Page 30 of Ice To Meet You

“Oh, nothing specific. I can just tell how much he admires you. Maybe he and Bruno could form that fan club he talked about. You’ve certainly had an effect on both of them.”

I shook my head, my brain struggling to find words. At that exact moment, Matteo looked around at our table from the bar, seeking me out, before sending me one of his traffic-stopping smiles.

Lola let out a long breath, her lips forming a tight “O” shape. “It’s no wonder Matteo can’t take his eyes off you,” she said, her voice dropping, as though sharing a juicy secret. “He’s no doubt impressed by how in control you always are. But then, young guys love that whole older, ‘classic’ thing. Probably reminds them of their mother.”

The drink in my hand nearly slipped from my fingers.Mother?How old did she think I was? And what exactly did she mean?

Lola caught my expression. She tilted her head, her face all wide-eyed innocence. “I’m sorry, Esmé, I’m just saying you should be careful. I think Matteo has a crush on you. Let him down gently. He’s having fun at the gallery.”

An ember flared in my chest. How much had she had to drink? Lola could be abrasive, and I let her get away with more than I should. After all, she was popular with the customers. But no matter how much champagne she’d had, her behaviour was far from professional. I’d have to speak with her in the morning.

For now, I’d keep my cool, my expression neutral. If she wanted classy and “classic,” I’d give her exactly that. “Fun is very subjective, Lola. We all take pleasure in different things. I imagine you’ll come to realise that as you mature.”

Lola’s smile faltered, the hint of a scowl creeping in before she caught herself. “I just thought I should let you know.”

Yes—me and the rest of the table. They all stared at her, too, in stunned silence.

Maurice shifted on the banquette. “Who’s for another drink, then?”

On cue, Matteo and Bruno reappeared, carrying bottles and an ice bucket full of fresh glasses. Without hesitation, Matteo made his way to my side of the booth, coming to a stop at my shoulder. Bruno arrived a second later.

Matteo popped the champagne with a loudcrackand poured the frothy liquid into glasses. He passed them to Bruno, who handed them around the table.

Lola’s eyes lit up when she saw the label on the bottle. He’d picked one of the most expensive brands the bar offered. “Matteo, you shouldn’t have,” she said, her voice singsong, and her cheeks glowing.

He grinned, handing her a glass directly. “It’s your birthday, Lola. Only the best for my work colleagues.” At his words, her smile flattened.

The devil on my shoulder gave the universe a high-five. I’d say it was Lola who had a crush on someone, not Matteo.

Matteo poured the last glass and handed it to Bruno. Just as my supposed new admirer reached for it, Matteo’s arm shifted—so subtly it might have gone unnoticed. But I saw it. And the result? A cascade of champagne spilling over the rim, drenching Bruno’s sky-blue shirt.

He yelped, recoiling like he’d been shoved into an ice bath.

Matteo set the glass down with an expression of pure innocence. “I’m so sorry,” he said smoothly. “Must be all the excitement. Shall I help you clean up?” His hands hovered near Bruno’s top buttons, as if he might start undoing them right there.

Bruno backed away, fending him off with a frantic shake ofhis head. “It’s fine, honestly. I’ll go to the restroom. Thank you.” With a glare for Matteo and an apologetic smile for me, he turned on his heel, muttering about stains and expensive linen as he disappeared.

After his departure, Matteo slipped into the booth beside me. “That’s better,” he muttered, his face unreadable. Did he mean the loss of Bruno or sitting next to me? Either made my heart skitter. I shifted into Bruno’s old spot, meeting Matteo’s eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice doing that whole low and husky thing.

“Yes. Don’t I look okay?”

I shouldn’t have asked, because his gaze drifted over me—slow and unhurried. “You look beautiful.”

Heat rushed through me, and for once, it had nothing to do with body temperature or basic survival. Under his steady gaze, every nerve under my skin fired, ready for fight, flight, and, if I was honest, delight. Oh, yes—I was in trouble.

“I’m going on a blind date.” Lola’s voice crashed into my racing thoughts, breaking the tension forming between me and Matteo.

We all turned to face her, and I fought to calm my racing pulse.

She grinned directly at Matteo, then took a sip of champagne.

Maurice rolled his eyes. “You’re always going on blind dates. You could write an advice column on the subject.”

She curled an eyebrow in his direction. “I like to think of myself as a veteran, but then I prefer variety. To keep things fresh. The mundane and every-day bores me.”

Maurice’s lips sank, and he played with the stem of his champagne flute.

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