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My eyes dart up to his face. “I don’t.”
“I’ll give you a hint, and if you don’t get it, feel free to share that food with the ballroom dancing hero.”
I’d much rather eat lunch with my husband, but since he seems to be calling my bluff, I nod. “Give me the hint.”
“Three words…you used to say them when…”
My gaze locks on his. “True love rules.”
“It does,” he whispers before he steps aside to grant me entry into my home.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
Daniel
How the fuckhave I not noticed the goddamn neighbor?
Gina lives next door to some guy who got a medal for courage, and he can ballroom dance? My resume doesn’t include either of those things.
I thought I was a great dancer until Dominick showed me a video he shot at his mom’s birthday nine years ago.
Jesus.
Talk about two left feet. I looked like I had eleven of them when I was busting a move and potentially my kneecap on the dance floor.
That hell finally ended when I tripped. My left shoe literally left me, and my knee hit the concrete floor with a sound that could have woken the dead.
“What are you thinking about?” Gina asks from across the table.
I can’t say it’s the neighbor because I don’t want my wife to accuse me of being jealous, although clearly I am.
I make a mental note to borrow a cup of sugar from everyone on this floor before the day ends.
If I cover my bases and introduce myself to every neighbor, maybe it won’t seem that obvious that I’m checking out my competition.
“Boston,” I say because that seems like a safe bet.
Gina tilts her head. “Was it a good trip?”
“Very.”
She scratches her nose in the same adorable way she’s done since she was a kid. “That’s nice.”
I keep rolling with the subject at hand since she seems semi-invested, or at the very least, not completely disinterested. “When’s the last time you went to Boston?”
She places her fork on the almost empty plate in front of her. “Three years ago. I went with Lia on her twenty-first birthday.”
That steers me in another direction, so I go with it. “I saw her the other day.”
She smiles. “At the office?”
Apparently, even though I’m one of the founders of Modica, I’m also the last to know that another Calvetti was on the payroll. “Yes. She seems to be doing great.”
“Lia is always doing great.” She laughs. “She stopped by the restaurant for dinner last night. I took a break so I could sit with her.”
“A break from what?”
Her gaze locks on mine. “Marti was short-handed, so I stepped in.”
