"The tattoo," I said, looking at her briefly before turning left onto Halsted.
"What about it?"
"It's f*****g smokin'."
A faint smile turned her lips. "You really like it?"
"Love it."
She seemed pleased with that. After a minute, her hand snaked across the front seat and came to rest on my thigh. We drove the rest of the way in silence, just enjoying the silent company.
* * * * *
Almost an hour and a half later, Marisa pushed away her half eaten plate of baklava.
"I give," she said, patting her tummy.
"You're kiddin', right?"
"What? You think I'm a pig?"
I smiled. "That's the first time--fifteen or so times we've been out together--it's the first time you've ever left so much as a crumb on your plate."
Just then a waiter hustled to our table, some Greek guy in his mid-forties,
