Read Italian for Beginners for Free Online

head shot of Michael, who looked just as attractive as I remembered him.
    Michael was forty-two when the article was written, making him forty-four now. Older than I’d thought. Older than me by a
     decade, in fact, despite his boyish dimples and youthful laugh. He had been in publishing before opening the restaurant. He’d
     gone into business with a silent partner, who financed the start-up of the business while Michael agreed to be the managing
     partner. As for why Michael had quit his old job and suddenly started the restaurant, the article quoted him as saying it
     was because his mother had just died, and opening a restaurant was always something they’d talked about together. Her unexpected
     passing had made him realize that you couldn’t just sit and wait for dreams to come true. You had to make them happen before
     it was too late.
    “My dad died when I was 20,” he said. My heart thudded with the familiarity of the statement as I read on. “He was huge into
     cooking, and he used to take me back to Rome with him all the time to visit his family. I spent every summer there with my
     cousins. They all live there; it’s where my dad grew up. That’s where I learned to cook and where I learned to be passionate
     about food. My mom and I always talked about opening a restaurant incorporating that same passion, and what better way to
     do that in my dad’s honor than to name it after him?”
    The article ended with a brief note from the reviewer that called the cuisine “haute Italian” and lauded the restaurant’s
     low lighting and lofty ceilings, its rustic wood-fired pizzas, and its appetizing aroma of breads and olive oil. Reading the
     last quote, I laughed aloud, recalling the olive oil barrel conversation I’d had with Michael. Unfortunately, this made Kris
     look up with a smile on her face.
    “You
are
goofing off!” she said triumphantly. “I
knew
it!”
    I felt the color rise to my cheeks. “No, I’m not,” I protested weakly.
    She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please,” she said. “When’s the last time someone’s expenses made you giggle?”
    I tried unsuccessfully to stifle a small smile. Arching an eyebrow, Kris stood up and crossed the few feet between our cubicles
     to come stand behind my chair. “So?” she asked. “What are you looking at?”
    I shrugged, but she was already reading over my shoulder.
    “You’re giggling at a restaurant review?” she asked after a moment. I glanced back at her. She looked confused.
    “It’s where Rebecca’s reception was,” I responded weakly.
    “Oh,” Kris said slowly. “Okay. But I still don’t get what’s so funny.”
    She leaned over me and grabbed the mouse. She clicked a few times and scrolled up on the page. As Michael’s head shot came
     back into view, she stopped scrolling. “Ah,” she said simply.
    I waited for her to elaborate, but she was silent. So I tentatively asked, “What?”
    “Could it have anything to do with the cute restaurant guy?” Kris asked.
    I looked up guiltily.
    She grinned. “Ah, so your weekend was even more interesting than you let on!” she said.
    “Nothing happened,” I said quickly. Too quickly, perhaps.
    Kris laughed. “I’m not implying you had your way with the guy over a barrel of olive oil or something,” she exclaimed.
    The color drained from my face.
    “But I’m assuming you met him?” she persisted.
    I nodded.
    “And?”
    “And… nothing.” I shrugged. “He just seemed nice.”
    “Nice?”
    “Yes,” I said. “Nice is good. Nice is… nice.”
    Kris made a face at me. “Yes, thanks for the definition. Now are you going to tell me about what happened or not?”
    I paused and then shrugged. Kris listened intently as I filled her in on the conversation I’d overheard in the bathroom, my
     snap decision to sneak into the kitchen, and Michael’s discovery of me among the olive oil barrels.
    “So there was definite chemistry,” she filled in when I finished.
    I blushed.