Page 86 of Falling for Mr. October

People on the internet are calling him a hero, a fraud, and everything in between, and half an hour ago a high school student from the school paper showed up at our front door requesting an interview. She got directions from her grandmother Marjorie, who has been a Shirtie for a week. If the farmhouse weren’t hidden away among the trees and winding paths of the farm, I suspect “real” reporters would have shown up too, though I suspect it’s only a matter of time.

Giovanni sets a large glass of wine down next to me. “For the lady. Helen gave us this bottle. You think she gave it to me because she knew she’d have a rush on T-shirt sales?”

I make eye contact with him and feel a definite flutter. Not just because he’s handsome, or because he makes me feel good, but because he’s a good man. A true hero.

“Definitely,” I say. “Did you see she’s selling temporary tattoos of your birthmark as well?”

He grins. “And to think I used to hate it. That’s why I always wore a shirt when we went swimming at the creek when I was a kid.”

I can’t imagine why he’d hate it. Having spent too much time on the internet just now, I’m certain I’m not the only person who’d like to trace it with my tongue.

“She’s sold over a hundred of them.” I narrow my eyes. “I hope you poured yourself some wine too.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “What do you think I’ve been doing while you’ve been doomscrolling?”

I glance over at the stove, where something is simmering fragrantly. A half-empty glass of wine sits beside it. The scene is so cozy it makes me feel like I swallowed a balled sock, because he doesn’t belong here, not really, and he can’t stay. Isn’t all of this proof he can’t stay? “What does it feel like, having all of these strangers know your name?”

He sits in the chair beside me, our knees touching, and again I have that feeling of stolen intimacy.

“It’s…uncomfortable. And humbling.” He hesitates.

I sip the wine, make a hmm of pleasure, and hand the glass to him. “So you don’t have to get up.”

He smiles at me and takes a sip before handing it back, our fingers brushing.

“This is crazy,” he says, running his fingers through his unruly hair. “I’m just a normal guy.”

I have to smile at that. “It seems like you’re the only one who thinks so.”

“You think so,” he says, and there’s a note of begging etched in his words.

“You’re not normal, Giovanni,” I say, shaking my head. “There’s something exceptional about you, and they all want a piece of it. Even Helen. You know, I think she really missed her calling. She should have been a talent scout.”

“I’m not exceptional,” he says as if I’ve offended him. “Or special. They only want the Shirtless Chef. It’s a persona.”

I take his hand without thinking, needing to make sure he stays put for this.

“Giovanni, he is you. You’re the same person, or at least he’s a part of you.”

He’s shaking his head before I’m even finished.

“It’s true,” I insist. “The reason people like your videos…it’s not because of your abs, though they truly are a work of art⁠—”

He opens his mouth to say something, but I press a finger to his full lips. He sucks it into his mouth, running his tongue around it.

I laugh and pull it back, even though molten heat is curling in my core. “You’re not going to distract me. I have something to say.”

A smile unfurls on his face. “I know better than to get in the way of Bianca Murphy when she has something to say.”

“Good. They want you. I’ve seen you at the pumpkin patch and today with all the Shirties⁠—”

“That’s an awful name.”

“Truly the worst. But you’re not distracting me. They love you because you listened to them. Because you can make any trite, old thing into a story. Because you’re magnetic.”

Now, he’s grinning outright. “You think I’m magnetic.”

“I do, unfortunately, because you already know you’re handsome and charming. Now you’re going to have an ego the size of Maine.”