I laughed. “No. My daughter is always complaining I don’t have a drop of Italian blood in me. I stick with salads, lean meats, and fruit. But I’ve tried many more things than usual since we got here, including carbs. As you’ve said, life is too short not to indulge.”

He reached over and cupped my cheek, and I leaned into his touch. The table was small and the place was loud and I felt as if I was in a secure bubble that contained only us. “I’m glad you finally took my advice,” he teased. “Now we shall test your limits. Will you try the items I order? Even if you don’t think you’ll like it?”

“Yes. I trust you.”

The words fell out of my mouth so easily, I was surprised I didn’t gasp with shock. But I didn’t. He lifted my fingers to his lips and kissed them, his dark eyes heated. “Thank you, Francesca,” he whispered in his deep, husky voice.

I knew right then we were talking about more than food.

I sipped the delicious chilled spritz and indulged in a variety of bites that pushed my culinary education. Fried meat-stuffed olives; baked sardines; tuna rissoles—balls filled with shreds of fresh tuna, cheeses, and spices; grilled octopus; and salty cod. We talked and drank, and he fed me pieces with his fork, watching my face as I registered each new taste on my tongue. It was one of the most intimate experiences, and I realized how food truly was more than nourishment for the body, but more of a story in time that I could remember by closing my eyes and bringing up the flavors lingering in my memory.

We sipped bitter, strong espresso and nibbled on a dark chocolate tart as the crowd began to wind down. My phone buzzed. I checked to see if it was Allegra, but it was the office, which irritated me. I’d checked in yesterday and explained I’d be offline for the next week, citing Wi-Fi issues in Tuscany. Kate seemed surprised by my sudden willingness to let her lead, but I was starting to realize maybe I didn’t need to do it all. The more time I experienced away, the better I was beginning to feel. The constant tension thrumming through my body eased. My chest loosened. My breath deepened. For the first time in my life, I had no desire to try to figure out what a client needed or to prove myself.

I slipped my phone back into my purse.

Enzo patiently waited; his lips curved in a smile as he noticed me tuck away my phone. “What was your favorite place you’ve traveled?” he asked. We couldn’t stop touching or asking each other questions, as if we were desperate to close the last inch of space between our bodies and hearts.