Chapter 04 #2
I saw her a second time, but I don’t mention it to Oliver.
Last month, when I was pulling into the gas station, she was getting ready to get into her car.
She was wearing a cream-colored dress with a cross-over bodice that wrapped around her.
I’d never seen that dress before, or at least I don’t remember it.
She was stunning.
Ceci got into her car and drove away without even noticing I was there. My mind spent the rest of the day torturing me with possibilities.
I clear my throat. “Things with Ethan are exactly the same. Like I told you last time.”
I tell him what happened less than an hour ago, and the pity in his eyes makes me feel two inches tall.
“But you said things were slowly getting better with Alicia, right?”
At that, I smile. I tell him about today, and—predictably—he bursts out laughing when I repeat what she said about my beard.
“And she’s right. Some men can pull off a beard. You are definitely not one of them.”
I tell him to go to hell, which only makes him laugh harder.
What I won’t tell him, or Alicia, is that the beard makes me look like someone completely different. I’d never let it grow before.
I’m afraid that if I shave it off, I’ll see that same arrogant fool staring back at me. The one who thought he ruled the world and everyone in it. The one who, deep down, was just another idiot who wanted to have his cake and eat it too.
Alexander
I put another jar of passata back on the shelf and exhale, resigned. Homemade it is.
I move to the produce section and start selecting tomatoes one by one. I’m focused, but then that awareness runs up the back of my neck. I lift my head to see Cecilia a few feet away, looking right at me... smiling.
Before I can move toward her, she pushes her cart in my direction. When she’s close enough, I pull her into a half hug, and her scent hits me. I’ve associated Italian bergamot with Cecilia ever since the first time I stood close enough to breathe her in.
Before pulling back, I kiss her cheek.
“If this supermarket weren’t conveniently located between where we both live, I’d say you’re following me, Alexander,” she says, pretending to sound serious.
“Who said I’m not?” I lift a brow.
A few seconds pass as we simply... look at each other.
“I thought you were only arriving tonight,” she says, smiling.
“I managed to wrap up everything sooner and flew in last night. Got here a few hours ago. I was going to call you later,” I say, never taking my eyes off her.
Cecilia glances at the basket in my hand. “Tomato sauce for dinner?” she teases.
“Yes. I’m making the passata myself—couldn’t find a single brand that doesn’t taste like preservatives and artificial flavoring.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Expecting a lot of guests?”
I let out a short laugh. “It takes more tomatoes than you’d think to make proper Italian red sauce. But no, I’m only cooking for two tonight.”
“Oh.” She looks away.
My heart kicks hard when I realize how that might have sounded.
“My sister’s coming over for dinner. She’s a disaster in the kitchen, and she insists my gnocchi with red sauce is the best she’s ever had, so she asks for it almost every time we’re in the same city.”
She looks up at me, the smile back on her face.
Does she care who I’m having dinner with?
“Your sister is lucky to have you,” she says. “Are you going to be long? I just need to grab some potatoes and head to the checkout. If you have a few minutes to spare... maybe we could get a coffee? There’s a really good bakery across the street.”
I nod, trying not to smile.
“Of course,” I say. “I just need pure olive oil, but it’s on the way to the register.”
And despite her halfhearted protests, I take the cart from her hands and push it while she finishes her shopping.
At the checkout, I don’t even try to pay for her groceries—I know the gesture wouldn’t be well received. At least not yet.
Outside, I place my two bags on the passenger seat of my car, parked near the store entrance, then walk over to help Cecilia load her things into the trunk of her white hybrid Volvo parked a few rows down.
We walk in comfortable silence until we reach the bakery. I order a macchiato, Cecilia gets a latte, and we both choose the lemon tart. We learned a few weeks ago that we share a weakness for citrus desserts.
I’ll never mention that to Aurélie. She’d treat it as more evidence for her soulmate theory.
I pay for our order, and Cecilia just shakes her head.
We settle at a small table facing the glass wall.
“How are the preparations for Alicia’s birthday?” I ask once Cecilia takes her second bite of the tart.
I need something to focus on, something that doesn’t make me jealous of a damn pastry.
Her shoulders deflate a little.
“They’re not,” she says. “She keeps saying she doesn’t want a party, and I think I just have to accept it.” Cecilia looks out the window, thoughtful. “I just don’t want her to look back one day and regret not celebrating the date.”
When she turns back to me, there’s a nostalgic softness in her expression.
“Last year around this time, we’d already chosen the entire color palette for the table décor and made a huge list of her favorite sweets and guests.”
I cover her hand with mine, brushing my thumb over her skin.
“Maybe it’s just a phase,” I say. “Even without a party, I’m sure you’ll make the day special for her.”
Cecilia nods. “Yes. I already bought one of the gifts she really wanted, and I’m trying to figure out how to make sure she enjoys the day.”
Before I can say anything else, we’re interrupted.
“Cecily Sterling, what a true delight to find you here!” an overly enthusiastic feminine voice rings out.
Cecilia closes her eyes and lets out a groan.
I pull my hand back from hers and turn around, coming face-to-face with a brunette holding hands with a little girl who looks like a younger version of her.
The woman has a remarkable presence. Thick hair framing her face, her features both delicate and striking. Full lips. Eyes that shift effortlessly between charm and calculation.
“Felicity. It’s good to see you too,” Cecilia says before finally standing to greet her friend with a hug.
I rise as well, but stay where I am, observing.
“Aurora saw her favorite aunt through the window and simply had to say hi.”
Cecilia wraps her arms around the little girl—she must be around seven—and holds her close for a moment.
When my eyes shift back to Felicity, I recognize her name as the friend Cecilia has mentioned a few times. I think about extending a hand to greet her, but her attention is already on Cecilia, who straightens again.
“And who’s this fine man—I mean, this nice friend you’re having coffee with?” she asks, trying to sound neutral.
Cecilia shoots her a warning look.
“Felicity, this is my friend Alexander Santoro. Alexander, this is Felicity Zaragoza.”
I offer my hand, and when she shakes it, the firmness of her grip catches me off guard.
“It’s good to finally put a face to the name,” I say.
That surprises her.
“Oh? So someone’s been talking about me,” she replies, a spark of interest in her tone. “How... interesting.”
She doesn’t say the rest, but it’s obvious: the same can’t be said about me. Cecilia never mentioned me. There wasn’t even a sign of recognition when she heard my name.
“Would you like to sit with us?” Cecilia offers, a bit awkwardly.
Felicity waves her off. “Of course not. We won’t interrupt anymore. Aurora just wanted to say hi.”
She turns to me. “It was lovely meeting you.”
She smiles, then pivots back to Cecilia, kisses her cheek, and walks away with the promise of calling her later.
The little girl, Aurora, gives me a shy wave before leaving. I wave back and smile.
When we sit back down, we both just look at our cups for a second.
“I never mentioned you to her because we don’t see each other that often, between her work, mine, and the kids,” she says. “Actually, I’ve been talking to you more lately, and she lives in the same city as I—”
I place my hand over hers.
“I understand. At our age, mentioning someone new raises a lot of questions. Even if that person only has the ‘friend’ label.”
She draws in a breath and nods, visibly more at ease.
We finish our drinks and pastries, exchanging a few more words. Afterward, I walk her to her car, and we agree to see each other again before I return to Europe.
As I walk back to my own car—after waiting until Cecilia drives out of the parking lot—the only thing running through my mind is:
How easy it is to hit it off with her every time. How natural it feels to always want more.