Page 23 of Unlock My Heart

“Is there anything you don’t know about my life?” I say with a disgruntled huff.

“I’m more than willing to put in the time to find out.” He playfully wags his eyebrows.

“Ah, but I’ll remind you that you only have,” I pause, glancing at the timer, “Twenty minutes.” I try to keep the disappointment from my tone. If I’m being honest, I don’t want this—whatever this is—to end.

“And I plan on making every one of those minutes count,” he promises in a tone that makes me fight not to squirm.

“How so? Let’s hear the game plan,” I challenge him.

“No fucking clue,” he admits, and that gets a genuine smile out of me. “But if I only get to sit beside you, staring at your beautiful face for the next twenty minutes, it’s a win.”

“That wasn’t all you were staring at when we were in the bathroom,” I say, my cheeks flaming.

His eyes darken with a naughty glint. “Baby, I’m no saint. But I will be a gentleman until you tell me otherwise.”

Otherwise! A part of me wants to shout from the rooftops, but I’m saved by a knock on the door.

Fabien hustles across the room, opening it and stepping outside, where I can’t see who it is. A moment passes before he returns with two frozen snowballs.

He hands me one with a spoon. “A snowball’s chance is better than none.”

I scoop my spoon into the red ice, bringing a bite to my mouth.

Cherry.

With a little shake of my head, I giggle. “You’re too smooth for your own good.”

He flashes a grin that sets off a cascade of dancing butterflies in my stomach. “Nah, I’m the right amount of smoothness. Tell me about this art and design college. That’s why you were up on stage tonight, I’m guessing.”

“It’s not fair, you knowing everything about me, and me knowing nothing about you,” I point out.

“Ask away,” he says with the flourish of his hand.

Tucking my bare feet underneath me, I consider where to begin. “I’m guessing you weren’t drunk when we first met at the hotel?”

He shakes his head. “Running on no sleep and too much caffeine.”

“Does that happen often?” I wonder.

He takes a bite of his snowball, crunching the ice. “I have to work nights sometimes, yeah.”

Sensing he doesn’t want to elaborate, I change the subject. “Tell me about your family. Not like, family-family, but your⁠—”

“Family?” he unhelpfully supplies.

I stick my cherry-coated tongue out at him.

He chuckles. “My Italian family has been in NOLA for four generations. My papà is a businessman, and my mama stayed home with my siblings and me. My little sister Alessandra—we call her Al—is seven. My younger brother, we don’t really talk about him.” All traces of playfulness vanish. “He’s estranged from the family.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” he says matter-of-factly. “My turn. Tell me about school.”

“I’ve been accepted to NOCAD—New Orleans College of Art and Design. It’s one of the top design schools in the country,” I say proudly. “Some kids from my church would hide things from their parents, like liquor; cigarettes; weed. I’d hide fashion magazines.” I shake my head with a wry smile, continuing, “I’ve only ever wanted to be a designer. And now I have the money for school, assuming you pay up.”

My body stills as Fabien reaches over and runs his finger along my bottom lip. Bringing it to his mouth, he licks the cherry juice. I can’t move, let alone breathe. “I always make good on my promises.”

A buzzing startles me.