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She glances over to the open kitchen. “I’ll stay here. I’m sure he doesn’t need people crowding him.”

“I won’t be long,” I say.

I make my way to the kitchen. When Beppe spots me coming toward him, he grins, abandons the stove, and pulls me into a hug. Beppe is twenty years older than me, and whenever he hugs me, it feels so fatherly that it makes me feel lonely. It’s like I don’t remember what I’ve been missing until that moment.

“How are you, son?” he asks me.

“Very good. How’s business?”

“Grab an apron and dice that chili for me, will you?”

“Beppe, he’s got a girl he’s trying to impress,” Maria says. “You can’t put the boy to work.”

“It’s okay, Maria. Avril is unimpressible.” I glance at Avril, and she’s looking over, but she won’t be able to hear what I’m saying.

“Wow,” Beppe says. “She’s very beautiful. What did you do to deserve her?”

I laugh. “I’m not sure,” I tell him. I don’t bother to say how I’m not trying to impress her. I’m not trying to get her to trust me. I’m not trying to do anything but enjoy my evening and hopefully she gets to enjoy her evening too.

I do as Beppe asks and take an apron from the freshly laundered pile behind the door and put it on. Then I wash my hands and get to work. As usual when I get into the kitchen, I feel my muscles unlock and my brain start to empty. The feeling isn’t as pronounced as it usually is. Maybe because I’ve spent the day in bed with Avril, rotting.

I smile to myself as I chop. When I’m finished, I put everything in the right-sized bowl and put the board over by the sink for a thorough wash.

“What’s next?” I ask.

“You want to go back to your date?” he asks.

Maybe I should. When I glance over to our table, Avril’s not there. I scan the restaurant. Did she get pissed off and leave?

“Hey,” I hear behind me. Avril’s standing at the entrance to the kitchen. “You look at home.”

“He is at home,” Beppe answers for me. He stops what he’s doing and goes over to greet Avril, air kissing her on both cheeks. “Benjamin is family.”

She smiles at me like she’s really happy to see me, and I don’t want to look away from her. Just her presence here warms me.

I give her a quick tour of the kitchen and introduce her to the other members of Beppe’s family.

“Right, you two lovebirds, get out of here. It’s about to get busy,” Beppe says, not taking his eye off the stove.

“You need a hand?” I ask.

“I need you to go and eat.”

I pull off the apron and Avril and I head back to our table.

“How often do you come here?” she asks. Her eyes are soft and her body seems more relaxed somehow. Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe it’s me.

“Once a week or so,” I reply.

“How did you find it?”

I never normally have to field questions about this place. “I’ve been coming here since I was a kid.”

“I thought you were British?”

“My mum is British. My dad was American. I was born in the UK, then we moved to New York and then when…when we lost the restaurant, we went back to the UK. That’s where I went to university.”

“Where was your dad’s restaurant?” She asks the question like she already knows the answer.