Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Dulcie
“You have cats.”
That’s the first thing Luca says to me after walking into the house.
Dad left for the bakery at the crack of dawn, and after a quick cup of coffee with me, Mom went to help out.
When my dad took over running the bakery, he was still working with my grandfather.
My mom started helping out there when my grandpa’s arthritis became so bad that he could no longer perform even the most basic functions without extreme pain.
When he and Mom wanted to start a family, that’s when he hired an apprentice of sorts.
Luca. After Luca left, it was just my dad managing alone until I was a few years old, which was when my mom could go and help out where and when she could.
She went to work there with my dad full-time as soon as I was in school.
When I was old enough to legally work, I took her place and let her concentrate mostly on the paperwork, which my dad always hated and was too busy and exhausted to do.
I went from just hanging out in the bakery, learning and helping, to getting paid.
Mom had to take my place while I was in college because Dad just couldn’t bear to hire anyone else.
Mom had to take my place while I was gone these past few weeks, too, but she doesn’t seem to have minded. She was in a good mood this morning.
Dad goes to bed early since he gets up early. He was asleep when I got home last night, and gone this morning before I woke up.
Over the coffee Mom and I shared before she left, she promised that she’d talked Dad down last night, and we were more than welcome to come to the bakery whenever we wanted to.
The bakery is closed on Sunday, and she made sure I knew we were invited for dinner.
As in, it would break her heart if we weren’t here.
I have yet to fill Luca in on any of this. I picked him up from his hotel at nine in my little old quarter-ton truck. I run a lot of errands for the bakery, so it’s just nice to have a truck, and it’s tiny enough that I can park it anywhere.
“We have cats,” I confirm. “Six of them.”
“Six?” That comes out sounding a lot like, holy pies, you have eighty?
He stares down at the huge black and white tuxedo cat, who happens to be perched right in the middle of the round table in the kitchen.
“That’s Jack. He won’t move from there until you pay the tuna treat tax, but there’s no point in doing it until you’re ready to eat there. He’ll just get right back up and demand the tax all over again.”
Luca quirks a brow. “The tuna treat tax?”
“He doesn’t like any other flavors. He’s got a very refined palette.”
I scratch Jack behind the ears. He has a big purr motor, and it kicks into high gear, rattling the whole table. Not really, but kind of. He’s the size of a small dog. Maybe a medium-sized dog.
“Where and when did you get six cats?” Luca searches the kitchen with his eyes, surveilling it for other treat tax tyrants.
“When I was a kid.”
“Your dad doesn’t even like cats,” Luca points out.
“He loves me, though, and I love them, so he caved. The universe sent Patches, our tortie cat, to us when I was four. I found her in the backyard, runty and sick. Mom took her to the vet and meant to try and find her a home, but two seconds in, I was in love.” My face does the wobbly thing that happens when I’m about to bawl, but I keep it under control.
Barely. “She crossed the rainbow bridge last year. I was back from college. Barely. She was always happiest when I came home for the summers.” I have to stop, or the waterworks are going to come on full force.
“But she started a movement. All the cats are rescues. I wanted to help at shelters and work with rescues. My mom found time to do that with me, since I was just a kid. And over the years, we ended up falling in love. A few times. Dad just… I think he gave up trying to tell us to stop bringing cats home. We always used the always room for one more argument very convincingly.”
“That’s incredible. Have you always known what you wanted?”
What a question. “Not at all. I just knew I wanted them.” I scratch Jack’s chin just the way he likes. He’s quite particular. If you hit the wrong spots, he’ll try to bite or take a swipe, but I’ve had years of practice catering to his whims. “And you.”
It’s so adorable to see Luca blush. He slays me when a shy smile turns into a grin so wide that a single dimple appears on the left side of his face.
He follows me over to the kitchen. My parents bought this house before they were married, and they moved into it right after their wedding.
It’s had a few renovations over the years.
When I got home last night, I walked from room to room, wondering how Luca would see it when he arrived in the morning.
“The kitchen’s been renovated. When I was fourteen, my mom convinced my dad to let her hire a contractor to come in with a crew and do it in a few days.
