“You’re easy.”
“Maybe.” His shrug and half smile had a flirty edge that felt new. And dangerous. When he sampled the pizza, eyes fluttering closed and tongue catching stray drips of sauce, the heat inside me turned to an inferno.
Even forcing my attention onto the pizza didn’t work. The flavors, which I usually loved, weren’t anywhere near as captivating as Milo’s face.
“So…boyfriends? Plural?” he asked as he helped himself to more pizza, voice way too deliberately casual.
“Not like a parade or anything. But, yeah, I’ve dated. I like dating more than random hookups for sure. But people have a way of not sticking around.” That sounded a little too emo, so I tried to make my voice brighter. “Stuff happens, and maybe we weren’t that serious to start with. They get back together with their high school person, or they go on a semester abroad and want to be free to sample the local everything, or they fall for someone at their internship. I’m still friends with everyone.”
“Wow. I can’t…” Milo shook his head.
“Can’t imagine there’s that many people willing to date me?” I narrowed my eyes.
“No, not that. More that I can’t imagine it for me.”
“But you want it?” My breath rushed out. I was far too invested in his answer. “Someday?”
His cheeks colored before he nodded quickly, not meeting my eyes. “Yeah. Someday.”
I wasn’t entirely sure where the conversation went from there. It felt significant somehow, but also like handling a live snake. Then he laughed, and everything was okay again.
“Right now, I want a significant relationship with this pizza. Like bring it home to meet my mom and change my social-media status.”
“Oh, my mom meets everyone in my social circle. Including this pizza. I got her hooked on another one they do with fig jam and prosciutto.”
“I’m gonna mention this place to my mom too. Pretty sure my relatives back in Catanzaro would flip at some of these flavor combos, but I’m sold.”
“I still remember that stuffed-pasta dish your grandma would do.”
“Ravioli alla Calabrese? Me too.” Milo helped himself to some pizza from the other side. “Someday I’m going to have my own place. And a fridge where my ingredients don’t up and disappear overnight.”
“Mood. I want more than a hot plate in the dorm.”
“Yup. Then I’m gonna learn to cook like my nona. I’ve got a list of stuff to try. Dad always gave Mom a hard time about her cooking never living up to Nona’s, so she doesn’t have any patience for it now, but there’s a recipe book some cousins put together. And I figure there are videos on how to do stuff.”
“I can help you find some good ones.” My chest constricted. I wanted that future for Milo. Better living situation for sure, but also somewhere he felt free to be himself, to draw and cook and chase away the memory of his dad and his stupid opinions on art and food. “Speaking of searching, let’s see what we can find for our card hunt.”
I set up my laptop, and we polished off the last of the pizza and split a giant brownie as we searched. But sky-high prices for even non-mint cards were super frustrating. The best brownie in town wasn’t enough to stop Milo’s frown.
“I wish this were easier.”
“Me too. I bet Conrad will have ideas,” I said as we packed up. “And I’m not giving up either. I work tomorrow. I’ll talk to Arthur, see if he has any inside hookup on rare cards.”
“Thanks. You’ve done a ton already. I appreciate it, man.” Milo clapped me on the shoulder as we headed to the exit, and for a second it seemed like he was about to put an arm around me, but then he dropped his hand. Our eyes met as we reached the door, and the glimmer of the moment that had passed was still there. He might not have done it, but he’d thought about it, and he’d wanted it. And now I did too.
The cold air greeted us, a sharp reminder that no matter what cozy meal we’d managed together, reality was still lurking. I wanted to run to the car, but I matched my pace to Milo’s, mindful of his leg. And despite the chill, I didn’t mind going slower, not when Milo glanced up at the gorgeous full moon, then over at me.
“It’s a nice night.”
“Yeah.” My breath hung in front of me, not unlike my heart which seemed perilously close to simply presenting itself to Milo on a platter. Don’t do it, I reminded myself, moving more of those mental barricades into position. We could maybe be friends. Maybe even friends who kissed. But no way, no how could I fall for him.
“Thanks,” he said softly. “For everything.”
“I wish we would have found more leads, but at least the food was good.” We reached the car, and I used the clicker that only sometimes worked to unlock both doors.