Page 71 of Bittersweet

Elio’s mouth tips up in a smile. He mutters something that sounds like, “And getting bigger by the second,” but I may have just imaginedthat.

“Okay. What are you in the moodfor?”

You. “What are you goodat?”

“Everything,” he says with an eyebrowraised.

I don’t doubt that at all.Not one bit. “Then make me whatever youlike.”

With another salacious grin, Elio gets to work grabbing ingredients from the refrigerator and pantry. “Take a seat,” he says when he turns and almost collides with me in front of thesink.

“You don’t want me tohelp?”

“No, I want to cookforyou. All I want you to do is watch, and then when I serve it up to you, I want you to make those little noises you make when you’re eating muffins at theshop.”

I balk, embarrassed. “I don’t make littlenoises.”

“Yes, you do. It’s downrightdistracting.”

I duck my head to avoid meeting his eyes as a smile teases mylips.

Watching Elio cook is the equivalent of watching a shirtless Jason Momoa work out. He moves like a dream. He’s fluid, confident and graceful, though no less masculine. It’s mesmerizing, and I’m amazed at how quickly he throws a meal together using just twopans.

I haven’t had long enough to really get my creeper on when Elio collects a little of the sauce from the simmering pan and offers me the spoon. I wrap my fingers around his wrist to steady his hand and watch him as I taste it. Garlic rolls over my tongue, burned butter, lemon, and thyme. It’s simple, yet the flavors work so well together. I close my eyes and moan. When I open them again, he’s watching meclosely.

“God, I’ve missedpasta.”

“You shouldn’t deprive yourself of the things you want,Romy.”

“Shouldn’tI?”

“No. It’s not good for thesoul.”

I let out a humorless laugh and take the glass of wine he offers, gulping it back before I do something stupid like try and kisshim.

Elio fills two bowls with pasta and hands one to me. I follow him to the couch, and he grabs the remote and turns the gas fireplace on, bathing the room in a rich golden glow. He sits across from me, setting his bowl of pasta down on the table along with his wine. He doesn’t say anything. He juststares.

“What? Do I have something in myteeth?”

“Just my heart,” hemurmurs.

It’s so quiet I’m not sure I hear him right. “What?”

“Romy, I don’t know where we go from here. I don’t know how you feel about kids, about Coco, and having us both in your lifebut—”

“You don’tknow?”

He shakes hishead.

I smile coyly, embarrassed that I have to spell it out for him. “I’m crazy about you,Elio.”

He smiles, but it’s short-lived. “Coco and I are a package deal. She’s my whole world, and I won’t let anyone hurther.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m crazy about hertoo.”

He stares down at his swollen hand, bushing his fingers over the bruised knuckles. “I need you to be sure. I need you to be 100 percent certain that you really want that, because the last thing she needs is another woman she loves leaving her. I won’t put her through thatagain.”

“I would never do that toher.”

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