Hope by William Neale

Author:William Neale [Neale, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Child
Amazon: B007Y9U4W4
Goodreads: 13607750
Publisher: MLR Press
Published: 2012-04-26T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Wind-driven sleet and ice pelted Spencer’s face like tiny bullets as he and Thomas made a dash for the entrance to Mama’s Restaurant. They had to park on the street a block away because the place’s undersized parking lot was full. As Thomas had explained on the drive over, this was typical even on snowy winter weeknights.

“Welcome to Cleveland!” Thomas shouted above the wind. He nonetheless grinned as he glanced at Spence. He had been in a great, even ebullient mood since Spence picked him up a few minutes earlier for their second date.

“Whew!” Spence gasped as they burst through the loudly squeaking front door. Immediately the combination of steamy heat and the smell of garlic blasted his senses. Before he could begin to take off his coat, an elderly man—probably at least eighty—tried to take it off for him.

“Excuse me—what are you doing?” Spencer asked.

“Relax, Spence. Give it to him,” Thomas said. “He’s Mama’s uncle. Buonasera, Zio Basilio,” he said in a loud voice to the apparently hard of hearing man. “Come stai?”

“Ah, Tommy, il mio amico, welcome! And who is this?”

“Questo è il mio amico, Spencer Hawkin.” With Spencer’s coat draped on his arm, the man bowed politely and extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Here you are, Zio,” Thomas said handing him his coat. “Thank you as always for your kind welcome.”

“It is always my pleasure.” He shifted his eyes to across the room “Dante!” he called. “Please give Signore Thomas his usual table.”

Spencer was amused that Uncle Basilio’s English spoken to Dante was perfect and almost without accent.

Thomas leaned close to Spencer’s ear. “We only speak English to Dante to help him learn.”

“Do you know everyone here?”

“I told you this is my favorite place.” Thomas took Spencer’s elbow to point him toward what was obviously a familiar spot.

“But I have a reservation in my name.”

“They know.” He turned to Dante who, to Spencer, at probably eighteen or nineteen, had the classic dark and handsome features that make so many young Italian men attractive. “Thank you, Dante.”

“Prego—uh—you’re welcome, Mr. Kilbane,” he answered. “Will you and your friend be dining for Mama’s privilege tonight?”

Thomas turned to Spencer. “What he’s asking is if we want menus or if we’ll let Mama decide what to make for us. I recommend we just put ourselves in her hands.”

“That sounds delicious,” Spencer answered.

“Buona scelta, Spence. That means good choice.” He turned to Dante. “We’ll have Mama’s privilege, Dante.”

Dante smiled. “Con mio sommo piacere. Volete anche il vostro solito vino?”

“You forgot again, Dante. English, please.”

The waiter seemed embarrassed. “I keep to forget. Would you also like the wine?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Dante.”

“He’s bringing you the wine list? I think I lost control of this date the minute we walked in the door. I thought I was supposed to be the host tonight.”

Thomas smiled. “Relax, Spence, he’s not bringing a wine list. He’s bringing us a bottle of the best Chianti you have ever tasted. And, it’s only twelve dollars a pop. When

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