Chapter 30
Thirty
Leo
“Oh, my God,” Harper moans as she forks up the last of the chocolate soufflé.
My dick twitches again.
For the hundredth time tonight.
But I ignore the urge to lean across the table and kiss her senseless—or better yet, to drag her away from the table, find a quiet corner, and do much, much more than kissing.
Because she deserves this night.
Deserves to be treated like a princess, to be wooed and held and shown that she means something to me.
Not just an orgasm.
More.
Much more.
So much more that it still fucking scares me.
“Oh,” she asks, her cheeks going pink, “did you want more of that?” It’s a guilty question, paired with her fork scraping against the porcelain ramekin.
“No, baby. I had enough,” I tell her, even though I only had one bite.
It was delicious—every course was.
But watching her enjoy it, enjoy this entire meal far outranked any bit of food I consumed tonight.
“I see the baby liked the soufflé,” Nonna says, coming over and smiling broadly as she had every time Harper and I cleaned our plates.
“The baby—and I—loved everything.” Harper smiles. “Thank you.”
“Anytime you want me to cook for you and that baby, just stop by and Nonna will take care of you both.”
“That’s a dangerous offer,” Harp teases. “Especially given how delicious your soufflé is.”
Nonna just smiles and pats Harper’s shoulder. “I’m going to pack up some leftovers to take with you.”
“Oh, you don’t—”
“Hush.” Another pat. “It won’t be soufflé because that doesn’t transport or store well, but I’ll set you up with some goodies.”
“Nonna,” she protests. “I don’t want you to trouble yourself.”
“I’m not troubled.” She touches one finger to Harper’s cheek. “Plus, I have the feeling that baby of yours is going to come in regularly and often for more of my food.” A wink. “I love babies.”
Then she’s bustling away.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” Harper murmurs.
“Aside from accept the offering of delicious food…er, kindness?”
I grin and she grins back.
“Good point.” She pats her belly and sits back. “Kindness definitely fills me up.”
“Good.”
“Thank you for tonight,” she says softly.
“It was my pleasure.”
Her cheeks go pink and my dick twitches. Then her expression goes serious. “Are you okay?”
“I’m great.” Tonight has been one of the best nights of my life. “With this food and your company how couldn’t I be?”
“No, I mean…” She leans close, drops her voice. “After what you shared?”
By silent agreement, we’d both kept the conversation light, but that doesn’t mean my thoughts hadn’t strayed to our conversation this morning. I lean forward and take her hand. “I’m not going to cling to bravado and pretend that I’m not scared as hell that I’m going to fuck this up,” I admit.
“Leo,” she murmurs.
“But I’ve tried to ignore what’s between us.” I squeeze lightly. “And clearly, that hasn’t worked well for either of us.”
Her face goes soft. “No, it hasn’t.”
“And neither has just being friends—though, I’m not saying I don’t want to be friends, I do.” I want her to become my best friend. “I just…” I take a breath. “I want more.”
Unreadable hazel eyes on mine for a long moment.
Then she tightens her fingers around mine. “Me too.”
Relief is so heady it nearly makes me lightheaded. “What about you?” I ask. “Are you okay after sharing what you shared?”
“Yeah.” A breath. “I mean, it’s not pleasant, but I’m glad you know.”
That reminds me. “What’s Jeff’s last name?”
“My ex?” Her brows drag together. “Why?”
But before I can reply (or say something that’s not So I can find him and kick his good-for-nothing ass, along with your dad), Nonna’s back with a truly absurd-sized bag.
“This is too much, Nonna,” Harper protests.
“Nonsense.” She squeezes Harper’s shoulder. “Just keep growing that baby of yours. And you—” She narrows her eyes at me. “Put your wallet away and get your woman home.”
I blink. “But we haven’t paid yet.”
“And you won’t. Your money isn’t good here, bambino. For tonight anyway.” A wink. “Otherwise, my son will have my head.”
“Nonna—”
“Hush,” she orders and bustles off.
I shake my head. Then do it again. “Now I know how you were feeling,” I admit.
“I have a feeling that Nonna is a force of nature.”
“We know a few of those now, don’t we?”
She giggles. “Damn straight we do.”
“So…what do we do now?”
Harper smiles. “We take your advice from earlier.”
I lift my brows in question.
“We accept Nonna’s kindness.”
The drive back to Harper’s apartment is the quietest part of our evening.
We’re not chatting about the past or sorting out a path forward for our future. We’re not talking about work or training or little baby Reese. We’re not waxing poetic over the food or laughing about reality TV or discussing her upcoming events.
We’re just…quiet.
For my part, it’s because I don’t want the night to end.
For Harper’s…
All I know is that she’s a million miles away again.
I turn into her apartment complex, start circling for a guest spot.
“You can park in mine,” she says. “Since my car is still at your place.”
Excellent.
That gives me an excuse to see her tomorrow.
“Perfect, thanks, Harp-tastic.” Her mouth curves as I pull in and park. Then I turn to her and say, “I’ll get your door.”
Soft hazel eyes on mine.
Fuck, I want to kiss her.
But tonight isn’t about that.
I get out, round the hood, and open her side, helping her out, not necessarily because she needs it, but because I like touching her.
Once she’s on her feet, I snag the bag from the back seat then walk with her up to her door.
She unlocks it, steps inside, and I follow her into the kitchen, setting Nonna’s delicious kindness on the counter so we can unpack it and put it away.
“Oh, my God,” Harper exclaims as I pull out container after container—two slices of lemon cake, containers of fresh minestrone soup, slabs (yes, legit slabs) of lasagna, and enough bread to feed an army.
“She even gave you some of that homemade butter with the herbs you raved over.”
It’s what made Nonna come over in the first place, catching Harp mid-exclamation of how the basil and garlic and salt all complement each other perfectly. Nonna was pleased and they got to talking about cooking and next thing I knew…we had a surrogate grandmother.
Who kicks ass in the leftover department.
“That woman is too much,” Harp lightly grouses as she stashes the containers in the fridge.
“I just hope this means I can bum some leftovers,” I tease.
She finishes tucking away the last container and closes the fridge door. “Or,” she says, her voice husky and wrapping like phantom fingers around my cock and stroking, “we could have it as a midnight snack.”