really, because it’s the only thing I actually make well. She barely had four bites. Did the conversation throw her off? Is she nervous? Someone who consumed as much alcohol as she did tonight should be scarfing down seconds, not daintily eating one penne at a time.
    I sigh, turning toward the refrigerator and removing four cannoli. I arrange them neatly on a plate.
    “Mia,” I call out. “Do you like espresso?” I’ve only ever seen her drink caffé lattes. “Or would you prefer a caffé latte?”
    “Oh …” She sounds startled, and I hear her chair scrape against the floor. “Sure, let me help.” Moments later, her back pushes through the kitchen door, and I note that she has stacked our plates and is helping clear off the table.
    I smile. I don’t think any girl I’ve ever been on a date with has ever offered to help. With anything. Ever. Not that I’ve ever taken a girl on a date to Mama’s restaurant before … but still. It’s sweet. She’s sweet. My frustration toward Mia evaporates as I rush over to help her with the plates.
    “Thanks.” She smiles. “It was really delicious.”
    So maybe she did enjoy it but isn’t a big eater? Or maybe I really do make her nervous. That thought has me grinning.
    “How about some cannoli?” I indicate the plate.
    “Oh.” She places a hand over her stomach. “Thank you, Lorenzo, really. But I’m super full. Maybe next time?”
    “Okay,” I agree, swiping a cannoli off the plate and biting into it. Stop pushing, Lorenzo.
    Mia leans against the refrigerator door. “I’ll take you up on that espresso though.” She smiles and I relax a bit more.
    Espresso I can handle.
    We actually end up enjoying espresso and dessert in the kitchen, which is something I never imagined doing with Mia. Or anyone. There are no expectations, no demands, no comparisons. Just Mia and me, hanging out, talking. It’s effortless. And normal. Just not a normal I’m used to.
    Our conversation shifts to family and friends. Mia tells me more about her father and stepmother, Claire. She grimaces as she says Claire’s name, so I guess they’re not close. But can I blame her? I try and imagine if Mama remarried. I would dislike the guy no matter who he is. She lights up when she talks about her best friends—Maura, Emma, and Lila—and all the fun they have living together at university. I’m glad to hear she has friends, a life, outside of dance. Because other than those three girls, everything she shares about her life, her time at university, revolves around rehearsals, auditions, and practices. It sounds exhausting. Maybe I was too quick to judge and this break from dance, this opportunity to come to Rome, is good for her.
    I stifle a laugh as I realize that this is the first time I’ve ever cared if something is in the best interest of my date. Usually, I just want them to quit talking and start sucking. It amazes me that I’m actually enjoying talking to Mia, listening to her, studying the various expressions that cross her face.
    I’m watching her