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.”
    “The silence doesn’t… what?” I prodded.
    “‘Silence was never written down.’ It’s an Italian proverb. Loose translation…. ‘Speak up, be heard. Don’t let anyone turn you into a blank page.’”
    “I like that.” I grinned, cocking my head sideways to get a good look at him. “I can’t imagine anyone turning you into a blank page. And this might be a strange segue, but I also can’t imagine you wanting a career in the food business. What are you gonna be when you grow up?”
    “A costume designer. I’m going to conquer Broadway first. Hollywood next.”
    “By way of bagels?”
    “Ha. Yes, and pizza. Go on… laugh. It may seem far-fetched, but I have a degree from NYU, and I’ve taken a ton of classes at Parsons. I have an eye for color, texture, and can outsew almost anyone I know.”
    “I believe you. Why costumes? Why not regular clothes?”
    He rolled his eyes at my intonation but chose to ignore the dig. “Because theater is magic and costumes help transform the experience. I remember seeing my first Broadway show as a kid. Seussical . I loved the show, but what really got me was the set. The scenery, the….”
    I studied his expressive face as he described the sets and costumes in detail. His long eyelashes batted as he warmed to his tale, and his eyes creased slightly at the corners. I noticed his vocal affectations and the way he carried himself. He moved like a dancer one minute and seemed to shift nervously in his chair like a kid the next. He was fascinating in the way odd people could be at times.
    “When I graduated last year, I didn’t think it would be this hard to find a real job. I work as a stylist for Spiral, Rand’s band, too. I help them out when they’re local, but all that traveling isn’t for me. I’m still looking for something permanent. Thus the food biz. Bagels in the morning, Italian at night, and a whole lot of sewing in between.” He let out a self-deprecating sigh and smiled wanly. “Maybe someday I’ll figure my life out. Like you.”
    His deadpan, teasing delivery made me chuckle. We shared a smile and let the surrounding conversations wash over ours for a moment as we sized each other up. This was surprisingly… nice. An unexpectedly pleasant diversion on an ordinary Friday night. And I had to admit, at least to myself, I liked Benny.
    “Back to bowling… have you ever bowled a perfect game?”
    To his credit, Benny switched gears effortlessly. He struck a comical pose with one hand on his hip in a gesture that plainly said “oh please.” I laughed and felt my shoulders slip away from my ears for the first time in over a week.
    “I told you I’m good. I’ve hit three hundred a couple times. Not an easy feat. If you don’t practice regularly, it’s almost impossible.”
    “Practice? It’s bowling!”
    “It’s a sport like any other. If you don’t—”
    “No chance! Baseball is a real sport. Or basketball. Bowling is something you do for kid birthday parties or when the weather is crappy and you can’t come up with anything more exciting than karaoke. Then you realize you aren’t drunk enough and it’s too crowded at the bar, so you go bowling instead. And eat a pile of nachos with a lukewarm beer or four. That, my friend, is bowling.”
    Benny’s facial muscles twitched ever so slightly. There was a fierce spark in his eyes I found really fucking sexy. He knew I was teasing him to a degree, but he seemed conflicted about how to best deal with me.
    “I challenge you to a duel.”
    I barked a quick laugh and grinned at him. “With swords?”
    “Kinky, but no. I challenge you to a game. And I promise to kick your ass. Are you in?”
    I threw my head back and let out a hearty laugh. “You’re gonna kick my ass? I’d like to say there’s no way, but I haven’t been bowling in a while. My social calendar has been lively enough to ensure a trip to the bowling alley hasn’t been necessary. I’d need a little practice