Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Vicky
What just happened?
One minute, I was dreaming up ways to dismember Enzo, and the next, I was lost in a moment so foreign, so beautiful, I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.
I’d read about moments like this in my romance novels, but never had I dreamed of what it would feel like living it in real life.
Hearing Miles thank the delivery person, I grabbed our drinks and headed to the kitchen, trying to shake off what had just happened. He looked at me with an awkward smile as he joined me at the kitchen island, opened the bags, and set out several containers.
“I hope you like seafood. There’s an amazing local restaurant nearby that makes…Shoot, I should’ve asked if you had any allergies,” he said, suddenly concerned.
Waving my hand, I assured him I didn’t. “I love seafood. All of it. Fish, calamari. It smells amazing.” Visibly relieved, he opened the containers and spread them out family style, then got a few spoons from a drawer in the island.
When he turned to get two plates from the cabinet, I took a moment to regroup.
What exactly was I about to say when the doorbell rang? Admitting my attraction?
Stupid, stupid.
Yeah, I was probably about to make things worse for myself because I got caught up in the moment.
This handsome, successful man did seem just as nervous around me as I was with him.
I had dismissed it as my own projection the last time I was here, but there was no denying the way he looked at me when he opened the door.
The way he spoke and responded during our more intimate conversation was enough, despite my lack of experience, to let me know he felt whatever was happening between us, too.
“Everything okay?” he asked, sitting down next to me. Shoot. I hadn’t seen him move closer.
Waving again, I said quickly, “Yes. Absolutely. Didn’t know how hungry I was til I smelled the food. Looks so good.”
“Well, help yourself. There’s lemon garlic rockfish, grilled shrimp with pineapple rum sauce, and fried calamari.”
Miles waited for me to take a little of each dish plus some perfectly grilled vegetables before serving himself.
“You speak perfect English. I mean, your accent is still there, but you’re fluent. How did that happen?”
I grinned, picking up my fork and smoothing my napkin over my lap. “Would you believe American TV shows like Friends?”
He laughed so loud, he had to cover his mouth. “You’re kidding me?” His expressive eyes were playful and wide.
“Well, learning basic English is required in school, but I wanted to become fluent, so I watched shows like Friends. It was in reruns and actually helped me understand conversational English. Once I started watching it, I was hooked,” I replied with a shrug.
“It’s pretty addictive. Luke and I would never admit to it back then, but we watched it all too.” We both snickered at that, and I pictured a younger Miles watching the same show I had come to love.
My first bite of the calamari was incredible as my head bobbed in delight.
Even though I was always trying to lose weight, I took good food very seriously and loved discovering new cuisines.
It made me so happy that I involuntarily did a little dance every time I ate something delicious.
He smiled widely, making his dimple pop, as he watched me.
I stopped, hoping I hadn’t embarrassed myself.
Miles took a big bite of the shrimp, followed by an even bigger one of the fish.
I swallowed and shook my head, taking him in as he inhaled his meal. “I can see why you need kombucha now,” I teased, making him halt his fork halfway to his mouth.
He set it down with a plop, causing my eyebrows to rise in amusement. The movement and our closeness offered me a better view of his tattoo. Up close, I could see musical notes and strange markings woven into an open book.
“Are you making fun of my eating habits now?” he asked, leaning down once again to look at my face.
I nudged him playfully with my elbow. “You Americans eat like you’re being chased, that's all. I can see why you need digestive aids.”
He scoffed and answered, “Yes, I remember my Italian grandparents taking hours to eat Sunday lunch when I was a kid. Guess I was always in a hurry to get more than Luke.”
“Somehow I doubt there was ever a chance of your grandmother running out of food if she was Italian,” I countered, taking another slow bite.
“Okay, okay, I see your point. You’re right. She sent us home with pans of food,” he said with a chuckle. He slowed down a bit, putting his fork down after every two bites.
“I’m guessing your coffee cup is as big as a serving bowl, too.” I raised one eyebrow at him as a slow smile spread across his handsome face. He nodded, and a chuckle escaped him in a huff.
“And I guess you drink those tiny cups of espresso straight, with no creamer, then?” When I nodded proudly, my back straightening, he added, “Savage.”
