Page 77 of Party Favors

Yes, I am.

I didn’t tell her about Max, though. My mom and meemaw would have died if they’d known I was watching the wedding alongside a real Monterran.

“What is all this?” I asked, watching him unpack.

“I thought I should bring breakfast.”

“You know it’s just me here, right? I don’t have an entire platoon hiding in my bathroom.”

He grinned at me. “Leftovers are never a bad thing. I didn’t know what you would like, so I brought a little of everything. They’re all Monterran dishes. I figured I’d go with a theme.”

My mouth parted slightly. What was I supposed to do with this level of thoughtfulness?

“So I have zeppoles, which are basically like doughnuts, cornettos that are croissants but with a Nutella filling, maritozzi, which is a sweet bun with whipped cream, gelato in three flavors—”

“Gelato’s not breakfast,” I told him.

“It is if you eat it at breakfast,” he responded with a grin. “There’s also crema frittas, arancini con cioccolato ...”

So many of the pastries he was pointing at looked like they’d been fried. “Basically you brought me a heart attack.”

“But what a way to go.”

My heart thudded slow and hard in response.

“I also brought a charcuterie board with cheese and meats. There’s prosciutto and sopressata, burrata, fresh mozzarella and Parmigiano-Reggiano, along with olives, figs, grapes, and some water crackers.” He sounded so proud of himself.

“Is this what Monterrans eat every day?” I asked in disbelief. There was so much food.

“The typical breakfast would be like cappuccino and biscuits, which I also brought you. We dunk our biscuits in our coffee.”

He held something up that was not a biscuit. “That’s a cookie,” I said. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Vella. She has a problem withcountries who call cookies ‘biscuits.’ But cookies for breakfast? I could get on board with that.”

“European biscuits are not as sweet as American cookies.”

“That’s a shame,” I told him. “Sugar makes everything better.”

His gaze drifted down to my lips. “I do have a special fondness for sweet things.”

That thick tension returned, making my limbs feel sluggish. “Thank you,” I managed to say. “This was really kind and a very fun surprise.”

“You’re welcome.”

Max leaned his body toward me and I didn’t know how to interpret it or respond. I went over to a cabinet and opened it, grabbing a couple of my special plates. “Should we get some food and go watch the wedding?” I asked.

“Absolutely.” He took the plate from me, his long fingers brushing against mine, and I nearly dropped it onto the floor. Fortunately he had quick reflexes and caught the plate in time.

I wanted to explain to him that I wasn’t normally this clumsy and it was entirely his fault. That kind of confession could only lead to embarrassing places, so I stayed quiet.

We both loaded up our plates, and I was so discombobulated by standing this close to him that I floundered around for a safer topic for conversation. Anything to derail where my mind was headed. “I’m guessing most of this doesn’t fall within the healthy spectrum.”

“No, Monterrans do things in moderation. We eat our sweets, but not too many.”

“Good thing I’m not Monterran,” I said. “I may not eat well but at least I’m eating a lot.”

He laughed, and it seemed to break that overwhelming tension. Then he finally noticed the plate I’d handed him. “What is this?”

“Commemorative plates from when Nico and Kat, er, King Dominic and Queen Katerina, got married. I have a matching mug that I drink out of every morning. It’s basically my version of the good china.”

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