Page 71 of True North

“Good, good.” She pours water into our glasses and lights a small candle. This is feeling more and more like a date with each passing moment.

The front door chimes again. Papa Mancini waltzes in, in golf shoes and outfit, and he greets his wife with a hug and a peck to the cheek. He winks at me as she takes his hand and drags him back to the kitchen.

Harry chuckles. “Does this seem like a setup to you, too?”

“Subtle, aren’t they? If only they knew...” I flash wide eyes at him.

I take the cake knife and sink it into the center of the cake, pulling it down to make the first cut. It cuts like a hot knife through butter, the texture absolute silk.

Sliding a slice onto his plate, I suck the icing from my thumb. Looking back up, I find Harry’s eyes stuck on me. He hasn’t moved. His hands nowhere near his cutlery.

“You don’t wanna taste it? It took me hours,literally.”

“I—”

“Well, you two! We will see you tomorrow. Lock up for me, will you, bambina?” Mama pats my cheek as her husband walks past. They are out the door not a moment later.

Oh yeah, definitely a setup. What is it with this town?

That is the second time this has happened. First with Rosie and the meal at the old place, now this. Seems they all think we are none the wiser to this thing between us.

Remembering the cake, I wedge a bite from the first slice and hold it out to Harry.

His brow raises, mirth lighting up his eyes. “You feedin’ me now?”

I huff a small, tight noise and spin the fork back around, biting the cake from it a second later. Harry tracks the movement, surprise stretching his features. My eyes flutter shut the instant the rich velvetiness hits my palette. A soft moan slips out.

Holy Mary, mother of—this cake is a life experience.

“Lord above, woman, you keep making those little noises and this cake is going to end up on the floor.”

My eyes snap open.

I find Harry’s darkened eyes locked onto my lips. He shifts on the seat, as if he’s no longer comfortable where he sits. His hands grip his cutlery as his jaw clenches.

With him, I’m totally alive.

Simply by walkin’ into the room, he raises me up.

I lower the fork slowly, digging it into the dark chocolatey goodness. With my gaze locked onto his, I take my ever-lovin’ time to part my lips and slide the fork onto my tongue, then bite down.

Harry glances through the oversized windows of the restaurant. Then, as if deciding something outright, he stands, hauls me to my feet, and sweeps me into his arms. His corded forearms hold me to him as he nods to the cake. I twist and pick it up, cradling it in my arms.

Without a word, he heads for the stairs, climbing them one by one to my apartment. His eyes burn into mine as his Adam’s apple bobs. His grip turns too tight as we push through the door. A few long Harry strides and my ass hits the surface of the small kitchen table.

Harry snatches the cake from my grasp, depositing it by my side. I want to run my hands through his hair. Sink into his kiss and surrender to his touch everywhere. But he stands back, chest heaving, body so rigid that, if you didn’t witness the last few moments between us, you would pick him for angry or upset.

I know better.

I know what we do to each other.

How the burn takes over.

“Harry,” I whisper. “Come here.”

He shakes his head, so subtly it almost doesn’t register. “Ain’t movin’ a muscle.”

“Why not?”

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