My laugh burst out of me, causing me to choke. Miles tapped my back firmly, trying to say something, but he was laughing too hard to understand.
When I caught my breath and swallowed hard, I said with confidence, “Yes. As one should. You can’t possibly convince me that a five-hundred-plus gram drink filled with syrup-sweetened milk is actually coffee. Half caf, soy foam, pumpkin pie spice. Utter nonsense.” I shivered for effect.
“Now, listen here. I love coffee, and no, I don’t drink it out of a bowl,” he said emphatically, until both our eyes landed on an empty cup the size of a small bowl on the counter across from us. It said “world’s greatest dad” on it. My eyes narrowed as he looked away.
“Of course you don’t. And I’m sure you eat a huge breakfast to go with that bowl, I mean, cup of coffee.”
He looked at me, pretending to be offended as he clutched his chest and said, “Hey, hey, don’t knock the breakfast burrito. It’s the perfect combo of carbs, fats, and protein.”
“MJ might’ve mentioned it,” I said with a smirk.
Our easy conversation continued throughout our meal, comparing the American and Italian lifestyles as if we had known each other for years, teasing and laughing along the way.
“And another thing. Why do Italians feel the need to dress up like they’re going to a fashion show every day, huh?
A hoodie, board shorts, and a baseball cap are all you need here in SoCal.
” He said this as he picked up our plates, my mind drifting to the picture I’d seen of him dressed exactly that way on IG.
A happy sigh slipped out of me before I could stop it.
Miles looked at me, his head cocked, his lips pursed to the side holding in a smirk.
“I take it you concur, Ms. Lazzara.” I wanted to either smack or kiss that smirk off his face.
Without thinking too hard, I yelled out, “Pivot, pivot, pivot.” He chuckled at my reference to a Friends episode as he set the plates down in the sink.
My cheeks hurt from smiling. Miles was so easy to talk to, and we hadn’t stopped laughing all evening.
I had a moment where I felt conflicted after my conversation with Anna, but it flitted away like a paper bag in a hurricane.
Besides, we were just getting to know each other as friends.
Right?
“I love that episode. Luckily the delivery guys didn’t have the same problem when they came with our sofa.
But you won’t get off that easily. I see that blush, Ms. Lazzara,” he said, pointing at me and pulling me back into the conversation.
“So you like that look, I take it. Seen many Cali guys on the beach like that, have you?”
His teasing made me blush even deeper, my face feeling like I was near a furnace.
“No comment,” I whispered, dipping my head as I stood up.
Yeah, Anna definitely wouldn’t like the way this conversation was going.
He waved me away when I tried to help with the dishes, so I started closing up containers and throwing away the empty ones.
“I don’t know how I feel about you looking at guys on the beach.”
I couldn’t tell if he meant it as a joke or not since he was facing away from me.
“Haven’t had time for the beach yet. Been too busy at work.”
He scoffed, turning to me, and said, “We’ll have to fix that. Can’t live in San Diego and not go to the beach. That’s just cruel.”
I wiped my hands on my napkin and answered, “Is that an invitation, Mr. Austin?”
His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Yes, it is, Ms. Lazzara. Name the date.”
Chuckling, I walked to the side table by the door where he’d put my laptop bag.
“I’ll have to take you up on that someday, but tonight, we need to work.”
While he put away containers in the refrigerator, I slipped the bag off the table and headed to the living room. “Want to work in the living room or in MJ’s room? You said you wanted to really be able to see it.”
As the words came out, I realized I was asking if he wanted to go to his daughter’s bedroom, and by the look of surprise on his face, I feared I’d made him uncomfortable.
“Well, looks like it’s my turn to say something embarrassing. I meant…”
Miles walked into the living room and patted the sofa next to him. “I know what you meant. Can’t make fun of you too much after what I’ve said tonight.”
Relieved, I settled in next to him, slipping my laptop out and scrolling to find the file.
“Okay, so I know this is a bit unconventional, but MJ is an exceptional girl. Look at what I’ve come up with and see if I’m going in the right direction.” I opened my file, silently praying he’d see my vision for the space.
He moved a bit closer to me, causing me to inhale deeply as his cologne or body wash, which smelled like sandalwood, invaded my space.