12. Natalie
CHAPTER TWELVE
NATALIE
One month before the gala
For months Natalie had kept her guard welded shut, but something behind Hart’s eyes kept slipping through the cracks.
The man oozed charm. One minute thoughtful, the next funny.
She couldn’t hold in her laughter. Their Uber driver kept cutting her looks in the rearview mirror several times, clearly annoyed by her giggle fits.
The car slowed, and the driver pointed out the window.
"Excuse me, sir? Is this the place?"
"This is indeed the place." Hart unbuckled his seatbelt and swung the door open.
Natalie followed him out, eyeing the sign. “Toad's Tech? I thought we were going for Italian."
"We are."
"But this is an electronics store,” she said, skeptical.
He flashed her a grin. "Trust me. It's the James Beard winner of electronics stores."
Inside, Hart pressed a finger to his lips and motioned her along. He led her to the back, stopping at a door marked Employees Only. Curiosity prickled through her as he led her down a narrow hallway to a second door. He opened it with a theatrical flourish.
Natalie crossed the threshold into a small but tidy commercial kitchen—stainless steel appliances, a faded Italy travel poster, a portable speaker playing a Dean Martin classic.
An older man and a preteen boy worked behind the prep table.
A lone bistro table sat in the corner, complete with a red-and-white checked tablecloth.
They’d walked straight into Lady and the Tramp.
"Well, aren't you full of surprises?" she said, wide-eyed.
He pulled out her chair. "This okay?”
"It's perfect. How is this even a thing?"
"They're a delivery-only operation. Everything from scratch. And Nino”—he nodded to the older man—“makes exceptions for a select few."
"Nino?" she echoed.
"The old man. Doesn’t speak English but makes a mean pie. His grandson, Little Nino, is one of my most faithful readers."
Hart gave the boy a salute. The boy smiled without pausing his work.
“Your chef is a little young, sir, but I bet he makes a beautiful pizza,” Natalie said in her best Italian.
Both Ninos froze, then laughed. Hart blinked as though she’d sprouted a second head.
"You speak Italian?"
"I pick up languages fast. French is easier. My mom was French."
And I dated an Italian jerk for two years, but that’s a story for another time. Or never.
He handed her the menu. "Then you should order for us."
They lingered at the table for over an hour. She found Hart to be a mix of serious philosopher and silly frat boy, pivoting from global politics to innuendo so fast she could barely keep up. Her laugh grew louder and louder, feeling freer than she had in ages.
"Have you ever smoked pot?" he asked, reaching for a third slice.
"Never. My sister smoked enough for both of us. You?"
"I’ve tried it. Did nothing for me, but I’m a firm believer in trying everything once." He smirked. "And if it's really good, it deserves a second shot."
His emphasis on really and good hit bang on.
She cocked her head. "You're not trying to lure me back to your place to get stoned, are you?”
"No, but there is one special place I’d like to show you.”
“Let me guess—an ice cream stand in the back room of your dry cleaners?"
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, still smiling. "Oh, Ms. Powell, you are quick.”
Little Nino boxed up the last few slices of their pizza while Natalie had a spirited conversation with his grandfather.
Though she hadn’t spoken Italian in years, it came back fairly easily, and she only flubbed a couple of times.
The sparkle in the man’s eyes grew as their exchange progressed.
Clearly, he enjoyed conversing with strangers in his native tongue.
She told him about the summer she spent in Rome with Kate, during her last year in art school, and how much she loved his country.
The old man teared up, tapped his heart twice with a fisted hand, then nodded in thanks.
When Hart pulled out his wallet, the old man waved him off and barked something sharp in Italian. He gestured wildly, hands flying everywhere. Little Nino turned bright red, fighting back laughter. Natalie didn’t even bother trying. She howled.
“What?” Hart asked. “What did I do?”
Natalie poked him in the chest. “He said the next time you take a woman as beautiful and charming as me out to dinner, it better be to a five-star restaurant.”
“And he called you an idiot,” Little Nino added, lips turned up into a soft smile.
If the boy’s comment wounded Hart’s pride, he didn’t show it.
Maybe fame gave him thick skin. Or maybe he didn’t take himself too seriously.
