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I also wanted him to tell me everything. How he felt and how it had happened. I was on the quest to know all there was to know about Lucas Martín and it wasn’t because I was curious, but because I cared.
But Lucas looked at me like he’d just been cut open, exposed, and had nothing left in him to deal with that conversation. So I didn’t ask. This was big enough already. He’d given me a meaningful, crucial part of who he was today. Now. Not the social media persona he once had been that I had happened to spy on.
“You’re not defined by a career, Lucas.” I let my hand fall on top of his, very briefly, just so I didn’t lace my fingers with his like I was desperate to do. “You’re way more than just that. You have more to offer, too.”
He blinked, a muscle in his jaw jumping, his gaze clouding with something that looked a lot like wonder. Awe. Also, surprise.
And just as quickly, he was walking off, severing the contact, and reappearing with a large wooden spatula.
He leaned down on the counter, assessing my work like we hadn’t had that conversation. “Good job, Rosie. I think you might have a knack for this.”
He slid my pizza onto the spatula and left to put it in the oven. I took the opportunity to check his toppings choice. “Whoa. Is that honey that you drizzled on yours?”
“Yes,” he said when he came back and repeated the process with his pizza. “Pear, walnuts, some prosciutto because I couldn’t find anyjamónthat was worth our time, and a little of blue cheese, too.”
He walked back to the oven, and my gaze followed him this time, getting caught up in the way his back shifted as he slid the spatula in and out. Muscles moved and rolled, making me think of him in the water. Him, a board underneath his body. And him, not able to jump on one anymore.
“… Or in other words,” Lucas was saying, “any Italian’s nightmare.”
He strolled back to where I was at the counter, and I nodded my head, fully aware that I had spaced out. “Yes, total nightmare.”
“You didn’t listen to a word I said, huh?”
“What? Of course, I did.”
He snickered knowingly. “Rosalyn Graham, and you dare deny I’m irresistible.”
I was ready to deny it again, but now that he was standing closer, not more than a foot away, I could see that the tip of his nose was covered in flour so I told him, “Your ego is so big that I should probably let you walk around the rest of the night like this but…you have something on your face.” I brought my index finger to my nose, pointing him in the right direction. “Right here.”
He dragged the back of his hand across his nose and cheek, but only made it worse. He asked, “Now?”
“Yep,” I lied through my smile. “Much better.”
He narrowed his eyes, inspecting my face. “It’s not gone, is it?”
I shook my head and finally let out a laugh.
Lucas’s palm returned to his face, but he must have covered his hands in flour when he slid the pizzas onto the spatula, because he somehow managed to paint his chin white, too. “How about now?”
I laughed harder. Smiled bigger.
“Come here and take pity on me, woman.” He held both hands in the air, looking at his palms. “Fix me up, before I end up completely covered in it.”
“But you looksoooocute.”
He sent me a dark look that made me immediately move, closing the small distance between us and stopping right in front of him. I held my hand up in the air, reaching for his face but not making contact. And I swore, I’d never—ever—understand what got into me to say what I said next.
“Maybe I like you covered in flour.”
Lucas’s eyes sparkled with surprise. Something warm and sultry, too.
My smile died slowly. My left hand reached for the remnants of flour that had been covering the counter and I covered my fingers in it.
“Rosie,” Lucas rasped. “Don’t.”
But that only encouraged me.
I made sure to meet his gaze when I smudged the flour all over his left cheek.
