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“I…”
“Vanessa.” His voice sounded a little more powerful when he spoke my name, the word reverberating off the walls of my gallery. It went straight into my ear, making me melt into a puddle on the floor. “Have coffee with me.” This time, it didn’t sound like a request but a command.
“I just…” I couldn’t keep denying him forever. He would find his way into my heart eventually. At least I could do this on my terms. “Alright. But I want something from you, a promise.”
His shoulders tightened slightly when I said yes. “Anything.”
“Don’t kiss me.” I didn’t want him to walk me to my door and surprise me with an embrace. I didn’t want him to slide his hand into my hair and caress me with his mouth. I didn’t want him to rush the relationship, not when I wasn’t ready for it.
His eyes didn’t flash with disappointment or annoyance. “How about this. Anytime I want to kiss you, I’ll tell you. If you don’t want me to, say nothing. And when you are ready, just say yes.”
That still gave me the power to stop anything physical from happening, and I also didn’t actually have to say a word to enforce it. Antonio seemed like a man who would keep his word, and if he didn’t, he knew I would never trust him. So it seemed like this was going to work. “Okay.”
That handsome smile stretched across his lips, making his brown eyes shine a little brighter. He looked at me with possession, like he’d finally gotten what he wanted. “I’ll pick you up after work.”
It was a quiet evening in the coffee shop. Most of the tables were empty, and the sound of the gentle music overhead was low. The glass counter was stuffed with different pastries, and the workers used the large espresso machine to make steaming cups of coffee.
I sat at the table with my foamy cappuccino in front of me, froth on top along with sprinkled chocolate. It was a short cup on top of a saucer with a small handle.
Antonio got a black coffee—keeping it simple.
I hadn’t taken a drink yet because the drink was too hot.
Antonio watched me from across the table, wearing a white linen collared shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The stark color was perfect on him, contrasting against his dark skin and hair. His eyes matched my coffee, warm and smooth.
I tilted my face down and took a drink, letting the froth move over my tongue and down my throat.
Antonio kept his fingers around his mug but didn’t take a drink. He seemed far more fascinated with me than anything else in that café.
I thought we’d come here to talk, but all we seemed to do was stare. It was the strangest first date I’d ever been on. When I met guys on the town, we usually flirted back and forth, made small talk, and if there was a spark there, I saw them again. But in this instance, talking was unnecessary. We seemed to like each other without really knowing one another. “How long have you had your gallery?”
“Ten years,” he answered. “I also have one in Milan and Positano, along with a few outside the country. But I’ve settled in Florence for the foreseeable future. It’s a great city. I can get the chaos of the city and then drive a few miles and be in the countryside.”
“You live in town?”
“Yes. I live a few blocks from the shop in an apartment. If I lived above my shop like you do, I would never stop working.” He gave me a smile before he took a drink of his coffee.
That was all I ever did with my time—work. “My world seems to revolve around it.”
“That’s how you know you’re an artist, when it’s all you ever want to do.”
I took another drink of my cappuccino, letting the froth stick to my lips. I licked it away with my tongue.
Antonio watched me, his eyes glued to my mouth. His gaze narrowed slightly, his focus pinpointed on that spot of my anatomy. He forced his gaze back to my eyes again, but there were remnants of his attraction. “I didn’t recognize your last name right away. But are you associated with Barsetti Vineyards?”
“Yes. My parents and uncle run a few in Tuscany.”
He nodded. “Great wine. I’ve got at least two bottles at home.”
“Thanks. When I first got started, I would hang my paintings at the winery. Customers would buy them when they were wine tasting.”
His eyes brightened in approval. “Smart idea. Most people who wine taste are tourists, so they usually want a souvenir to take home. What an excellent marketing strategy. That seems to be the biggest hardship for artists, finding a place to show their work. Selling your stuff on a street corner doesn’t exactly project quality artwork.”
