Chapter 9 Jane
JANE
Something about Gio feels insanely familiar—like, somehow, even if this is only the second time we’ve met, I’ve known him my whole life.
Maybe it’s his easy smile or the soft warmth in his light-hazel eyes.
I’ve heard that people tend to find attractive members of the opposite sex more familiar—an odd phenomenon but one that might explain why I have this nagging feeling that I recognize him from somewhere.
But as he settles into the chair where Jackson set a place for him, I can’t put my finger on it.
“It smells delicious,” he says, turning his head to follow the casserole dish of lasagna that I carry to the table.
“Thanks.” I smile, leaning past him, my hip lightly brushing his shoulder and making my stomach flip-flop as I place the steaming tray on the hot pad at the center of the table.
“I get the noodles from this local Italian market. They’re made fresh every day, so I don’t even have to cook them before they go into the oven. ”
“Do you make the sauce yourself?” he asks as I take my seat across from Jackson.
“Please, guests first,” I insist, handing him the knife and spatula before answering his question.
My speech falters as I’m caught off guard when he cuts a slice of lasagna and takes Jackson’s plate, serving my son—then me—before himself.
“N–No,” I stammer, trying to collect my scattered thoughts to remember his question.
“I mean, I do add a bit to the sauce—some garlic, sage, rosemary for flavor, and minced carrots, zucchini, mushrooms, and ground beef to make the meal a bit healthier—but the sauce comes from a jar. I don’t really have time to make it from scratch after I get home from work. ”
“That makes sense,” he says, guiding his first bite to his sensual lips.
And I’m suddenly riveted, anxious to know what this near stranger might make of my cooking.
It’s embarrassing, really, how much I care, but for some odd reason, I want Gio’s approval nearly as much as my son’s.
My heart flutters as his lips wrap around the fork and his eyes slide closed.
Resting his fists against the table, Gio releases a groan of appreciation that makes my stomach clench.
Heat rushes through me, and I press my thighs together at the mortifying anticipation that pulses in my core.
This was such a bad idea.
After my rather steamy dream about him this morning,
I have no right tempting fate by bringing him into my home.
But dear God, the man is dangerously sexy.
It’s like he’s stepped off the cover of a magazine, and I don’t think he even has to try to be this good-looking.
“Good?” I ask, swallowing hard when the question comes out breathy.
“So good,” Jackson agrees around a massive mouthful.
His bulging cheeks are enough to clear the lusty fog from my brain, and Gio and I laugh together as I smile at my son.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“So, S—Jane,” Gio says, pressing a fist to his lips and clearing his throat before swallowing his bite. “What is it you do for work?”
“Oh.” My fork pauses halfway to my lips, and I beam. “I actually have a little flower shop in the city called Blossoms.”
Gio chuffs, the sound almost amused, and my stomach drops as I wonder if he’s laughing at me.
“Is that funny?” I ask, trying to mask the hurt that creeps into my tone.
Gio’s eyes widen as they snap up to meet mine, and his face looks so genuine, I know that what comes next will be the truth.
“Not funny at all,” he assures me. “It’s just… I could have guessed that—should have, really.”
“Oh?” Again, that sense of familiarity washes over me, and I wonder if I might be more on target than I realized.
“Well, yeah. I mean, the first time I saw your front yard, I thought it could have come straight from the pages of The Secret Garden or something,” he says, his teeth flashing in a disarming smile.
That makes me laugh, and my guard drops instantly. “That’s actually one of my favorite books. That and Mandy, by Julie Edwards. Both girls are in love with gardening—so I can definitely relate.”
Gio chuckles, his eyes softening as he sits back in his chair. “That tracks.”
His gaze lingers, the warmth of it sending a shiver of anticipation up my spine, but before I can read too far into it, he turns his attention to my son.
“What about you, Jackson? Are they favorites of yours as well?”
He nods, swallowing his bite before speaking. “Mom used to read Mandy to me all the time before bed,” he admits, his face turning shy. “When I was little, I mean. She doesn’t have to read to me anymore or anything.”
He says it proudly, but the admission makes my heart squeeze as he reminds me just how quickly he’s growing up.
Gio nods solemnly, his eyes casting in my direction so quickly, I almost miss it, but in their depths—for just a moment—I see a shadow of indescribable loss and deep melancholy that eclipses the nostalgic sadness I feel whenever I think about all the sweet traditions Jackson and I had before he outgrew them.
It piques my curiosity and makes me wonder just what happened in this man’s past to make him look so… broken.
Who is this man?
I might feel like I know him, but when it comes down to it, I know next to nothing about him. “What about you, Gio? Have you ever read them before? Or maybe you have another favorite book from your childhood?” I prod, searching for some insight into him.
He chuckles, that low, rumbling sound so similar to that of the man in my dreams that it sends electric tingles rippling through my body.
Swallowing thickly to wet my suddenly parched throat, I try to maintain a polite smile as I wait for his response.
“Believe it or not, someone has read those stories to me as well,” he says, winking at Jackson conspiratorially. “And yes, I would count them among my favorites,” he adds, his eyes twinkling as they come back to me.
My heart flutters, and I force myself to take a bite of lasagna to cover the physical effect his glance has on me.
As does his seemingly genuine interest in Jackson.
