Passing Through

Part Eight

Bo parked in a designated bay that she gestured to, then despite the tight fit, managed to drag himself out of the car, and get around to her side to help her out. He wasn't big on chivalry, but for some reason it seemed right. His mother would be proud of him, that was for sure.

"So this is the place to be?" He asked her as they, strolled along the street, past the bars, spilling out onto the pavement. Workers and revellers alike enjoying the evening sun, drinking and eating, the chatter floating around them as they walked along the waterfront.

"These pubs are old, they've been here for decades, but the restaurants, the shops, they're all a few years old. This was originally quite a run down part of town, but the development dragged everything up with it, then there are the apartment blocks behind, it's become the most popular place in town now."

He nodded, "I like it, it's got a good atmosphere here, I can feel it all ready."

Looking up at him she grinned, "it's cool."

And suddenly it really was, for the first time in weeks, if not months, he felt relaxed.

"And this," she flourished with her arm, "is Carmella's. The best Italian restaurant in town. Family owned for three generations, and the only place worthy of some one new to this place."

"Italian....my favourite." When she smiled, he added, "should we have booked? It looks busy."

She shook her head, "I know the owners, we'll be good."

It was a dark, intimate building, a room filled with small tables, red gingham clothed, all in small half secluded booths, separated by vines and screens, it was the perfect place for a date, which this clearly wasn't. So for a long moment, she wondered if she'd done the right thing, chosen the right place.

Opening the door, she was met by Marco, he and his brother, Paolo ran the business.

"Ciao, bella signorina, how are you? It's been too long."

She grinned, "Ciao, Marco. This is my....friend, Bo." She struggled over the words. "He's new to town, can you squeeze us in? Show him some magic?"

Marco grinned, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, "for you, bella, always." He shook Bo's hand a little more formally, "I hope you find our food to your liking."

Bo nodded, "this place is eclipsing anywhere else I've seen since I've been here."

Marco, a balding man in his forties, laughed, holding his stomach, "flattery gets you everything, especially a table in my establishment. Anthony," he called to a young man laying a table in the corner of the room, "table fifteen for my esteemed guests."

Natasha watched Bo lower himself to the seat opposite her, she wasn't lying when she told him he looked good. He was all power and muscle, and the worn jeans, the fitted shirt, they left little, and yet everything to the imagination. His eyes seemed to study her, so much. It made her blush for the umpteenth time in his company.

"It's cute. You blushing."

She sighed, "it's kind of my trademark."

They glanced at the menu for a few moments, before she relaxed a little.

Finally, she broke the silence, "so how did you end up here?"

He glanced up from his menu, "you mean the Hornets? This town? Or this night out?"

Grinning, she folded her arms, "all three?"

Bo tapped his finger against his lips for a long moment, then offered her, "I have played hockey since I could walk. But three years ago, I got injured, wasn't sure I could play again. Coop, the coach here, used to play with one of the coaches at my team back in the US, they were talking, and he recommended I come here, try out for a season."