Rosa’s husband swallows, grabs his wine glass and glugs it like water. Spilled drops trickle down his double chin onto the bib he’s fashioned. He rolls his eyes but avoids her gaze. One hand yanks out the chin apron and chucks it to the floor. “Can’t a man eat in peace?”
He rises with a lurch. Wine spills, stringy pasta sprawls, and glass shatters on the tile. With a bark of laughter, Tony gawks down at his belt.
Cheeks on fire, Rosa covers her face. “Saturday night and I can’t take you anywhere.”
~ * ~