CHAPTER 34 – ANTONIO
A smiling woman in glittering earrings welcomes me into Baywood Beans. She reminds me of Mom. She has that look older women get when they want to pinch your cheeks.
I choose a table at the back, half-hidden by a ficus.
I’m so casual.
I open the thriller Mom insisted I’d love. The first page has a murderer dipping biscotto into her victim’s still-warm blood.
Delightful.
Every time the door jingles, I look up.
After an hour of pretending I’m reading and not pining after hazel eyes, the smiling woman approaches me again. She places a chocolate-chip cookie, a pencil, and a Sudoku grid in front of me. Her fingers hover. I’ll bite her if she tries to pinch my cheeks.
“Who are you waiting for, love?”
“I’m not waiting for anyone! I’m chilling!”
“Okay, dear,” she says soothingly. She tells me I’ll get another cookie if I finish the Sudoku.
What kind of establishment is this? Bribing customers with cookies?
It works. I’m almost done with my grid when the door jingles again, and the air shifts.
It’s him. Caspian. He’s wearing a sports tee that shows off his arms. His lickable, scandalous arms. Christ, did I just go into heat?
His gray sweatpants have no regard for my well-being. His hair is damp, curling back in loose waves.
I almost swallow my tongue. Who knew sweat makes Caspian Stone glow?
I fidget with the pencil and watch him grab a water bottle from the cooler.
He says something that makes the glitter-earring women giggle.
I scowl behind the ficus . They need to stop. Caspian is not a public resource.
The one who bribed me whispers something to him.
Then she points at me.
No. No, thank you. This is not what I ordered. Why did I make such a stupid plan? Is it too late to run?
Madonna. This is psychological horror.
Caspian turns around, registering me sitting behind the ficus like some kind of paparazzi trainee .
He knows exactly why I’m here.
So much for subtlety.
Heat floods my body in one horrible, wonderful rush. My hands shake as I watch him pour himself a coffee, every movement unhurried and controlled.
He’s walking toward me now.
My stomach doesn’t flutter. It spasms.
Now that he knows, there’ll be consequences. Dangerous ones.
Like a—like a date.
When he’s almost at my table, I panic and snap my attention back to the Sudoku grid. I stare at it until my vision blurs.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is soft and warm. A caress. It makes every nerve ending in me tingle.
“Hi,” I mumble, still not looking up.
I can smell him—coffee, heat, that spicy note that’s him. His scent makes
me want to do things. Like wrap myself around him and never let go.
“May I?”
I nod.
He sits.
I write a three in a random square, like I have a purpose in life.
“Antonio.”
Swallowing with difficulty, I look up.
Caspian is smiling at me. I blush immediately because my body is a traitor and wants to sit in his lap.
“I have a day off,” I whisper.
“That’s nice,” he says. He takes a sip of coffee. His muscles shift. I could name them in Latin for him.
“I apologize for being all sweaty,” he says.
A sound escapes me. Probably a plea for mercy.
He studies me. “What made you come to Baywood?”
I open my mouth, then close it. I did not think this through.
“Not—not you,” I say, then promptly die of mortification.
He doesn’t laugh at my stupidity. He waits for me to continue.
“I came for the local literary atmosphere,” I explain, like that’s a thing. I gesture vaguely at Mom’s book.
He looks at the cover. It has biscotti and a kitchen knife on it, both dripping with blood. Oh no. What if Caspian thinks I have violent urges? Well, I did plan a murder by cake fork when I pictured him here with someone else.
“I’m not sure if Baywood’s literary atmosphere is savage enough, but I can ask around for you,” he says, lips twitching.
I fidget with my bracelet and watch him take another sip of coffee. I watch his throat, then his jaw. His mouth. His—
Caspian’s looking at me. He’s looking at me and there’s nothing I can do about it. I sit helplessly under his scrutiny, cheeks flushed, trying not to squirm when he takes in every detail. My shirt. My arms. My hair. I brush a curl back, flustered. He notices. Oh how he notices.
He’d better ask for my number soon so I don’t have to throw my pencil at him.
Afterward, I can allow him one moment of ardent admiration. As a courtesy. Then I’ll go and breathe into a paperbag.
“Now that you’re here,” he starts, his calm voice causing my toes to curl in excitement, “I’m going to use this opportunity and ask for your number again.”
Does Baywood have a doctor? I’m half-deceased.
His hazel eyes lock into mine.
“If you say no, I’ll leave you alone. Completely. I promise.”
He waits. Gives me time.
I feel like I’m coming home after a long and exhausting journey.
“So,” he says gently. “Could I have your number?”
Oh God. Fuck. Shit. Yes.