Page 46 of Falling for Mr. October

I turn in my seat and touch his arm, and his gaze snaps to mine.

“I don’t care,” I say. “Let them think what they want to think.”

And that’s when it clicks.

“Wait, this is good, actually,” I continue. “If everyone thinks we’re dating, my nonna will stop trying to set me up with any man with a pulse. Yours will back off too.”

“Sure, but I won’t lie to her.”

I nod, feeling a gush of fondness for him. Half the time he acts like he’s so easygoing he doesn’t care about anything, but he has deep feelings. Deep wounds, too. It makes the caregiver in me want to soothe them.

“Okay, so we’ll tell the nonnas the truth. But your ex will leave you alone, and if any women try launching themselves at you or sending you dirty photos, I’ll defend my territory. If they think we’re together, let them. Maybe you can even start recording videos again.”

“Where, in your kitchen?” he asks with a dry laugh. “My nonna would keel over. Yours too. I’d be responsible for a joint heart attack.”

“Let me handle it. I’ll talk them around.”

I can tell he needs purpose. He’s haunted by the same unfulfilled need as my twin brother. No wonder they’re still close. They’re two lost souls, traveling parallel paths.

“No offense, Bianca, but if I couldn’t talk my nonna around, I doubt you could.”

“I get off on being underestimated.”

For a second, heat flashes through his eyes, and an answering wave floods my body, but then he shakes his head. “I don’t like this.”

“It would be good for everyone,” I insist. “You need something real to do.”

His eyes are dark and hard as he surveys me under the slight glow of the car’s interior light. “Did you invite someone to follow us tonight?”

I gasp in outrage. “Of course not. How can you even ask that?”

“You haven’t answered the question,” he says, his jaw rigid.

“I didn’t, and I wouldn’t. I could have taken a selfie, if that’s what I was planning.”

From the look on his face, he doesn’t like my answer.

He pulls back. “If my nonna wants to stick to our schedule, I will. And if you want me to play along with whatever bullshit story they come up with, fine. But you don’t get to decide what I need, Bianca. You barely fucking know me.”

With that, he climbs out of the car, using his long legs to quickly make it to and through the front door.

We don’t lock the house at night. We’ve never had to here in Apple Ridge, but maybe that’s something else that will change. A slight feeling of misgiving quakes through me at the thought.

Maybe Giovanni’s right and I’m being foolish. Selfish, even. But there’s one thing he’s wrong about: I know him better than he thinks. I can tell he needs to reclaim what he built.

I’ve been a nurse long enough to anticipate people’s needs even when they’re never spoken out loud or acknowledged—and I see his, clear as day.

As I watch him, I lift my fingers to my lips, tracing them. I can’t tell whether I’m trying to erase the feeling of his lips or hoping to seal it in.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

GIOVANNI

The nonnas are asleep, so I use the hall bathroom and then shut myself into Miles’s old bedroom. I check my phone, but whoever took the photo hasn’t done anything with it yet. Still, it’s inevitable that they will.

I blocked Janine’s number, but there’s an email from her sitting in my inbox, and the website Where’s the Shirtless Chef? has been updated to disclose my new location along with the operating hours of the farm’s apple barn. I swear and pace my room, but Bianca made it clear this is what she wants. So if a busload of horny tourists shows up at the barn tomorrow, asking for me, my guess is she’ll greet them with a smile.

I have a brief conversation with Nico, who informs me that several people have stopped by the shop to ask about me today. Business continues to boom, especially for our catering.