Read Online Lost in Rome by Cindy Callaghan - Free Book Online

feeling from people. When I mix that feeling with the pizza—KABOOM!—I make a match.”
    I saw her write “kaboom.” “And you knew when I ordered that I would match well with Angelo?”
    â€œI looked at the pizza options in the room and went with my gut,” I said. “When I mixed up your checks, it was sort of an experiment to see if there was a spark. I provided the intro, and you did the rest.”
    Just then I glanced over Murielle duPluie’s shoulder to the window that looked out on the cobblestone street. Aunt Maria was coming back, earlier than planned.
    Oh. No.

14

    My thumb went to my ear, and I wiggled my fingers.
    â€œAre you okay?” Murielle duPluie asked.
    â€œFine.” I called, “Gi!” into the kitchen.
    Gianna saw my signal and Aunt Maria. She raced to the door to intercept her. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said to Aunt Maria. “Mmmm . . . errr . . .”
    Gi, think fast.
    â€œIt’s the sauce,” Gianna blurted out.
    Meanwhile, I pointed to the pictures hanging on the wall facing away from the door and said to Murielle duPluie, “Let me tell you a story about this picture right here. You’ll love this, really.”
    I said, “That one is the house where this restaurant started.”
    I glanced over to Eduardo Macelli. He was in such deep conversation with the two ladies I’d sat him with that he didn’t notice Aunt Maria.
    I continued, “People came from all around. . . .” I heard Aunt Maria say, “ Mamma mia! What is this about the sauce?” She hurried toward the kitchen without noticing Eduardo Macelli, the reporter, or someone taking my picture. That’s how important sauce was to Aunt Maria.
    AJ appeared with a stack of take-out containers. “You must be in a hurry,” he said to Murielle duPluie and the photographer. “I wrapped up some tiramisu and rum cake for you guys to take with you.” To me, so that Murielle duPluie could hear, he said, “We have a matchmaking request for you. High priority. A complicated case.”
    â€œDuty calls,” I said.
    Murielle duPluie looked at her watch. “Just one more question. What’s your favorite topping?” she asked me.
    I smiled. “Umm. I, umm . . . I like ham and pineapple. But you really can’t find that in Rome. It’s an American thing.”
    â€œMaybe you can introduce it to Italy.” She held her mic near AJ’s mouth. “And you? What’s yours?”
    â€œI’m an anchovy guy. All the way. And you can quote me on that.”
    She smiled and asked me, “Is anchovy a good match with ham and pineapple?”
    â€œThat’s more than one question,” I said quickly. “I’ll just say, ‘Come to Amore Pizzeria, and maybe you’ll find your love.’ ”
    Murielle duPluie clicked off the recorder. “Thank you. Merci . This will be formidable . Maybe I can do a follow-up story in a few days and see how your skills are improving?”
    â€œSure.” I led her to the front door. As she walked away, I listened to her stiletto heels clickety-clack down the cobblestones.
    When she was a safe distance away, I spun around. “That was close,” I said to AJ.
    â€œYou said ‘duty,’ ” he said. “You know, like doody. Like poop.”
    Boys!

15

    I flew into the kitchen. Aunt Maria was tasting the sauce. “It is perfect.”
    â€œOh, phew,” Gianna said. “I thought maybe it wasn’t warm enough.”
    â€œOh, you worry too much,” Aunt Maria said. She looked at the dining room and saw Eduardo Macelli. “He here?”
    â€œI know,” I said. “If you had a cell phone, I could’ve called you to tell you.”
    â€œNo cell phone.” She went to talk to him. I held my breath for a minute and watched them talk. They