Everything was exquisite. I ordered wine with my meal. Babbo had more than two thousand wines, which they served quartino, meaning in a carafe that held about a glass and a half. Our waiter recommended a Calabrian wine called Cirò. Nicholas ordered sparkling water. After the waiter left, I asked, “Do you drink?”

He shook his head and said, “No,” but nothing more.

The evening passed quietly between us, but not uncomfortably. Nicholas just seemed a little lost in thought, something I attributed to his “challenging” day.

As we were finishing our meals, Nicholas said, “Did you recognize who’s sitting behind me?”

I looked over his shoulder. “Is that really Kevin Bacon?”

He nodded. “And his wife, Kyra Sedgwick.” Just then someone walked over to their table to ask them for their autographs. They politely demurred.

“That’s one of the things about New York,” Nicholas said. “It’s a cultural mecca.”

“Like Montezuma Creek,” I said.

Nicholas laughed. “Just like Montezuma Creek. After all, you did get the Harlem Globetrotters.”

“Yes we did. That’s my brush with fame.”

“Now you can say you’ve been one degree from Kevin Bacon. Did you enjoy your meal?”

“Immensely. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat store-bought spaghetti sauce again.”

“Then I’ve done you a service,” he said. “One can get to be a food snob in New York.”

“What was that last dish you had?”

“Lamb’s brain Francobolli.”

I just looked at him. “I can’t tell if you’re kidding me or not.”

He smiled. “I’m not. They’re famous for some interesting fare. But there was a reason I chose this place besides the food.”

“And what was that?”

“Just a moment,” he said. He stood up and left the table. He returned a couple minutes later and sat down. “I have something for you.” He brought from his pocket the Tiffany box I had picked up earlier and set it in front of me.

“That was for me?”

“Of course.”

I took the beautiful blue box, untied its ribbon, and lifted the lid. Inside was a velvet jewelry box. “What did you do?” I asked.

“Keep going,” he said.

I set the cardboard box down on the table, then pried opened the jewelry box’s lid. Inside was an exquisite rose gold pendant. It was conical, about an inch long, with elegant spiraled lines. I gasped.

“Do you like it?”

I looked up at him. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s from Paloma Picasso’s collection,” he said. “It was inspired by the hanging lanterns of Venice. That’s why I thought it was appropriate we had Italian for dinner.”

“This is too much.”

“I know,” he said. “Try it on.”

I lifted the pendant from the box. “Would you help me put it on?”