Page 83 of Falling for Mr. October

BIANCA

Giovanni looks poleaxed when Helen presents him with a shirt she made for him, retrieved from her room. But he changes into it without hesitation, stuffing the shirt he was wearing into the bottom of the bag with the s’mores fixings.

Helen’s shirt barely fits him, hugging his chest and his broad shoulders. The effect is unspeakably adorable.

A matching shirt is offered to me, and since Giovanni’s watching me with a grin, I pull it on over my orchard shirt.

It doesn’t take him long to fall into an easy rhythm of greeting the “Shirties.” He signs all kinds of ridiculous things that are handed to him, from napkins to paperback books written by other people. He even signs the back side of some of their shirts with a sparkly gold Sharpie provided by Helen.

Giovanni’s a natural storyteller, and he always lights up when he’s talking to people. Being in a crowd is his happy place as much as the kitchen, and I confess that I’m riveted by him. I could watch him for hours, just like this—greeting people with a genuine smile that fills his eyes and every part of him. Listening to them.

I know he’s doing it, at least in part, for me.

Luanne rolls up to me in her wheelchair. “I see that look in your eyes, Bianca,” she says. “Don’t think that I don’t.”

“There’s no look in my eyes,” I insist, trying my best to banish the look I know must be there. “They’re just eyes, Luanne. I use them to see.”

“You don’t fool me. You’re wearing your heart in them, for the first time since I met you.”

That’s exactly what I was afraid of.

I’ve been warming toward Giovanni for a while now—ever since he slid that pie drawing under my door—but what he revealed to me today completely changed my perception of him.

He’s a man who cares deeply about family, love, and duty. In other words, he’s exactly the sort of man I’ve always hoped to meet some day.

But I know I won’t be able to keep him.

Of course, Luanne is still watching me like a hawk, waiting for more details.

“Giovanni and I are joining your book club,” I say, to change the subject.

“Both of you?” she asks excitedly. “You think he’d agree to read the spicy scenes out loud? He has a very nice voice.”

“Yeah,” I say, glancing at him as he signs what looks like a used napkin for Dorothy, who wears sunglasses indoors because of her light sensitivity. “I think he’d probably do it to make us happy.”

I’m learning that Giovanni will do just about anything to make the people he cares about happy.

“I’m not going to ask if you’ve wised up and started enjoying that feast of a man⁠—”

“Good.”

She gives me a knowing, self-satisfied smile. “Because I can tell you have. I’ve always been able to tell when a woman has been well satisfied.”

I roll my eyes. “Maybe Theresa will give you a part-time job as an assistant psychic.”

But I don’t tell her that I haven’t enjoyed everything Giovanni has to offer. I’m not a good-enough liar, and I’m still basking in the afterglow of our morning.

“I knew it,” Luanne says, glowing as if she’s the one who’s had incredible sex. “What was it like? Where did you do it?” A knowing gleam fills her eyes. “It was in the kitchen, wasn’t it?”

I clap my hands, bringing everyone’s attention to me.

“You want to tell everyone?” Luanne asks in an undertone.

Ignoring her, I say, “We brought something for you. Giovanni and I want to win the s’mores bake-off tomorrow, and we were hoping y’all could help. We’re going to give out some samples, and we’d appreciate any feedback you have.”

“It’s lunchtime,” Helen says. “We’ll have lunch first. You’ll sit with us, of course.”

Giovanni glances at the clock mounted on the wall in a little cage, as if someone might be tempted to walk off with it otherwise.