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“The calluses on his hands.” Lina and I had sat through that explanation on many occasions.
“Yes.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I guess I made a good first impression.”
“So, he simply agreed?”
Sandro was a great man but not one you could win over easily.
“A few promises I’m not sure I can keep might have been thrown around, but it’s all under control.” He winked, like this was normal. Like him going through the trouble was nothing. “Let’s keep the fire hazard to ourselves, though. It can be our first ever secret.”
The fire hazard.
The beautiful candles he had lit.
Our secret.
Just like my secret crush. Or the many other secrets I kept.
I swallowed, nodding my head and soaking up the sight of the pizzeria. The feeling. The fact that Lucas had gone above and beyond and out of his way for me.
For the experiment.
“If you’ll follow the path, please?” Lucas whispered in my ear, bringing me back with a delicious shiver that curled down my spine. “I’ll show you our main activity.”
“Oh,” I murmured, moving forward. “This wasn’t the main activity? We’re not eating surrounded by tea lights?”
“Not yet.” Lucas walked close behind me, setting one of his hands between my shoulder blades and bringing me to a stop in the kitchen. “We’re eating. But for that, we need to take care of the food first.”
I stood there, wishing my skirt had pockets so I could slip my hands in and not fidget. God, why didn’t all skirts have pockets?
I glanced over at Lucas, finding him toggling with the temp controls of the large oven. “You love Alessandro’s, right?”
“I’m a New Yorker. It’s genetically impossible for me not to love pizza. But Sandro’s in particular? I adore, yes.”
“Well,” Lucas said, pulling out a large and squared plastic container and placing it on the counter. “I’m not Sandro. I’m not even Italian, but I think you love watching me cook.”
“I might,” I teased. I loved watching Lucas cook more than I loved that first sip of coffee in the morning. Or biting into a lava cake. Or that feeling you get when you know you’re reading a new favorite book. Or waking up on Christmas morning. I loved watching him cook more than I loved most things in life.
Lucas moved to the fridge and pulled a few things out of it. Tomato sauce, a few greens, a huge wedge of what looked like Parmesan cheese. “Sandro gave me a few tips, told me where everything is, and made me promise to do it justice.”
Lucas hadreallywon Sandro over.
“So, you’re going to cook?” I asked him as he placed a package of flour on the counter. Without any kind of warning, the image of Lucas covered in flour, smiling down at me, ambushed me and I almost stumbled over my next words. “You’ll cook for us? And you’ll let me watch?”
“Nope.” He walked to where I was, and only when he reached me, I noticed what he was holding. An apron. “We’ll cook. Together. Because I deserve a little watching, too. Don’t you think?”
Before I could react to that, he moved behind me, his arms going around my sides.
“The spark,” he said, referencing phase two of the experiment, “can be explored in many different ways.” I could feel the warmthof his body radiating into mine, my breath catching in my throat. “It can be about more than lighting candles.” He moved closer, his chest almost brushing my back. “It can be about sharing something that’s important to you.”
His chin came impossibly close to my shoulder. So close that I was pretty sure we’d share our next breath if I tilted my head to the side.
“It can and should be about seeing if those glimpses you’ve offered of yourself are appealing to the other person. Seeing if they reciprocate and reveal something of their own,” he said softly, his words falling very close to my ear. “Let’s suit you up.”
I nodded my head, my heart thrumming with a steadily increased pace.
Lucas placed the apron against my front and wrapped the ends around my waist. They were too long, so they furled around me twice, keeping him on the task for a little longer.
His head peered over my shoulder to get a clear view of his own hands, and the side of his jaw brushed my cheek.
