There were some collective sighs and sounds of surprise. “Josephine,” a few people whispered reverently. Okay. Weird. And then my other hand was grasped and kissed and shaken and we were ushered to a couple of stools by an upturned wine barrel. “Um?” I asked. “What just happened? Are you like a secret soccer star or something?”

He chuckled, then scratched his nose. “Something like that. Not the soccer thing. I wish. Not that I was half bad in school.”

“And? Get there faster,” I encouraged.

He looked around. “They are getting us a table ready upstairs,” he evaded.

“And this is another long story?”

“Oui.”

“We might need more than one dinner together,” I quipped.

“We might,” he said, his voice dropping to a low octave and his eyes finding mine in the dim interior light.

Suddenly we were presented with a basket of bread, olives, and an earthen-ware jar of red wine with two short stubby glasses. For some reason I’d pegged Xavier Pascale as someone who frequented extremely fancy places. This was as basic and as charming and as real as they came. “You are full of surprises,” I told him and bit into a tart and firm green olive, the smooth bitter flavor zinging across my tongue. Heaven. I moaned. “We don’t get olives like this back home. Wow.”

He smiled enigmatically and took a sip of red wine.

Cristo arrived back at the table saying something to Xavier that sounded like the words ten minutes in my European Romance language basic understanding. Then he poured some dark green yellow oil onto a saucer and kissed the tips of his fingers. He was so sweet.

“Our table upstairs will be ready in ten minutes,” Xavier told me. “He said he wants it to be perfect.”

“Mind if I gorge myself on bread and olive oil in the meantime?”

He tilted the basket toward me in offering. I took a piece of bread, tore a chunk off, and set it to absorb the oil Cristo had just poured. “Thank you.”

“I love watching you eat. I have from the very first night. It became impossible. I had to avoid it whenever I was able. I had to tell Andrea you needed to eat with the crew.”

I paused mid-chew, staring at him. “Uh.” Oops. Mouthful. I hastily chewed and swallowed. Too big. I took a swig of wine and almost choked. Nice. Someone tells you he likes watching you eat, and you decide at that moment to choke on your food. Great.

“But save some room. Cristo’s food is the best. Simple. But the best. And there’s a lot of it.”

I had one more bite of bread, and then reluctantly put it aside and took a sip from my glass. “The wine is amazing,” I said. “What type is it?”