Either way, the night had shaped up to be a refreshing break from cold calling for Natalie & Co, pestering Kate, or obsessing over her party-planning checklist.
The “special place” turned out to be UC campus, not an underground gelato speakeasy.
They walked hand-in-hand, Hart narrating the journey like a tour guide.
A chilly wind whipped Natalie’s hair, and she cursed her thin blazer.
Seconds later, his bright yellow puffer jacket settled around her shoulders.
She tucked her arms into its sleeves, still warm from his body.
“Now you’re gonna freeze,” she said.
He laced his fingers through hers. “If one of us has to, I’m glad it’s me.”
Students passed, calling out hellos to Hart. He greeted each one warmly—a kind word or nod. The man was annoyingly beloved.
“God, I love it here,” he said, inhaling deeply. “There’s something magical about being on campus.”
“Except during finals. Then it’s Mordor.”
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “So Star Wars is a no, but Lord of the Rings is a yes?”
“What can I say? I’m a woman of great mystery.”
Hart squeezed her hand. “I agree … and I look forward to uncovering more.”
They climbed the steps of an ivy-covered building, one that might have housed a Victorian family with a secret history. Inside, the hallways were dim and quiet, stirring her memories of a dark London alley and a hidden jazz bar.
Earth to Natalie!
We've moved on from London, remember?
They climbed another set of stairs. She held the pizza box while Hart unlocked a door at the end of the hall.
A single bulb flickered on, revealing a plain room.
Shabby even. But the walls … the walls were alive with dozens of drawings—chalk, charcoal, watercolor.
Mostly studies of women in various states of dress. Or undress, as was the case in some.
Natalie took her time, cruising the perimeter of the room to study each drawing. Growing up with Kate, she had a pretty good eye for art. When her gaze locked on one specific subject, Natalie released an audible gasp.
“Um, that’s me,” she said, a host of nervous butterflies taking flight inside her.
He’d captured her perfectly. Not a single detail overlooked, all the way down to the scuffmark on the strap of her shoe.
Damn. He’s good.
Like, text-this-to-Kate-immediately good.
"Hart Lockwood, these are brilliant."
He shrugged it off. "You found my best subject.”
He’s not wrong.
"This is more than a hobby. How long have you been doing this?”
"Since I was a kid. No formal training, but …”
"All this without a lesson?" Natalie shook her head. “My sister has an art dealer friend—"
He gently cut her off. "I'm not looking for a second career. This is just for me.”
"You shouldn't hide these."
"I like to keep some things private.” He crossed to a filing cabinet. “Speaking of, I got something for you.”
A brown paper bag appeared in his hands. Natalie’s insides twisted. From the shape of it, it had to be a book. Probably a signed copy of his newest release.
“I bet I know what this is,” she said.
“I bet you don’t.”
Natalie pulled out the book. Hart had never been more right. She’d had no idea.
"The Kama Sutra?" Her voice cracked.
He swept her hair off her shoulder. "A classic. My favorite textbook."
Natalie stared, unsure whether to laugh or combust. Her brain scrambled for something clever, sexy, coherent—anything. His eyes darkened, emerald and intense, as his hand slipped around her waist.
Her eyes fluttered shut the moment their lips met. A warm, teasing kiss. One that ended much too soon.
His beard is so soft …
"I've dreamed of doing that all night."
"How was it?" she asked.
"I think it deserves a second shot."
Like from the pages of a romance novel, Hart raked the top of his desk clean.
Papers rained onto the floor. The pizza box landed with a thud.
With ease, he lifted Natalie onto his desk.
His mouth found her earlobe, her neck, her collarbone, and her cleavage.
He whispered in between kisses, every word thick with desire.
"And a third … and a fourth …"
Five minutes blurred into breathless heat before he paused, flushed and out of breath from this Olympic-caliber make-out sesh.
“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he whispered.
She thumbed a smudge of lipstick from his lip. “Maybe you’re the troublemaker.”
“There’s a cool place near here. Want to grab a drink?”
Natalie’s hesitation lasted a single heartbeat.
The timing of this romance? One hundred percent wrong, but God, did it feel right.