The Puzzlers vs. The Pirate

Chapter 2: Part 1

Introductions and Panda Pastries

Nekesa

I finally got to have some of my mamma's Abacha and I had just made the four-hour drive to Kansas City. Dogara and I had agreed on a little pizzeria near the bureau that he insisted had the best pizza in all of Kansas City. I picked my way through the older sections of Kansas City, listening to my road trip playlist.

Turn right onto Florence St. and your destination will be on the right

I had recently figured out how to change the accent setting on my GPS, I both prefer and understand her English accent much more than the weird Australian twang I was stuck with for far too long. I looked around for Florence St. and finally found it, a little turn off just ahead. I pulled my car flawlessly into a spot just before the restaurant (I consider parallel parking my best talent) and I get out, looking for Dogara.

Bing!

I look down and see a text from Dogara,

I am so sorry, but I am running a little late Nekesa. If you would like, I avenue already made a reservation under my name. Please feel free Kuwait for me inside, I Willoughby arriving in ten minutes.

12:32 p.m. Monday, September 21 2018

I smiled a little to myself, Dogara's one flaw was that he could never manage to be on time, no matter how hard he tried. His other problem, of course, was that his voice to text function never worked quite right with his accent. I decided to wait for Dogara inside the restaurant, as he had suggested. I checked that my doors were locked and nothing valuable was in sight and walked the remaining twelve meters to the restaurant. The restaurant, La Pizza Perfetta, looked rather unassuming. With quaint architectural features, reminiscent of the Italian countryside, and a few simply prepared outdoor tables. It was a little cold for September, so I was unsurprised that the outdoor dining was not a popular choice. I opened the little wrought iron gate that barely reached my hips, and strolled through the patio to the door. Inside the restaurant was the complete opposite of the empty patio. First, the restaurant was much smaller than I had expected, just barely bigger than the patio. I counted five small tables of two or four and a side room that seemed to be for parties. Only one table was free, Dogara was smart to make a reservation. The hostess was a small, plump woman who greeted me warmly. 

"Buongiorno dear, you must be Dogara's friend. Follow me." La Pizza Perfetta was definitely the real deal, the walls were lined with pictures of Napoli (Naples) and I could hear the chefs chattering in Italian about tonight's menu. There were no windows near my seat at the back, but there was a gorgeous picture of the Santa Maria Assunta Cathedral. I admired the decorations for a few minutes before turning my attention to the menu before me. The joke Dogara and I have is, "If the restaurant's wine list is a book and the menu is a page, you have found a true Italian restaurant." Our joke rang true for this restaurant, I was given a large, leather-bound book for the wine list and a single sheet of paper with the pizza and antipasti. Everything on the menu looked fantastic, but the classic Margherita Pizza was always my favorite. I decided to wait for Dogara before I ordered food, but I went ahead and ordered a simple glass of sparkling water while I waited. Dogara began to creep back into my mind, his smile, his kindness, his little freckle just below his eye. I wanted so badly to tell him the second he walked through the door exactly how I felt about him. But I am more rational than that, and I wanted to wait for the right moment. As if my thoughts had summoned him, Dogara hurried into the restaurant and straight to our table with a quick hello to the hostess. 

"I am so sorry for being late. A meeting ran later than expected and every stoplight on my way here turned red." His sheepish smile was worth my wait and so much more.