He would have loved to do it himself, but he was so busy with the bakery all the time.
Mom wanted him to have a space where he could cook at home here too.
” I motion to the white cupboards with the square handles, the copper range hood and matching sink, and the industrial stove.
“It’s very country-inspired, and they splurged on everything.
They’d been saving for a long time, and this was their way of treating themselves. ”
“It’s lovely,” Luca breathes. He’s the kind of person who can mean it, even when he’s used to living with a state-of-the-art industrial kitchen that probably costs a quarter of a million dollars or more.
No matter how rich Luca is, he has that innate humility built into him.
People call it charisma, but they don’t understand where that magnetism comes from.
It stems from kindness. From a love of being around people.
All sorts of people. From being able to see the small things, sense the big ones, and go for it.
He pretty much had the world at his feet at the time of his accident.
He didn’t have to leave it all behind. I truly think people wouldn’t have given a shit. Those who loved and admired him would still have gravitated to him, no matter his changed appearance.
I just hope he’ll learn that. He doesn’t have to go back to the world in that same capacity. I just want him to see it and believe it.
“Pie or eggs?” I ask.
“You know, I’ve never really liked eggs. Just a bite of pie would be fine. I’m not a breakfast person.”
“Me neither, weirdly enough. You’d think working in a bakery would make me hungry all the time, but it’s much more fun to get jacked up on caffeine all day. Coffee is supposed to be an appetite suppressant, isn’t it? Anyway, real food before noon just seems wrong.”
“I do want to try the pie, though,” Luca says.
“I hear that. It’s the first one you’ve made in ages.” It’s sitting right there on the counter. Mom and Dad brought it back with them last night and saved it for me. “Close your eyes. I’ll feed it to you.”
His brows crash together in suspicion. “Is this going to be one of those incidents where you ram it into my face and smush it all around?”
I make a face. “That’s gross.”
Also? Luca is immaculate this morning. I was surprised to find him wearing a vintage leather jacket with a high collar and not his hoodie when I picked him up this morning.
He shed the jacket to reveal a black button-up shirt the second he walked into the house.
We don’t have air conditioning, and it’s late June. It’s far too hot for the jacket.
And for shirtsleeves, which Luca rolled up almost absently.
It wasn’t absent to me.
I noticed.
My ovaries noticed.
My vagina also noticed and gave a shiver and two metaphoric thumbs up.
He’s not wearing jeans today, but some expensive kind of pants that match the shirt. He’s also rocking the belt that completes the mouthwatering lean hips, pants sitting just right, and musculature on perfect display effect.
“Don’t worry.” I slide the pie over and get a knife out of the block. I cut a small piece and pry it out onto a side plate. Adding a fork, I paste on my most innocent expression and turn to Luca. “Close your eyes. It’s better this way.”
He sighs but does it anyway. I load up the fork and bring the pie to his lips. It’s better heated up and with cream poured on top, but that would be messy.
“Open,” I wheeze, my breath punching out of my lungs at how delicious he smells and looks. Far better than any pie known to mankind.
His lips part, and as soon as they do, I transfer the pie to my fingers and crush it all over his mouth.
Before he can make a sound of protest, I lick it off, swiping my tongue over his bottom lip and then the top.
I was careful that it didn’t go everywhere, as promised.
There’s zero risk to his immaculate, expensive clothing.
All the risk lies in my body spontaneously combusting. Ever seen those crazy videos where they do dangerous things with… well, yeah. That’s me right now. Mind and lady cave blown. After I’ve cleaned all the pie off his mouth, I let him lick the little bits stuck to my fingers.
His mouth is lush, warm, and heavenly. I didn’t know having your fingers licked could be so erotic.
Luca’s eyes open, sparkling and deep green. I love the slight spill of pink that creeps into his cheeks. “I thought you said you weren’t going to do that.”
“Technically, I didn’t ram it into your face. Just your mouth. I cleaned you up, too, so that should count for something.”
“It does.” He captures my hand when I try to pull it away, brushing a kiss over my knuckles, then turning it over to plant one on my palm. My heart officially drops out of my chest and melts all over the floor. “Bonus points, or whatever we’re playing for.”