Nora, 2018
Of all of the Italian restaurants in the tri-state area, this was her favorite. It was a family joint that had been here for years. The owners would pass it down to their children and so on. That kind of place. Good food, mediocre interior. A well-hidden gem.
Uncle Vito, the current owner, was friendly and overused his fake Italian accent. Well, maybe it wasn’t so much as fake—considering his great-great-great grandparents were Sicilian. However, it had this strange blend of Italian and a Southern mesh that made zero sense. Vito used a watered-down familial accent with no remorse. But Nora would never put down a man just trying to be himself.
His salt and pepper hair only made his handsome, lightly wrinkled face look more delightful. But that beer gut was what sol
