Page 14 of Falling for Mr. October

He shrugs, still grinning, as if to say it’s my loss. He might have a point—he’s sexy and very obviously not serious. Probably the perfect rebound. But I mentally squash the thought.

He lifts his eyebrows. “So, what do you say? Want to go tip a cow?”

Laughter gushes from me. “No.”

“Steal some apples?”

“We own an orchard.”

“Make a pie?”

“Yes, I definitely feel like putting in two hours of labor for an uncertain payoff.”

He laughs, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Said like a woman who’s never tried my pie.”

“I will never try your pie.”

“Then you’ll never know what you’re missing.”

My gaze combs over him, taking in his muscles, his hooded, heavily lashed eyes, and the stubble lining his jaw, even as I say, “Are you actually trying to flirt with me, or are you just bored?”

“A little bored,” he concedes. “I’d also like to get to know you better. We never talked much when we were younger. Not just the two of us. You, me, and Miles hung around some, but a lot of the time it was Miles, Nico, and me, Enzo was off with Theo, and you were…”

“When I wasn’t with Miles, I was looking after Aria and Isabella. Being a good little girl.”

“I wouldn’t call you a good girl,” he says with a hint of teasing, and I’m annoyed by the heat that flashes through me. “You never turned down a challenge.”

“Clearly.”

His lips twist to the side, and I know he’s thinking of that kiss we shared years ago, just like I am.

“And you always liked getting your own way,” he continues.

Shifting my weight, I say, “Still do. I won’t entertain you, Giovanni. I’m tired. I’m just going to watch some YouTube and go to bed.”

Something flickers across his face—a memory or possibly an emotion—but it’s gone before I can latch onto it. “Am I invited to your pajama party?”

“No.”

“All right,” he says, giving me another easy grin. If I weren’t wise to the dangers of charming, handsome men, I’d probably be melting all over my floor right now. And, yes, I do feel a little hot and bothered, but he doesn’t need to know that. He may be bored and lonely, but I won’t be the woman who warms his bed. “Maybe another time. Goodnight, Bianca.”

He gives me a knowing look and then leaves the doorway and walks approximately three feet away to open the door next to mine. Miles’s room. Or it was, before he moved out.

All of his things are still in there, waiting for him. He only stuffed one suitcase before he took off.

“You’re not staying in there…”

“Your grandmother chose it for me. She thought it might be nice for us ‘young people’ to be close together.”

I clench my teeth.

There’s matchmaking, and then there’s attempting to honey-trap your own granddaughter.

“Fantastic,” I lie. “Well, I doubt I’ll see you much for the next couple of days. I’ll be working.”

“At the old folks’ home. You like old people, huh?”

“Better than most young people. Goodnight, Giovanni.”