Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

27. Rossini

"I haven't had a breakdown like that in a while."

"It was a release. We have them to wash away tension and hoarding emotion. It's perfectly fine. It's a good thing." I assure.

"I needed it."

His timid gaze drops into my lap, but after building more strength, it re-engages with mine. Such a sweet, defenseless stare, yet it's robust enough to crumble my front. Wrapping my arms around him, I give him another hug. Marcel snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

"Yeah, me too." I rest my head on his shoulder.

PIZZA TIME

"Why do you fold your pizza like that?" Marcel questions my method.

"I grew up doing this," I say before taking my first bite.

"Here comes the moment of truth." He teases. I close my eyes and hum a delightful groan. "And there it is." 

I open my eyes to find Marcel taking a bite of his Margherita slice. I wait for a verdict as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a thumb. 

"Fuck."

"I've never heard of a Prosciutto pizza." I lick my lips as I replace a topping. As my eyes are lowered, I spot the alcohol menu. That sounds nice. "I want a drink." I sit up, looking over my shoulder for a waitress. 

That's when Mr. Responsible had to remind me, "Don't forget, we have to walk home."

"I know." I check over his shoulder for someone, but they're helping a customer. Meantime in-between time, I pick up the menu to see what they have to offer. "Do you want one?"

"No, you go ahead."

"Are you trying to be the responsible one?" I glance over to him.

"I don't want a drink." He takes another bite.

"Okay." I quickly say, seeing the young waitress almost pass our table. "Excuse me." I lift a finger.

"Yes?" She stops in her tracks.

"May I have a Rossini?" In case I mispronounced it, I point to my menu.

"Sure. No problem."

"Thank you so much."

After the lady walks away, Marcel asks, "What's that?"

"A strawberry cocktail."

"Oooh." He acknowledges as he falls deeper in love with his food. "I have to take one of these back."

"Try mine." I offer. 

Marcel takes a slice and folds it. He's like a kid after Show and Tell – so proud of himself as he beams at me. He takes a bite and waits for his taste buds to make their decision.

"Mine is better, but this is good." He points for me to take a slice.

"Margherita is my favorite."

"Then why didn't you get it?"

"Because I'm trying something different." I see my drink coming as Marcel drops his dinner to clap for me. "Stop," I tell him. He's so embarrassing.

"One Rossini." The lady places it on a coaster.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Can I get anything for you, sir?"

"Another Margherita to go. Thank you."

"Right away." She goes off. 

Before I can test my cocktail, Marcel reaches for it, earning a swat. What do you think you're doing? Marcel kisses his teeth as if I disrespected him and his dinner.