Page 7 of Bittersweet

The bell above the shop doorrings.

“Elio? I brought a little visitor to see you,” a familiar voice calls. I recognize it as belonging to Elio’s sister, who seems to be at Bittersweet almost as often as I am. The only difference is she gets paid to behere.

I don’t break our gaze. Maybe Bianca will go away. Maybe we can get this almost-kiss back.Kiss me, you infuriatingman.

“I . . .” He presses his lips together for a second, and dear God, I hope he’s warming themup.

A tiny human dashes into the kitchen, wrapping herself around Elio’s leg. Brown curls bounce as she looks up at Elio, stars in her eyes. So, pretty much the same way that I look athim.

“It’s me! I’m the wittle visitor.” The child giggles, and even though she’s ruined my near perfect morning with my near perfect kiss, I can’t be mad at her because she isadorable.

“You? You’re the visitor?” Elio scoops her up into her arms, spinning her round. She shrieks, clutching at his neck. Elio twirls the little girl once more for good measure, then places her back on the ground. Seeing him and his niece side by side, there’s a definite family resemblance, and the way he just picked her up into his arms?Swoon.It’s all I can do not to lick him. “Coco, did you say hi toRomy?”

“Who’sWomy?”

“That would be me.” I give a little wave. “Hi, Coco. It’s nice to meetyou.”

Coco gives me a scrutinizing once over, but before she can respond, her mom calls from the café. “I’ve told you not to muck around with her in here. She could get . . .” Bianca pushes through the door and her shrewd gaze locks on mine. A smile teases the corner of her mouth as she looks back and forth between me and her brother. “Romy, what areyoudoinghere?”

“Er . . .I. . .”

Bianca grins like the Cheshire cat before turning back to Elio. “Are we interruptingsomething?”

“No. Not at all.” He glances at the tart.Of course.He doesn’t want his family to know about his sexy baking until he’s got it all wrappedup.

“I just had a . . . baking question, and Elio was helping me answer it,” I add, noddingauthoritatively.

“Really?” Bianca asks, amusement dancing in her eyes. “A question aboutwhat?”

“About . . .” I search the kitchen. Oven, tray, tart, crazy hot guy, fork— “About what these little tiny fork thingies are properly called. You know?” I wave it around like a weapon, as if the quicker I move my hand, the more likely it will be that my story sells. “I’m a wedding blogger. I have to know things about forks. How best to use forks. How to chooseforks.”

How to lose forks.I sound like a Dr. Seuss book, and I want to take the fork and stab myself in the eye. How best to fork? What is wrong with me? And why can’t I stop making a fool of myself in front of not only this man I have a crush on but now his beautiful sister and her gorgeous kid,too?

“How about Coco and I leave you two to finish up with all that . . . forking,” Bianca says with a wink. She ushers her daughter out of the room with a promise of cupcakes, leaving Elio and I aloneagain.

“Sorry.” Hegrimaces.

“No, it’s fine.” I step closer to him, trying to regain that connection from a few minutes prior. I look up at him from under my eyelashes, giving him what I hope is a look filled with promise. Filled with sex. “Your dirty little cake secret is safe withme.”

“I knew I could count on you for that.” Relief washes over his features, and he glances to the front of the café. “I should go. But you stay here and finish off thattart.”

He turns to leave, then spins back, as if he forgot something. “Oh!And. . .”

He steps in close. The rough pad of his thumb swipes over my lower lip. I shiver.Wow.

“You had a little something there.” Elio dusts the crumbs free from his hands and turns to leave thekitchen.

Ofcourse.

I had food on myface.

That was what our clearly one-sided “moment” was all about. How could I have thoughtotherwise?

I take the stupid pastry fork—yes, I know what it’s called, I work on a wedding blog for God’s sake—and stab at the tart with renewedviciousness.

He walks out, leaving me alone with my lemon, white chocolate, and thyme-flavoredmouthgasm.

It’s the closest thing I’ve had to a sexual experience in more than a year, and from the looks of my current romantic situation, I’m going to need more of thesetarts.

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