“No. I always wanted a dog.”
“Why didn’t you ever get one?”
“Too poor as a kid. Too rich growing up. I guess there’s no happy medium.” The waiter comes to our table to clear away our plates. Asher asks for the check and pays it, leaving more than enough cash on the table. In fact, I think he just left a fifty-euro tip.
“You don’t have to impress me like that.”
His head looks up while he places his wallet in his back pocket. “Like what?”
I gesture to the tip on the table. “That’s a lot of money. Don’t leave it just because I’m here. I’m not into that sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing would that be?”
“Money.”
He lets out appreciative laugh and shakes his head. “I know. You didn’t take the money.”
I look down at the cash on the table. Of course I didn’t take it. It’s right there.
“The money Devon offered you. You didn’t take it. I know,” he says, rising from his seat. He holds out a hand and I take it, brushing off my startled expression on how Devon told him about the money he offered me when we were on the boat.
I glance up at the clock tower in the piazza and see it’s eleven in the evening. Asher leads me through town. Leah was right. Italians like to eat late. Some of the shops are still opened as well. We pass a few and I am reminded about the gift he gave me earlier.
“Thank you for the shoes,” I say, way too late for a proper thank-you.
Asher glances down at my navy blue shoes and his eyes skim slowly up my body, stopping for a moment at my bust and landing on my eyes.
“I noticed them earlier. Thank you for wearing them.”
I kick my toes up and show them off. “They’re my favorite. I was so upset when I lost my shoe the other day. I’m pretty upset at you for buying them. It was too much.”
Asher’s eyes soften and he smiles shyly. He has this look on his face that is so hard to read. “I wanted to do something nice for you. I was a jerk yesterday.”
“I was a jerk first. That doesn’t mean I’m going to start buying you gifts.” I hit him on the shoulder playfully and am rewarded with his hand snaking around my waist again. I really like it there. “Do you always wear loafers? You were wearing them yesterday too. Do you ever wear sneakers?”
“Only to the gym.”
“What about flip-flops?”
“I’ve never worn a pair of flip-flops.”
“Never?”
He shakes his head. “My grandfather never allowed me. When I was ten I went to live with him. He had these strict rules about what he expected from me. Dress code was one of them. I was allowed to wear loafers and boat shoes. Sneakers were for working out. Even my slippers had to look like loafers.”
I don’t know what kind of man his grandfather was but Asher is clearly deprived of a staple foot fashion. Even I spent a good part of my life wearing high heels and black shoes appropriate for the symphony, but when I was offstage, those puppies were off and the flip-flops were on.
“Come with me.” I grab his hand and lead him down the street until we find a store that sells what I’m looking for. “I’m buying you a pair of flip flops.”
Asher put up a fight in the store. Not because he was opposed to buying the shoes. He was just opposed to me buying the shoes. Since he bought me six pairs on his modest—whatever he does—salary, I convinced him to let me pay.
“So what do you think?” Asher and I are walking along the south side of the island overlooking the Marina Piccola.
Asher looks down at his feet, his loafers in his left hand; his right hand is holding mine. “I hate them.”
I let out a loud laugh. “What do you mean, you hate them?”