I will have the pizza margherita,
Anna told the waiter.
I knew it!
Matthias triumphed.
Of course you will, you unpredictable one.
To his teasing, she deftly responded,
Do not be too cocky, mon ami.
And to the waiter:
The gentleman, I believe, will have the tartuffo. Extra mushroom and truffle oil.
Matthias laughed and topped the order with two glasses of the house red.
It was Friday night, one of their earlier dates, but he had already known her forever. He was also beginning to suspect that he was in love with her.
We’re in a rut!
he lamented.
Boring!
she exclaimed, her mouth twitching mischievously.
Before we know it, we will be finishing one another’s sentences.
Drinking our coffee the same way!
he added.
Ah non! Never!
she gasped.
You drown yours in cream and sugar!
And yours is disgustingly black!
They both laughed. He reached for her hand across the table and looked at her. She was beautiful.
I like knowing these little things about you,
she admitted shyly.
I like knowing what side of the bed you sleep on and the way you smell in the morning. How you like your eggs and fold your socks.
He was in love with her.
I like knowing that about you too.
The wine and pizzas arrived.
So tell me, Matthias, why do you cut off the crust?
It’s a useless filler; I’d rather save the space for more mushrooms,
he said.
The crust is my favorite part,
she answered.
Really? Ha! You can have all of mine.
He put the first piece onto her plate. She bit off the end and smiled:
Merci! But what will I give you in return?
Hmm, let me think, olives?
The waiter had placed a small bowl of green ones on the table.
C’est parfait! I hate olives. You can always have mine.
And you can always have my crust.
Now we really are boring!
she laughed.
I love you,
he replied, leaned over the table and kissed her, pizza on their lips and all.