Page 66 of Falling for Mr. October

He releases my wrist, then gestures to the refrigerator. “I bought some of that wine you like. Why don’t you pour yourself a glass and sit down? You must have been on your feet all day.”

“You shouldn’t be nice to me,” I say, feeling like a complete asshole. “It’s my fault you’ve got all these people harassing you and Rhett breathing down your neck.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling. “You think I’m worried about Rhett? Please. Let him come for me. I’d savor the challenge.”

Dammit. That shouldn’t be sexy, but it is. Ridiculously, makes-me-want-to-drop-my-panties-in-the-kitchen sexy.

I lick my lips and catch Giovanni watching, which sends another wave of awareness through me. “I don’t want him to win the apple pie bake-off,” I finally say. “I don’t want him to win anything.”

One corner of his mouth lifts as he stirs the risotto again. “He didn’t win you, cara, so he’ll always be a loser. But don’t worry about the apple pie. I’m going to start experimenting. I’ve been talking to Nico about it too. He’s a better cook than I am.”

“I doubt it.”

I get out the wine so I’ll have something to do with my hands, and he smiles as I take out two glasses.

“Is that one for me?” he asks.

“Of course. You know my way of providing for people is to serve them things prepared by others.”

I pour us both some wine and give him his glass, noticing my hand is shaking slightly. I must be worried about presenting Luanne’s offer to him.

“What is it?” Giovanni raises his eyebrows. “Is this still about Mr. Mayor? Would you like me to make him choke on my s’mores? Or should I challenge him to a pumpkin-carving competition in the town square? Seems like that would be speaking his language.”

I smile. “I’d like to see that, but no. Luanne has offered to teach you her secret apple pie recipe.”

“The one in the diner?” he asks, screwing his mouth to one side. “It was uncommonly good.”

“Hers is even better. She has one secret ingredient that she never shared with anyone, not even the new owner of the diner, but she’s agreed to share it with you.”

“In exchange for what?” he asks, smiling slightly. “My firstborn child? My dignity? I sold that the minute I began this farce.”

I can’t help but frown at him. “What are you talking about? Everyone loves you.”

“But they don’t respect me. My grandmother says no one respects a man who removes his shirt before he speaks.”

I set my wine glass down on the counter with a click. “With all due respect, the nonnas aren’t exactly modern in their thinking. People do respect you. Haven’t you seen some of those comments? Your videos have helped people with anxiety, and they feel approachable for people who are scared of cooking.”

“There are also lots of comments from people who’d like me to take the rest of my clothes off.”

My mouth goes dry, and I can feel my cheeks flaming. Truthfully, I’m one of those people. I’ve seen the videos, but better yet, I’ve seen him. The lines and curves of his body are so perfectly sculpted Michelangelo himself might have carved him. I have devoted far too much thought to it at night when I’m all alone.

But I try to keep my composure and say, “You could soothe their anxiety and turn them on. It’s possible to do both. And what’s so wrong with getting a bunch of people hot? It could be said that’s a public service too. Apparently you’re very popular at the retirement home.”

His smile makes his face almost painful to look at. It’s far too beautiful, and he’s been too kind, caring for my family as if it were his own.

I clear my throat, trying to act cool and casual. “So will you do it? Will you let Luanne teach you her recipe?”

“She won’t just give me a written copy?”

I shake my head. “She says she’ll teach you at the retirement home.”

His nose scrunches, and I know he’s not fully convinced.

“Think about it for a couple of days,” I say, not wanting to push him into anything else. God knows he’s already done enough for our family, and after I gave him a shitty welcome.

“I will.”

“And do you want to practice for the s’mores competition?”