Page 17 of Ice To Meet You

“I’m not sure that’s actually a thing.” His eyeswerebeautiful, but I doubted the thoughts behind them were trustworthy one hundred percent of the time.

“Of course it is,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’ve heard of horse whisperers? Snake charmers? Just think of me as a tabby tamer.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows.

“Definitely not a thing. And she’s not even a tabby.” But my disloyal cat chose that second to bump her head against Matteo’s arm with her loudest purr yet. “Judas,” I said, giving her another tickle.

His smile drew a quiet sigh from me. “I’m sorry about yesterday. Seeing you was a shock—when I spoke to your grandfather, I had no idea his grandson was, well, you. You were… unexpected. A surprise.”

The apples of his cheeks lifted. “A good one?”

My gut fizzed. Damn him. What did he want me to say? That I’d spent all night thinking about him and our awkward reunion? That the worst thing for me right now would be spending hours at a time in his presence? Even in this moment, I struggled to keep my gaze from straying to his lips. In fact, his very presence was sending my pulse and my thoughts to all the wrong places.

I couldn’t help but stare. Stare at his dark, slicked back hair that curled at his collar hinting at disarray. At the tiny dimple on his chin and the faint shadow of stubble colouring his jaw. He still had on his peacoat and looked like a spy from an old movie.

A tightness gripped my chest.Matteo Romano was a walking, smooth-talking red flag, only to be waved at my peril.

And there was no time for waving anything. My focus had to be on Rome, on the new gallery, and on making a name for myself. I could be a good and disinterested mentor.

A chance run-in on a snow lift with a handsome man wasn’t a good reason to railroad my dreams. And that’s all he was. Someone diverting who I’d met by accident.

“So, what would you like me to do?” Matteo’s voice swept over me, nudging me out of my thoughts.

“Pardon?”

“While I’m here. I can’t just stand around all day looking pretty. And I do havesomehidden depths and talents.”

I took another sip of coffee before pulling a large file from below my desk. I opened it up on the wooden top, spreading out the papers. Matteo stood and joined me while Claudette played with the edge of a page, batting it with her paw.

“These are the plans for our next exhibition. It’s in two weeks. Luc Du Comtois is our exhibiting artist. It’s his third showing with us, and by far the biggest.”

I flipped over pages of drawings, smoothing the paper of mydisplay diagrams. They were my plan of how I wanted the viewers to experience the exhibition.

Matteo ran a finger over my notes, shifting at my side. “Damn, you’re detailed.”

I rested my palm on the desk, leaning over some of my sketches, re-memorising the hanging order. “I have to be. If there are any errors—any mistakes—I’m to blame.”

He chuckled. “I can’t imagine people would worry about the order paintings hang.”

“You’d be surprised. People have ruined their reputations over less.”

He lifted one corner of his lips. “So, you’re all about your reputation?”

At his smirk, I clamped my jaw. Of course he couldn’t understand. His grandparents described him as an impulsive time waster, uninterested in taking on responsibility.

He had no idea about customers or business, or soothing the spirits of temperamental art lovers. Everyone in this industry had an opinion, and they shared it liberally.

“Of course, I have to focus on my reputation. Without it, I’m nothing,” I said, my voice sounding harsher than I intended. “I employ people. The rent here is enormous. I can’t afford for anything to go wrong. I’ve built this place from nothing—and I’ve built it alone.”

An image of Didier’s face popped into my head, unbidden. Like he’d heard me taking him for granted from somewhere else in the universe and materialised in my brain. I drew my brows together, banishing his pale, stern face. “My reputation matters.”

Matteo moved closer, his smile all but gone. He leaned over my notes again. “Okay, so how can I help?”

He shrugged out of his jacket and placed his hand next to mine on the desk. Our skin didn’t touch, but his proximity made my heart thump. I fought the urge to pull away. Evenstanding beside him, it felt like every molecule under my skin had woken up, ready to party.

I took a steadying breath, telling Matteo about Luc’s paintings and how I thought they should flow through the gallery space. But then, without warning, his pinkie finger brushed lightly over mine. It was a casual, almost careless touch—but the jolt of electricity that shot through my body was sharp and immediate.

I froze, my fingers bunching from the shock of contact. My heart skipped a beat, and I was suddenly aware of everything—his breath, too close to my ear; the warmth radiating from his body, and the tingle on my skin where he’d touched me.

I stepped back, gripping my wrist like he’d stabbed me with one of the paintbrushes on my desk.

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