Enemies Abroad(62)

When he’s done, he drops the pen and leans back in his chair, trying to look unamused. I take the document and blow on the ink to ensure it’s all dried before slipping it back into the manila envelope and sealing it up.

The waiter returns with our wine and Noah and I clink our glasses, holding eye contact while we do it.

“I’m not going to break your heart,” he says, sounding absolutely sure. “This isn’t some huge premeditated scheme I’ve had in the works for years.”

“My friends still think it is.”

“Your friends. Right, I suppose it’ll be tough to win them over at first.”

I nod. “They’re very loyal. I doubt they’ll ever like you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“My parents too. I mean, I think my mom has a little crush on you since you talked to her on the phone, but my dad’s only heard horror stories.”

He’s undeterred. “I’m great with parents. Parents love me.”

“Are we insane for trying this?” I ask him.

“I don’t see another way forward. I can’t get you out of my head. The girl who calls me a dumb-dumb is apparently the one for me.” He shakes his head in disbelief as the waiter comes back with a basket of bread. I immediately attack it.

We peruse the menu and I suggest we split a few dishes. In true Noah and Audrey fashion, we can’t agree on what they should be. In the end, we tell the waiter to bring us his favorites and leave it at that.

“What are we supposed to talk about now?” I ask, sipping my wine. We haven’t stopped talking, bickering, and teasing each other since I sat down.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he jokes.

“How about this: Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“Oh, interview style—I like it. Let’s keep things saucy.” He mulls my question over for a second. “Am I supposed to give you an ambitious answer or the truth?”

“Both.”

“Okay. Ambitious? I’m the CEO of Google and I fold my laundry right away instead of letting it pile up in my dryer. I just broke it off with Margot Robbie and now I’m dating Gal Gadot. With Daniel Craig’s retirement from the 007 franchise, Hollywood is looking to me to fill the role.”

“Wow. That is ambitious. But plausible,” I say, sounding as if his goals are completely reasonable.

Then he shrugs. “The truth, I’d like to be settled down, married, starting a family.” When I look alarmed, he adds. “In five years. Relax over there. Also, I think it’d be cool to get a dog. My landlord doesn’t allow pets.”

“Mine does,” I say, realizing how that sounds a moment after the words leave my mouth. Want a dog? Come live with me!

Noah smiles. “Good to know. But yeah, career-wise? I like teaching at Lindale. I don’t see myself doing anything else.”

I hold out my hand in a pseudo-handshake. “Well, Mr. Peterson, we still need to review your CV, but between you and me, I think you definitely got the job.”

He laughs. “What about you?”

I look down at my wine glass, running my finger along the stem. “Oh, yeah, same, actually. Kids are…something I want for sure. At least two.”

“At least two. Yeah.”

I smile playfully. “Three could be fun?”

“Definitely. Three.” He’s absolutely sure of this.

“Four?”

He looks unimpressed. “I don’t know…by then, you might as well shoot for five and get a full basketball team.”

“Hadn’t thought about that. Solid reasoning. Five for sure. Although…my mild OCD would never allow me to have an uneven number of kids.”

“Six it is.”

We’re still teasing each other when the waiter comes over to deliver our antipasto dish: crostini with strawberry and honey, topped with goat cheese. Everything is delicious but not overly pretentious. The restaurant Noah found is run by a husband-and-wife duo who’ve been operating the place for close to forty years. They go around to every table and greet diners as they eat. When they come over to us, they kiss our cheeks and go on and on in Italian about what a cute couple we are. We only know because we look it up on Google translate after they leave. Bella coppia! The food is fresh and in season, the prices are reasonable, and the wine is too tempting to pass up. We finish a bottle and the owners send over a second one on the house. We don’t let a single drop go to waste.

Noah and I are both mildly drunk by the time we leave.

For no reason whatsoever, neither one of us can stop laughing. We walk home hissing at each other to keep it down.

“Shh! It’s late. We’re going to wake up the neighborhood.”

We’re not in danger of that. Not even close. We’re in Rome on a Saturday night in July—the streets are flooded with people.

We’re almost back to the school when I think of a brilliant idea. I grab Noah’s hand and tug him back.

“Oh! Oh! Should we get another—”

I’m about to say a word when it completely evaporates from my head.

“Another what?” Noah asks.

“The dessert we had last night.” I snap my fingers. “What was that called?”

Noah acts completely confused. He likes seeing me flustered.