The next weekend,on Sunday, I went to Luca’s new place to help him get settled in with some of our thrift finds from our shopping excursion, including a few I’d discovered on my own later in the week.
“That Buried Treasures place was a hell of a find,” he said, unpacking some of the records we’d selected for the old player in the living room. We spread everything out on the dining table while we figured out where it should all go. “I can’t believe they had this album by The Civil Wars. Do you know how rare this is? It’s been impossible to find since they broke up.”
“I didn’t, but what’s even more shocking to me is that you’d want it,” I said with a laugh, pulling a Muse record from the bag.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
I shrugged. “It’s just that they’re known more for their sad, emotional love songs than their amazing guitar riffs.”
“You think I can’t be sad and emotional?” He lifted his brows. “Or in love?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, keeping my voice even. “Based on our previous conversations, I just assumed you’d never been in love.”
“If it feels like this…” His gaze dropped to the album in his hand, and he held it out in front of him. “I guess I haven’t. Have you?”
I snorted. “Absolutely not.” I didn’t want to attempt to elaborate and risk tripping over my words or saying something that might allude to the feelings I may or may not have been developing for Luca, so I moved to the other side of the table and started unpacking one of the other bags.
“By the way,” I said. “Look what I got you.” I extracted the ceramic squirrel from my bag of goodies.
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “And what is that, exactly?”
I ignored his obvious question and continued. “His name is Randy McNutt.”
He barked out a laugh as he came around to where I stood. “And he has a name?”
“I thought he’d fit perfectly in your hobbit hole.”
“That sounds vaguely dirty.”
“Listen, what you do with your hobbit hole is none of my business,” I deadpanned, placing it on the table and fishing out the next item, which he gaped at like it was a foreign object.
“What the hell is that?” he asked through squinted eyes.
“It’s an egg separator.” I rolled my eyes, handing him the tiny plastic device designed to look like a small chicken.
He turned it over in his fingers. “And what am I supposed to do with it?”
“Seriously? You use it to separate eggs. Like, if you’re making an omelet or baking something that only calls for a yolk.”
He bit back a laugh. “I don’t cook.”
I snatched the little chick out of his hand and set it in the sink to be washed.
“Well, I do,” I said, my stomach dropping when I realized the implications of what I’d said.
His smile made my heart want to leap out of my chest and into his arms.
“Are you going to cook for me?” he asked with a hint of amusement.
“Probably not,” I said as coolly as I could manage. “But now you have it, in case I’m ever feeling generous.”
“What else is in that bag, Mary Poppins?” he asked.
“I’m not sure if I’m going to show you,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.
“Why not?” His crystal eyes pierced through me, doing nothing to help me get over the crush I’d developed.
“Because first, you defiled Randy McNutt, and then, you made fun of my egg separator.”
