Giorgio walked with Tamara to the other side of the piazza, stepping quickly between swerving taxicabs, and pointed out a little trattoria snuggled into the corner. They squeezed between the waist-high, arched metal bars that kept the cars from careening over the curb and wiping out the sidewalk crowd of thirsty customers.
A young waiter perched on the doorstep of the establishment called out to Giorgio and pointed to a small table for two on the edge of the café, and they slipped into the chairs.
“So, you"re a regular here?” she teased.
Giorgio shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
“Italians like wine, and we especially like to enjoy it in the shade of a sidewalk café. And, yes” – did she detect a slight blush on his cheekbones? – “I come back to Ristorante Farini often.”
“My office is
