Page 51 of Bittersweet

I’m not overElio.

Turns out, the only place I want to be is underhim.

But he has awife.

And I deserve better thanthat.

Hell, so doesshe.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, but the question doesn’t hold any anger; instead, there’s a softness to it. Like he’s ecstatic that I’ve broken and entered at one in the morning. Like this sort of thing happens all thetime.

“What are you doing here?” I counter. “Don’t you normally start aroundfour?”

Oh good. If there was ever any doubt that you had a crush on him, now it’s out in theopen.

“Just working on my new menu.” He smiles, and I lean against the counter, grateful for the support. I don’t know if it’s the heat or just the distraction of his body, but I’m beginning to feel a little woozy. “My grandparents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary is coming up next week. It’s a big deal, and I’m catering, and trying out those new dishes I told you about the other day.” His face turns serious for a moment. “I know that you’re pissed at me for not being completelyupfront.”

“Damn right Iam.”

A twinkle lights those molten chocolate eyes, and he holds up a hand. “But I would love my number-one taste tester to just quickly sample a dish for me before I show my folks next week.” He looks at me, eyes full of hope. “Would that beokay?”

And I should sayno.

I should say no because I can’t let this man woo me with his muffins, but he’s already taking a cone-shaped pastry from a tray beside him. “This is asfogliatella, but instead of the traditional filling, I’ve gone for an orange and rosewater custard cream. And instead of the usual sugar on top, I’ve done a champagneglaze.”

I stare at thepastry.

I don’t take my eyes offit.

He’s made mydessert.

It’s full of ingredients I told him were myfavorites.

“You . . . but that’s . . .” I work my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can’t take my eyes off the delicious-looking treat in hishands.

“Romy, if you hadn’t come here tonight, I would have come looking for you. I don’t know if you’ve been avoiding me on purpose, or if it’s pure coincidence that every time I’ve knocked on your door you’ve been out, but I haven’t been able to get you off mymind.”

“I just came to give you this,” I blurt, and extend my shaking arm as far as it will go, holding the book between us like a barricade.Don’t come any closer. Don’t bring that delicious body nearmine.

“A present?” He puts the pastry down and steps closer, past the book and closer still, until only a few inches separate us. “Romy, you don’t need to get me anything. The only thing Iwant. . .”

No!He can’t want me. He has a wife andchild.

I grip at the counter behind me. It really is hot in here, and I itch to undo the top button of my pajamas, but hello, recipe for disaster. The oven makes a clicking sound; the temperature spikes. I blink. My head feels as if it’s stuffed with cotton wool. The room spins. When did I last eat a proper meal that didn’t consist of leafy greens and a small side ofmeat?

Elio places two hands on my shoulders, dipping his head to look into my eyes. “Romy, are youokay?”

“I . . .” I blink. My visionblurs.

My knees turn to jelly. The book thuds to the ground. I flail, reaching desperately for the doorframe, the counter, anything to keep meupright.

Elio catchesme.

I’m falling, and Elio catches me, and nothing has ever felt so right and yet sowrong.

“I got you,” he husks into my ear. Tingles zip through mybody.

“It must be lack of food. I’ve been exercising a lot, and it’s really hot in here,and—”

---