Page 101 of Fallen Hearts

Shit. He was coming. I fired off a quick text back just as Emilio reappeared.

“He’s coming for dinner,” I proclaimed proudly.

“Molto bene.” He handed me a bottle of wine. “On the house. Just be sure to come back and tell me about your dinner.”

It was like having my own grandfather here in Cedar Falls. “Grazie mille. I will,” I promised.

There was a lot to do between now and when Mason came for dinner, starting with the grocery store and making my apartment presentable.

Talk to him.

Emilio had made it sound so easy, as if everything didn’t ride on this discussion. My job. My heart. My peace of mind. No pressure at all.

With a deep belly breath, I put one foot in front of the other, heading toward the store. If nothing else, it was a start.

35

MASON

Opening Pia’s door and calling “Hello” threw me back in time twenty years. I hadn’t been this nervous to see a girl since I started dating.

“Oh, hey,” she said, whipping around the corner from the kitchen. “Come on in.”

My plan for tonight was to play it cool. To take Pia’s lead, try not to think too hard and wait for the right moment to tell her that I finally, agonizingly, had made a decision. Was it the right one? Who the fuck knew? Only time would tell, I supposed.

So much for my plan.

When I reached for her, it was like someone had taken possession of my body. Being around her this week, not touching her, had been hell. The second Pia was in my arms, just the opposite.

Heaven.

Kissing her was even better. She fit so perfectly in my arms that my chest constricted with thoughts of the evening to come. One step at a time.

I released her.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” Pia said, looking thoroughly kissed.

I nearly said “Same.”

“I’ve wanted to do that all week.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she asked. “Oh shit, dinner.”

Taking off for the kitchen, Pia left me looking around the apartment. There was no good reason for her to have the extra expense. We’d have to talk about her moving to the inn, among other things.

Wandering into the kitchen, I asked if she needed any help. Pia assured me everything was under control, and by the time I poured myself a glass of wine from an open bottle, she was serving the meal.

“This is delicious,” I said earnestly. “Risotto can be tricky.”

“It’s my parents’ recipe. One of the things we’re known for.”

“Tell me more about the restaurant,” I said. It wasn’t something we talked about often.

Pia explained how her parents ended up in Oregon and the origins of their restaurant. As we talked, I remembered she’d told me once that she was an ocean girl. It was clear she missed it.

“You can paddleboard on the lake,” I said. “I know it’s not quite the same but?—”

“At least it’s water, and you’re right, I do miss it. Thanks for giving me the office. Having that view makes me miss the ocean a little bit less.”

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