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But my heart skips a beat, all the same.
I head over to join him, cautious. He’s been icing me out since the moment he picked me up for the airport, I remind myself, but maybe it’s the strong cappuccino or the warm Italian sun, because Caleb seems almost relaxed, lounging there in a chair. He beckons the waiter to bring another chair, and I join him.
“Have you been exploring?” he asks, taking a sip of coffee.
I nod. “I’ve been hitting the tourist sites,” I say, feeling bashful. “I want to see everything while we’re here.”
“There’s plenty to see. You were enjoying yourself. Back there, in front of the fountain,” he notes.
I arch an eyebrow. “Was I not supposed to, because this is a work trip?”
“Not at all.” Caleb says. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
I don’t know if he’s playing another game, but suddenly, I don’t care. This is the trip of a lifetime.
“ I’m not going to let you ruin Italy for me,” I say, smiling at the waiter. I order a coffee in broken guidebook Italian, and then turn back to Caleb with a grin. “Feel free to blow as hot and cold as you like. It won’t bother me.”
Caleb gives a wry smile. “All right, all right. I suppose I deserve that.”
I nod. Yes, you do. “Did you want to brief me about the meeting this afternoon?”
He shakes his head. “It can wait.” Caleb points to his menu. “I was going to get some lunch. Have you eaten?”
I shake my head slowly. I feel like there is a trap in this, but my stomach gives a rumble at the idea, and I’m too hungry to care.
He passes the menu over to me. I open it up and laugh. “I have no idea what any of this is. It’s all in Italian.”
“Then let me order for you.”
I give him a doubtful look. “How do you know what I like?”
He dips his sunglasses and his eyes catch mine. “Now, Juliet. I know a lot about what you like,” he says, his tone playful.
I hide a shiver as the waiter approaches, and wouldn’t you know it? Caleb converses with him in perfect Italian. I have no idea what he orders, but it sounds very sexy.
“Let me guess,” I say, only half-kidding, “You ordered me tripe and blood sausage.”
Caleb laughs. “You’ll have to trust me.”
I give him a look. He raises his hands, like a surrender. “Look, I know things have been… Tense between us—”
“Understatement of the year,” I agree.
“But it seems a shame to spend the trip walking on eggshells, when we could be enjoying ourselves, instead,” Caleb continues. He actually seems sincere, as he gives me a hopeful look. “How about a truce? For Rome’s sake.”
“Just for Rome,” I repeat slowly. I’m not sure I buy it, but I want to believe. Because he’s right—dancing around each other is exhausting, and I don’t want to spend the trip on edge.
As I’m deliberating, the waiter returns with a bottle of San Pellegrino for me and a plate of powdered-sugar-covered pastries. “Croissants?” I ask, surprised.
“Cornetto,” he says. “They’re a traditional breakfast here. Have one.”
I lift one to my mouth, inhaling the savory scent, and take a small nibble. Then I take a bigger bite, letting the taste of it linger on my tongue.
Delicious.
Just like him.
“So?” he prompts me. “Truce?”
He reaches his hand out to me, and I shake it, trying my best to ignore the electric sizzle that passes between us. “Truce,” I agree.
But even as we strike the deal, I have a sneaking suspicion that being friends with Caleb might be even more dangerous than being his enemy.
And infinitely more tempting.
