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“I see.” Though I’m not sure why he’s dressed for going out.
“Is that okay? Was I being presumptuous?”
“No, it’s fine. But you did tell my mom we wouldn’t be out late.”
He shrugs. “You won’t be. I’ll make sure you get home by midnight or earlier.”
“Okay.”
He stops the car then. Right in the middle of our driveway. He turns and looks at me. “Maddie, do you want to spend the night with me?”
“I…”
“Because I’d love to spend the night with you,” he says, “but you’re leaving tomorrow. I don’t want to start something that neither of us can finish.”
His words astound me.
I take a deep breath, then sigh. “I guess… I just don’t know where you’re coming from, Dave. Clearly we’re attracted to each other, and we have great chemistry between the sheets. But your family is going through some major upheaval, and I’m about to go back to college. I just don’t know where either of our heads are.”
“I feel the same way,” he says. “I have a lot of feelings for you—feelings I never thought I’d have, at least not until I was older—but I want to make sure that this is the real thing. I don’t want it to be something false, a bond that stems only from our shared trauma.”
His words have both a positive and a negative effect on me. Because in truth I agree with him. I want feelings that are real, feelings that will stand the test of time. And he’s right. We’ve both been through a lot. But we certainly had chemistry before the plane almost went down.
“I understand.”
Though, to tell the truth, a part of me doesn’t.
“I’m glad.” He starts the car again.
The bag containing the takeout from Lorenzo’s is sitting on Dave’s front stoop when we enter. He grabs it, unlocks his door with the code, and we go in.
I follow him into his kitchen, where he sets everything on the table.
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
“Not a thing. I’ve got the table set, and the wine is open, decanting.”
I look at the table. He even has glasses of ice water sitting there.
He pulls out the takeout, which includes a large pan of lasagna, a loaf of garlic bread, and Italian salad.
“Please, have a seat.”
I sit down, and he serves me a plate full of food. Once he serves himself and takes a seat, I wait.
“Go ahead,” he says.
I say a silent thank you for the food, and then I bring a forkful of salad to my mouth.
Lorenzo’s Italian food is wonderful. I don’t go to town to eat very often. My family just doesn’t have the money for those kinds of things.
“Delicious,” I say after swallowing.
“I’m glad you like Italian,” he says. “One of my favorites, and Lisa does it like nobody else. Even Aunt Marjorie says Lisa beats her with Italian food.”
“Your family’s not Italian,” I say.
“We’re not Greek either,” I say, “except for Aunt Ruby on her father’s side. But my mom can sure make a Greek feast.”
