All In (Firsts and Forever 2)

But apparently, neither the hipsters nor the blue collars had gotten the come-and-get-drunk-on-your-lunch-break memo.

I was still bent over the table, face down and trying to find the motivation to actually get up, when a deep voice behind me said, “Well, that right there made the trip across town totally worth it.” I raised my head and peered over my shoulder, and there was Dante Dombruso, arms crossed over his chest, a big grin on his face as he studied my upturned ass.

I stood up quickly, and in the process I knocked over the large carton of pepper that I’d left on the table. I actually caught it as it fell, but on the upswing I managed to fling some directly into my face. Did you know pepper actually makes you sneeze? A lot. And here I’d thought that was only in cartoons. I sneezed about five times in as many seconds, and Dante held something out to me.

A-choo! “Seriously?” I asked, both hands over my nose and mouth as I squinted at the pristine, monogrammed square of fabric he was holding out to me. A-choo!

“Yes. Take the handkerchief.”

A-choo! “Do you honestly expect me—” A-choo! “—to blow my nose in that and then hand it back to you?” A-choo! “Because that’s super weird and gross.”

He grinned at that and said, “Keep it.”

A-choo! “Ok. Thanks,” I managed between sneezes, then grabbed the handkerchief and blew my nose loudly and inelegantly. It actually helped tremendously, and I sighed with relief as the sneezing ceased. Then I said, “I’ve never understood cloth handkerchiefs. The only logical thing to do once you’ve covered something with snot is throw it away.”

“So your argument against cloth handkerchiefs is that they’re illogical?” Dante looked highly amused by all of this.

“No, my argument against cloth handkerchiefs is that the moment you use them, they become a totally repulsive snot vault that you’re supposed to keep in your pocket. I don’t even know what to do with this now.” I held the article in question away from me with two fingers.

“I would offer to take it back, but you’ve made such a compelling argument about its total repulsiveness that I now want nothing to do with it.”

“See? I’m going to go wash it out in the restroom. It’s the only thing I can think of to do with this,” I said, and crossed the empty dining room.

Dante actually followed me into the restroom, and I lobbed the handkerchief into the sink and ran hot water over it. When I turned to face him, he grinned and said, “Hi.”

“Hello, Dante.”

“You’re mad at me,” he observed, resting against the door.

“Mildly annoyed.” I leaned against the counter opposite him and studied him carefully. Dante was tall and muscular and classically handsome. He had jet black, longish hair and olive skin, and a slightly prominent nose offset by smoldering dark brown eyes and full lips. He wore a black-on-black-on-black impeccably tailored suit, shirt, and tie, and had apparently spent all of his adult life perfecting the five o’clock shadow, which he had down to an art form.

“I’m sorry for breaking our date.”

“Twice.”

“Twice,” he confirmed.

“Are you here to make and break a third?”

“I’m here to make and keep a third, if you’re willing to give me another chance.”

“I have to be honest with you, Dante,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I can’t handle a whole lot of personal rejection at this particular point in my life. So please only ask me out if you fully intend to show up this time.”

“For what it’s worth, I have a really good excuse for breaking those dates.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. Sick grandmother?”

I’d been being sarcastic, coming up with the most clichéd excuse I could think of, but his eyes went wide at that and he said, “That’s exactly right. How did you know?”

I assumed he was kidding, and rolled my eyes. “Funny.”

Dante crossed the small room to me and turned off the water in the sink (which had been about to overflow), and then leaned against the counter right beside me, so close our arms were touching. He pulled out his cell phone and scrolled though his text messages, then handed me the phone. The message on the screen said that his grandmother had suffered a heart attack, and instructed Dante to come to the hospital immediately. The text was from last Thursday, when we were supposed to have our first date.

Now I felt like a total and complete asshole for joking about sick grandmothers, and I murmured, “God, I’m sorry,” as I handed his phone back to him. “Is she ok?”

“Thanks. She’s doing a lot better. She’d started to take a turn for the worse Saturday, which is when I cancelled the second date you and I had scheduled. But yesterday and today, she’s really come around. Which is why I figured I could break away and come see you.”