Looking at him with his hair tousled from the wind, a flush on his cheeks from the heat inside the restaurant and the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows, I suddenly couldn’t remember why I had ever found him intimidating.

Both of us jumped when Giovanni suddenly appeared at our table again. “Pizza salami and penne al ’arrabbiata for you boys.

Buon appetito!”

“Grazie,” Jasper replied. I was disgustingly endeared by his attempt to imitate an Italian accent and had to consciously force myself to stop staring and focus on my food instead.

However, it was only a few seconds before a strange choking noise made me look up again. Jasper was staring down at his pasta with a fearful expression, his face two shades redder than it had been a moment ago.

“Everything okay?” I inquired.

“Uh-huh. Good pasta.”

I went back to my pizza, which tasted just as good as the last time I had been here. Jasper continued eating as well and for a moment the only sound was the soft music and the chattering of the other patrons. That was until Jasper suddenly slammed his fist down on the table.

“Putain!” he choked out.

“What is it?”

“The pasta.” He blinked rapidly, fanning his face with one hand. “It’s so spicy, oh my God.”

Curious if it really was that bad, I reached across the table and tried it as well. Almost immediately, my mouth began to tingle.

“Oh wow. Are you sure you can eat that?”

Even though he looked like every inch of his body revolted against it, Jasper nodded and brought the next fork of steaming pasta to his mouth. “I’m okay.”

“Really? You’re turning red.”

“It’s—” He broke off, coughing uncontrol ably. In a cracking voice, he wheezed, “It’s fine.”

By now, I couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Jas, you’re literally crying. Just stop eating.”

Jasper lifted a hand to his face to find it wet with tears. A string of French fell from his lips before he reached for his glass and gulped down half of it in one swig.

“Excuse me,” I said, waving Giovanni to our table. “Could we have some milk? Oh, and do you have ice cream?”

Giovanni looked from Jasper to me—and started laughing out loud. “Oh, bambino, I knew this was going to go like this.”

A moment later, he reappeared with a bowl of chocolate ice cream and a glass of milk that Jasper downed right away.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes,” Jasper rasped, his face slowly returning to its normal color. “It’s just my pride that’s bruised.”

Wheezing, I leaned back in my chair. “Mate, this was the funniest thing I’ve seen in weeks.”

“Mate?” he asked miserably. “This really diminished my sex appeal that much, huh?”

“No, it didn’t.”

I wasn’t lying. I treasured each of these moments when his perfect appearance gave way to this version of him that only few people got to see. Like the way he had looked at me when I helped him during his panic attack; or the smudge of paint on his cheek; or him stumbling through his room searching for his glasses; or his nerves before the play. They didn’t make me want him any less; on the contrary, with each of them, I liked him a little more. I supposed that this was the thing that all those romance books Evelyn read were talking about—true affection was to like someone not despite their flaws, but because of them.