Page 30 of Banter & Blushes

LUCA

I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it all in the kitchen. But nothing—nothing—prepared me for the disaster that was Rebecca. Becky in my mind but I haven’t found the courage to call her that just yet.

Honestly, I was kind of impressed by how gracefully she failed at literally everything. She tripped over the floor and landed on a stool, then somehow fell into me—twice—and then knocked over a stack of plates like she was trying to audition for some kind of slapstick comedy. It was like a live-action blooper reel happening in real time. I mean, Ireallyshould’ve been concerned, but it was hard to focus on anything other than the fact that she was a walking, talking force of nature in the most hilarious way possible.

And yet, there was something...endearingabout it. Not many people could fall on their face as gracefully as Becky did. And while the rest of my customers sat there, politely sipping their drinks and maybe throwing in an occasional “this is good,” Becky had this way of making everything feel a little more...alive.

So there I was, standing in the middle of my own kitchen, watching her awkwardly scramble to pull herself together like a deer on roller skates. My face throbbed from the weakly restrained smile that kept spreading wider.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, trying not to laugh. I mean, I reallyshould’vebeen worried. She’d almost knocked over my kitchen island, for crying out loud. But how could I worry when she looked like she was trying to keep it together with all the grace of a toddler trying to carry a glassof juice?

“Uh, yeah,” she said, pulling herself upright with a deep breath. She looked like she was mentally preparing for her next inevitable disaster. “Totally fine. I’m just—uh, having a little bit of a ‘me’ moment.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” I teased. “You know, you don’thaveto try so hard. You’re already a one-person comedy show.”

She shot me a glare, but I could tell she wasn’t mad. In fact, she was probably just trying to ignore the way her face was flaming beautifully.

“So, um...” she began, clearly trying to pretend like I hadn’t just witnessed her literalphysical comedyroutine. “About the plates...”

I waved it off, still smiling. “Hey, don’t worry about it. This kitchen’s seen worse. Once, a guy tried toflambéa dessert, and somehow set a towel on fire.” I gave her a dramatic look. “That was a fun day.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Atowel? In the kitchen? Isn’t that... a fire hazard?”

Was it selfish of me to relish... and yearn for our moments together? She was the kind of woman who listened with all her heart, truly engaged in what I was saying instead of simply nodding along to my stories. It was a breath of fresh air.

I grinned. “Yeah, you’d think so, right? But, fun fact: apparently, towels areflammablewhen you get them too close to open flame.” I paused, making sure she was taking in the full depth of that wisdom. “But don’t worry. I’ve got a fire extinguisher. I’m notthatreckless.”

There it was. When she smiled, it was as if the sun itself followed her, filling the room with warmth. Did she even realize the power she held over others? That inner light she carried, one that seemed to reach right into me?

“I’m not so sure about that,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You let me walk around here like a human disaster, and you’ve gotfirein your kitchen? You’redefinitelyreckless.”

I chuckled. “You’reluckyI let you walk around here. Most people don’t get the honor of seeing my kitchen behind the curtain. You should feel special.Honored, even.”

“Right, I’m feelingsohonored right now,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. But I could see the corner of her mouth twitching, like she was fighting off another smile.

In that moment, something deep inside me whispered that one of my new purposes in life was to always be the reason she smiled.

“I’m serious,” I said, leaning in closer with a mischievous grin. “Once you’ve been in my kitchen, you’re basically family. And that’s, you know... not an easy title to earn. I don’t just let anyone near the knives, let alone my dishes.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms but I didn’t let my grin falter.

We both stood there for a moment, me watching her try to hold it together while she subtly checked to see if she should run out of here and away from my not-so-subtle flirtations.

I cleared my throat and broke the silence. “Look, don’t sweat it. The plateswill be fine. I’ll just—uh, you know—make some more, or something.” I paused. “But, next time, maybe no impromptu acrobatics in my kitchen?”

She shot me a playful glare, her face turning the shade of a tomato. “Who said there’s going to be a next time, Luca?”

"Hmm..." I said, pretending to think it over. I shouldn't have liked the way my name sounded coming from her lips like that. "Well, you’re bound to get hungry again eventually. What better place to satisfy your cravings?"

She rolled her eyes and scrunched her nose. It was adorable. “Fine. Make all the fun you want. But ifyouever break anything in my honor, I expect you to buy me a drink to make up for it.”

Smooth. I could tell she was older than me, and with that came experience. I was sure men had been falling at her feet wherever she came from, and that thought alone sparked my competitive side. I raised an eyebrow. "A drink, huh? What kind of drink are we talking about?"

I hadn’t missed her comment earlier about guessing my age. If she truly thought I was that young, she wouldn’t be here with me now. I figured as long as I kept her guessing, she’d keep coming back.

Her eyes narrowed. “Something strong enough to drown the humiliation I’ve had to suffer today.”

“Deal,” I said, holding out my hand like this was some kind of sacred pact. “But I get to pick the drink.”

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