Teacher's Secrets

Trinacria Rose(Jack)

I ordered the Beef Lasagna, and Mark had gotten the Linguine.
Alfredo. We sat, having dragged our chairs to the same side of the little round table so we could cuddle. The restaurant was warm, and so were his hands. He slid said hands under his jacket, which I still had on my shoulders, pulling me closer.

I'd also ordered a beer, which had just arrived. I picked it up, and took a sip. I needed just a little alcohol after the past few days. Just a Coors. Cause im a little bitch.

"Hey Jack. Trade half my linguine for your lasagna?"

I shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

I split my Lasagna down the middle when it got to the table, delivered by a kindly looking old man in an apron, and Mark did his best to equally split the noodles.

The restaurant was fairly empty. There was a man about our age on the other side with what looked like his sister, also about our age, and maybe their parents. But that was it. Except for the lonely looking old man sitting at a table alone with his coffee and food. So three of the around eight tables were filled.

The place was lit dimly, wity muted/pastel walls of mostly beige and grayish-blue. It felt as if we'd stepped into a well maintained hole-in-the-wall in 1940s Italy. Light floral patterns occupied the wallpaper about halfway up the walls, running all the way around the dining area. It was a truly beautiful little place.

I took a bite of my Lasagna.

"This is the best lasagna I've ever had." My husband said.

I nodded, my mouth full.

"How are you finding everything?" A highly noticeable Italian accent met our ears, and we looked up. The same kindly looking older man in an apron that had brought us our food smiled at us.

"Absolutely wonderful." I said without hesitation. "My compliments to the chef."

"Why thank you." He chuckled. "I'm happy you enjoy my cooking."

Mark froze. "Wait, you're the chef? Shouldn't you like, be in the kitchen? When I worked at Taco Time if anyone left the kitchen for even a second the whole kitchen would slow down and then things would go to shit."

The chef laughed. "Taco Time is far busier than my small little place."

"Oh." Mark had an epiphany. "That makes sense."

I tried to hold back a laugh as my husband's brow wrinkled up like it always did when he was thinking about something in particular.

"I will leave you to your meal. Let me  if you need anything." He smiled.

"Yes sir. Thank you."

He left with another smile.

I took another bite of lasagna, hoping we had a home to go back to after this. Who knows what happened in the kitchen with Matt doing the cooking.