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“Thank you.”
He uncorked the wine, pouring two glasses. “It’s sweet. Perfect with these.”
“You really know food, don’t you?”
“I’m Italian. It’s in my blood.”
“No, that’s not necessarily true. I get the feeling it’s more with you.”
His eyes met hers for a moment then he looked down at the treats. “Shall I put yours on a plate?”
“Please. Tell me what I have to try.”
“All of it.”
He began to cut the cakes up, placing a piece of each onto a dinner plate, so it was absolutely far too much for Charlotte to imagine eating, then put the plate in the middle of the bench and grabbed a fork.
“Ready?” He pressed into one of the cakes, breaking off a bit and lifting it towards her lips.
Her eyes met his and she nodded, lips parting as he brought the food closer and she tasted it, moaning softly.
“It’s so good,” she said simply.
“Now, try the wine.”
She did, sipping it and again, making a sound of appreciation, because the combination was out of this world. He moved onto another piece of cake, feeding her each time, until she’d sampled her way through the plate.
“Do you have a favourite?” He asked, reaching forward and wiping a crumb from the corner of her lips.
She shook her head. “I couldn’t choose. How did you find this place?”
“It’s around the corner from my office in London. My assistant is obsessed. She asks them to cater whenever I have meetings.”
“You have an office in London?” Her ears pricked up at that, for no reason she could think of.
“And New York, Toronto, Tokyo, Sydney,” he confirmed with a nod. “We’re a global company.”
“Yes, of course,” she agreed. But the idea of him coming to London regularly opened up a possibility she hadn’t wanted to consider. It cracked a tiny little hole in the idea of never seeing him again after this week, because if he came to London for work, surely, he could sometimes drive up into the Cotswolds as well?
She forced herself to look away, to bite her tongue, before the question could slip out:how often do you come to London?Because he was too astute. If she asked, he’d know immediately what she was getting at, and Charlotte didn’t want to seem so needy.
What had gotten into her? Besides, Maggie’s parents were waiting for an opportunity to go to a judge and prove that Charlotte was dropping the ball as guardian for Dash. It would be easy for them to paint her as a twenty something single more interested in her love life than raising a child—she wouldn’t give them any ammunition.
“How was your day?” He asked, his voice a little different. Maybe he’d guessed the direction of her thoughts, despite her silence.
She pulled her lips to the side. “Busy. Yours?”
He sipped his wine. “I had lunch with Winona.”
“Did you?” That caught Charlotte’s attention. “How was it?”
“She made canneloni,” he said, flatly.
Charlotte grinned. “They’re delicious.”
Alessio’s jaw tightened.
“But I meant, how did the lunch go? Not the meal, the being with your mother and talking part?”
