Anne heard her friend open the door and admit Harry. She picked up her purse from the vanity and crossed to the door. All the girls’ rooms opened out onto the landing, so the minute Anne stepped out, she could see Harry waiting just inside the front door, at the bottom of the stairs. He saw her, too, and grinned. She smiled, noticing that he held a wrapped package of flowers.

He watched her the whole way down the stairs; fortunately, she didn’t trip. When she reached him, she found herself body to body with him, looking up into his eyes.

“Hello,” he said. Bedroom eyes! Linda wasn’t kidding about that. And Anne liked the square of his jaw, the shape of his mouth, his straight, perfect nose.

“Hello.”

“It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you, too.”

“These are for you,” he said, handing over the wrapped flowers.

“Thank you,” she said, taking them, peeking under the paper. “Roses! How beautiful.” She held the open end of the package to her nose so she could smell them.

“Yellow ones, for friendship,” Harry said. “So they tell me.”

She smiled up at him. “Yes, I know.”

Linda broke in. “I’ll take them and put them in water, Anne.”

“Thanks, Lin,” Anne said, handing the flowers to her friend, who made a hasty exit toward the kitchen.

A moment later, Harry had helped her into her coat, and they stepped out into the brisk evening.

Vinzetti’s was located downtown. It was owned and operated by a husband and wife who had come to Superior from Italy more than thirty years before as a young couple. They had transformed an old vaudeville hall into an Italian courtyard, ripping out the auditorium seats and painting scenes from their home village on the walls, draping the scenes with plush red curtains. The only light in the place emanated from a series of sconces along the wall, and a tuxedoed man sat at a grand piano at one corner of the old vaudeville stage that doubled as a dance floor; sad songs billowed from his fingers. The floors were tile, the booths were hand-constructed by the husband and stained a dark walnut, and the wife did the cooking, using recipes she’d learned from her mother in the old country. At Vinzetti’s, there was a palpable sense of love, and even a touch of homesickness, in the tender amalgamations of garlic, tomatoes, peppers, pasta, bread, and wine that were presented to guests.