Chapter 10 #2
I probably look like a catfish tugged out of the creek, but thankfully he’s too preoccupied opening the door to notice. He holds it, nodding for me to precede him.
“I can hold the door for myself,” I object.
“My nonna would crucify me if I didn’t.”
He’s not wrong, so I step inside, then grab a couple of menus from the stand near the door—topped with a sign that says, Y’all seat yourselves—and lead the way to the back.
The diner’s not too full, just a few scattered people digging into pie and pancakes.
Within thirty seconds of our butts hitting the seats, a familiar server in one of the blue Clean Plate Club vintage dresses approaches our booth. Maureen is middle-aged, with salty brown hair and big blue eyes that light up the second she notices Giovanni’s Smut Slut hat.
“Me too, honey, me too. What’s your favorite book?”
I’m sure he’s going to blow her off, or maybe throw the hat into the nearest trash can, but instead he looks at her name tag and says, “Maureen, I could sooner choose a favorite type of pie. What’s your favorite book?”
And, no shit, Giovanni Cafiero spends the next five minutes talking to her about spicy romance—responding to her with specific examples—while I once again gape at him.
After several minutes, she pats him on the shoulder, and says, “Dear me, I haven’t even asked you what you’d like to order.”
“We’ll have some coffee and two slices of the apple pie, à la mode,” I say. “I’m going to show him what a real apple pie is.”
He makes a humph sound.
As soon as she walks away, I make a big show of scrutinizing the side of his head. “Do you have some kind of earpiece feeding you information?”
He grins at me. “My little sister used to hide romance books all over the house. Nonna Francesca found a couple and started talking to my dad about sending Aria to Catholic school, so I covered for her ass and said the books were mine. Nonna gave me this long look and told me, ‘If these are yours, Giovanni, you’ll sit here and read one until dinner.’ It was only two o’clock.
I wasn’t about to admit I’d been lying, so I did exactly as she asked, and you know what?
I finished that sucker. I read the other one too, and my sister and I started a two-person book club. ”
My heart swells, because yeah, that’s seriously adorable. “Should we get her a ‘Smut Slut’ hat too?”
“Nah. Let’s get them for the nonnas.”
We both laugh at this mental image, and we’re still laughing when Maureen returns with the pie and coffee. She beams at us as she serves the food.
Giovanni picks up his spoon, but I’m already shaking my head.
“Wait. I’m going to need a photo of the great Shirtless Chef realizing he’s been outdone by a mom-and-pop diner.”
He cocks his head. “It sounds a lot like you’re throwing down a challenge, Bianca.”
“I’m glad your ears work.” I pick up my phone. “Because that’s exactly what’s happening, Smut Slut.”
He sighs, but it’s through an amused expression.
He spoons up a big bite of pie, and I click several photos right as he pops it into his mouth.
A giddy feeling fills me as he practically moans in the seat across from me, shaking his head from side to side.
Before I set my phone down, I flip through the photos, tracing my finger across Giovanni’s satisfied smile on the small screen.
“Do you admit it’s better than yours?” I ask.
“Apple Ridge has me beat,” he concedes, leaning back in the booth. “It’s a good thing I quit.”
I’d wondered about this. His videos had stopped abruptly after he was unmasked. It’s been nearly a month since it happened, nearly a month of no videos, when he’d been posting several times a week before then.
When he “disappeared” from Maine a week and a half ago, hundreds of comments popped up on his last video, speculating what might have happened to him. An entire website was dedicated to it, and after its launch last week, it had already accumulated hundreds of thousands of views.
“Did you quit because of your nonna?” I ask, leaning forward a little. “It seemed like you had a good thing going.”
He sets an arm against the back of the booth, possibly because he knows I can’t help but check out the lobster on his bicep.
Yup, still there.
He gives me an arch look. “I don’t want to talk about any of that right now. You promised me a tour of Apple Ridge. So far we’ve gotten contraband from the bookstore and—don’t quote me on this—the best pie I’ve ever had. What’s up next?”
I give him a victorious grin. “I knew you’d like it.”
“Only a fool would turn his nose up at perfection,” he says with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“You don’t have to waste your charm on me. You’ve already kissed me.”
I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean to, but the words can’t be pulled back.
“You’re tormenting me by mentioning that kiss again,” Giovanni says with a sigh. “No one wants to have it rubbed in their face that they were a bad kisser at fourteen.”
I shovel pie into my mouth before responding. “I’m sure I wasn’t so great either. I thought you were supposed to keep your mouth closed unless you were French.”
“That’s not how I remember it,” he objects, as if our three-second kiss is etched into his memory. He gathers some of the melting ice cream onto his spoon and licks it, his gaze lingering on me.
I don’t even know if he’s trying to be seductive. Unfortunately, he’s achieving it.
“Finish your pie,” I grumble.
“With pleasure.” He smiles at me as he takes another bite, and when he’s finished, he pulls out his wallet and takes out two twenties.
In response to my questioning look, he shrugs almost self-consciously.
“Maureen’s a nice lady. Seems like she might want to buy one of Emily’s smutty books.”
I feel a surge of warmth toward him, but I throw a mental bucket of ice on it, only then realizing that I’m actually quite cold. I hug myself, wishing I’d thought to sneak outerwear from the house.
“I probably should have warned you to put something on over your T-shirt,” I say. “It doesn’t get as cold as Maine here, but it’s still chilly in the fall.”
“Yeah, I should have asked Theo to toss us our jackets,” he says, deadpan. “I’ll bet he would have been totally cool with that.”
I bury my head in my hands. “I’m going to pay for that. Poor Theo.”
“Maybe I’ll give him the hat to make up for it.”
“Never.” I laugh at the thought of my stoic big brother wearing the hat.
Giovanni snaps his fingers. “I know how we can make it up to him. We’ll let the nonnas set him up with someone. I recommend Eva St. Claire.”
I’m laughing so hard my eyes start watering, and I smack his arm lightly. “Let’s go, funny guy. I know just where I’m taking you next.”
“Shall we?” he asks, getting up and offering me his hand.
I let him help me up, and as we walk toward the door, he waves to Maureen.
She blows him a kiss. A kiss.
I can’t help but marvel at this phenomenon. I’ve gone to the diner many times, and I haven’t exchanged more than a dozen polite words with Maureen before tonight.
We step out into the drafty night, a red leaf lined with green smacking into my chest. I hand it to Giovanni, who looks amused.
“Is leaf collecting what’s next?”
“If I tell you what I’m planning, it’ll ruin the surprise,” I tell him.
“Does it happen to be a visit to the bookstore?” he asks. “Because I wouldn’t mind collecting my perfect book.”
I steal a glance at him, the hat so aggressively pink it’s practically neon. “Oh no. Em’s not working today, and we can’t go in there while you’re wearing one of those new hats. Mr. Campbell might think you stole it.”
He laughs. “The only thing worse than wearing a ‘Smut Slut’ hat is being arrested for stealing one.”
“Exactly. Can you imagine what Eva St. Claire would say? She’d tell everyone I drove you into a life of crime.”
He turns toward me, so tall and well-built, and an undertow of need threatens to pull me under. “So, where are we going, Bianca?”
“Oh, you’ll see.”