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“Making coffees. There’s something meditative about it. It’s satisfying to get to know a beautiful machine like this, and be able to coax the best from it. Rewarding to speak to customers as you make their drink, see them smile as they take their first sip.” She smiled naturally, memories of that brief time in her life warming her.
“How old are you?”
She angled her cup as she poured the milk in, marvelling at the way the two liquids swirled together to create a dramatic mix of gold and white on the top of her drink. “Twenty six,” she spoke as though his question wasn’t jarring, lifting the cup to her lips. “I’ll be twenty seven in January.” She wasn’t sure why she’d volunteered the information. Her birthday was, and always had been, her least favourite day of the year. She cleared her throat and looked to the windows – a view that had transfixed her all day.
“There is a television in the room down the hall,” he said. “It has American Netflix. Watch whatever you’d like.”
She wasn’t going to tell him she wasn’t a huge television watcher – it was an improvement that he was even offering her some form of entertainment. “Thanks, maybe later.”
He stared at her for a few moments, a beat too long, and then nodded. “Fine.” He spun on his heel but at the door, with his shoulders braced, tossed back into the room, “Thank you for the coffee.”
It was expressly what he’d asked her not to do, and she knew it, which is why a kaleidoscope of butterflies was beating through her body as she moved lightly down the corridor in search of Gabe.
She didn’t want to disturb him. But she really did need to get online and for that, she’d need her host to provide her with a WiFi password. As a peace offering, she’d brought the fruits of her cooking labours – well, some of them at least. The Cuccidati had turned out almost perfectly, the addition of the spice she’d bought at a market an excellent addition to the sweet biscuit – and a way to make it ‘her own’.
She moved past her bedroom and several other doors, aware of small noises that indicated he was in a room not far away. Nothing significant, the occasional clicking of keys on the keyboard, a rustle of fabric as he shifted in his seat, and a blade of light filtered into the hallway, beckoning her forward.
But oh, nervousness ma
de her knees wobble a little, and she desperately wished he wasn’t so completely intimidating! It had been a long time since Isabella had been on the ‘back foot’ but this man just made her feel apprehensive and self-conscious in a way she couldn’t explain.
Just as she reached the door, she paused, sucking in a deep breath to steel her nerves, then poked her head around the corner.
“Hi.”
His surprise was obvious. He scowled as he looked towards her, obviously displeased by the intrusion. Nerves buffeted her insides.
“Cookie?”
“What?” It was little more than a growl. Crikey. She really should have rethought this. Maybe banged about a bit as she approached so he wasn’t caught so off guard by her arrival. Not that it would have made any difference – except given him a chance to lock the door, she thought with a wry grimace.
“A Cuccidati, in fact. Want one?”
His eyes dropped to the plate she held, with several still warm biscuits piled on top of it.
“What the hell for?”
She flinched at his language and tone, her skin paling. “It doesn’t matter.” She honestly couldn’t remember the last time anyone had spoken to her like that. She knew she had to stay strong, not to let him see how hurt she was, but that was easier thought than done. “I actually came to ask for the WiFi password, and just didn’t want to arrive empty handed.”
He expelled an angry breath through his nostrils, reaching across his desk. His head dipped forward as he wrote something and a moment later, pushed back his chair, striding around the desk and across to her.
“Here.” He held out a post-it note towards her.
Throat thick with emotions she bitterly resented, she took it without looking at it.
“Thank you. I just need to be able to log on to catch up on work stuff,” she explained quietly, hating that her voice shook with the hint of tears. How dare he make her feel like this? “I’ll leave you to it.”
She spun and quickly turned to leave, but her swift departure was marred by her elbow’s collision with the door frame. It was a hard hit and hurt like the blazes but she didn’t dare stop.
He cursed under his breath into his empty office. The smell of Cuccidati lingered in the air, mingling with whatever she used in her hair – something like jasmine or vanilla, sweet and summery. He clamped his jaw shut as he moved back to his desk, staring at his computer screen with a fury zipping through his belly, a fury borne of his lack of control.
Why had she come?
He didn’t want her here. He wanted to be alone.
But he took precisely zero pleasure in treating her in such a way that brought tears to her eyes. He’d been way too harsh. He didn’t even want to think about what Yaya would say if she could see his behaviour. I didn’t raise any grandson of mine to talk like that to anyone, let alone a woman clearly in need of your help.
Well, he was helping Isabella. He was letting her wait out the blizzard in his home, allowing her to make merry in the kitchen, to play on his cappuccino machine, he’d offered her goddamned free reign of the media room.