The two talk with such casual comfort, I can see why my little boy thinks of Gio as his friend.
It warms my heart to think that, not only did Jackson make a new friend, but he even connected with someone who could be closer to a father figure.
And it gives me hope that he won’t always be so painfully shy to his own detriment.
Dinner might just be the most fun I’ve had in a long time, with lots of laughter and free-flowing conversation.
By the end of it, I’m astonished by just how incredibly comfortable I feel around Gio.
He managed to disarm me completely the other day, even when I was feeling overprotective of Jackson.
And nothing I’ve seen since has made me second-guess my gut feeling that I can trust him.
In short, I like him.
I like him more than I’ve liked any man for as long as I can remember.
“Alright, bud, it’s time for homework,” I say when the last of the plates is scraped clean and the meal finished.
For what might be the first time in his life, Jackson actually deflates at the thought of doing homework.
His shoulders slump as he glances toward Gio like he would much rather stay and chat with his new friend.
But he doesn’t argue as he slides out of his chair and gathers several dishes from the table.
Gio does the same as I reach for the casserole dish to pack the leftovers away.
“You don’t have to help,” I insist as he follows us to the kitchen. “You’re our guest.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Gio says, stacking the plates with Jackson’s before going back for the rest.
He and Jackson exchange a fist bump before my son scampers up the stairs, then Gio comes to stand beside me as I rinse the dishes in the sink.
“Dishwasher?” he suggests, gesturing to the stack that’s building up on the counter.
“That would be great.” I glance at Gio from the corner of my eye as he bends over to load the dishes.
With his big, broad shoulders straining the fabric of his crisp green dress shirt and his trim torso tapering to the waist of his black slacks, he looks far too large for the tiny space—not to mention too classy.
Everything in my life runs on creative and casual—even my alarm clock, it would seem.
In comparison, Gio looks like he hasn’t slept in a day in his life.
Even his hair is perfectly tousled, like each careless curl was placed exactly where it belongs.
He looks entirely out of place doing something so domestic as dishes, and yet it warms my heart to watch him doing it.
“So, Gio, what is it you do, exactly?” I ask, focusing my attention on the sink full of pots and pans that need to be scrubbed.
But even with my body turned, I can feel him tense beside me for a moment—as if the question caught him completely off guard.
“It’s a… family business,” he says, sounding strangely cryptic, and when I look pointedly at him, lifting my eyebrows, he laughs. “We mostly manage investments, with some interest in local buildings and businesses.”
“Sounds dangerous,” I tease, flashing him a grin.
Surprise flashes across his face, replaced by amusement just as quickly. “You could say that. There’s actually been quite a bit of… upheaval lately.”
His look is oddly pointed, like I’m missing something, and I pause washing the dishes to face him more fully.
“How so?”
“Well, my father passed away unexpectedly, and though my older brother was supposed to take over the business, he chose to pass that responsibility to me instead.” His brows furrow, his face suddenly looking years older as the weight of his new position clearly weighs on him.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say, though a nagging sense of foreboding prickles at the back of my brain.
It takes a second to recall why.
I said those same words to someone else quite recently, and his response that the person wasn’t dead yet had creeped me out.
But Gio’s reaction is entirely different.
His expression softens, his eyes flooding with that endless sadness I caught a glimpse of earlier, and it hits me that he must have been thinking of his father before, when I was missing the early days of my son’s childhood.
“My family lost a great deal that day,” he says softly. “But my brothers are determined to keep the family business alive.”
A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and I instinctually respond in kind, grinning as I return to the dishes.
“Hand dry?” Gio asks, grabbing a towel from the handle of the stove as I pass him the clean sauce pot.
“Please,” I say, then bite back a gasp as our fingers brush momentarily.
Gio’s eyes snap to mine, their hazel depths captivating as he seems to notice the effect his touch has on me.
In an instant, the air between us feels charged, an electrical current of anticipation raising goosebumps along my arms.
I hold my breath, unable to move or speak as I wait.
For one heart-stopping moment, I think he might kiss me.
He leans in ever so slightly, his eyes flicking down to my lips, and my tongue darts out to wet them as my mouth goes dry.
“Jane,” Gio murmurs, the name suddenly sounding foreign during such an intimate moment.
Feet clatter noisily down the stairs as Jackson joins us, his sudden return snapping the taut suspense.
“Mom, I need help with this one,” he says as he enters the kitchen, heavy math textbook clasped in his hands, his thumb marking the page he’s working on.
“Sure, Jay,” I agree, breaking eye contact with Gio to look at Jackson. “Why don’t you take it in the living room, and I’ll be right there?” I suggest, combing my fingers through Jackson’s unruly hair.
“Okay.”
Jackson flounces back out of the kitchen, oblivious to the fact that he interrupted anything of consequence, and I release a breathy laugh as I turn my attention back to Gio.
“Sorry,” I say, peering up at him through my lashes as an unexpected shyness sweeps over me. I want him to finish what he was going to say, but I don’t know how to get us back to that moment.
Gio just chuckles, his eyes dancing as he smiles down at me. “No need to be. I should probably get going anyway. Thank you. For dinner. It was amazing. Truly.”
“Of course. Anytime,” I say, intense disappointment sinking into my stomach, and I force the smile to stay on my lips as I walk him to the door.