Bristly white hair sprawled across his head. There was a gap between his two front teeth, which let out bursts of jokes. "Italians don't get mad," he said, "we get even."
"Niceness is overrated," she told him.
He looked straight into her eyes, sending out little sparks of mischief from behind his glasses. "You're right," he said, and he meant it, knowing she did, too.
She knew right then that she would share many laughs with this man. That she would look at those shoulders slumping forward in that turquoise sweater. That she would love every gravely joke.
