Page 3 of Ciao, Amore

“Are you at the diner?”

“Yeah, I just sat down. Should I order your usual?” Nico glanced at the younger waitress who hovered nearby, looking uncertain about interrupting a customer on a call.

“I’m not coming.”

“Why not? What’s going on? Are you okay?” Nico asked. The concern for his brother ramped up another notch.

“Remember when we were talking a couple weeks ago?”

“Tino, we talk every day.”

“About you coming on the trip by yourself again. If you show up alone, you know what’s gonna happen.” Tino called in their grandmother’s high, musical tone, “‘Non ti preoccupare, mio nipotino, Nicodemo. We’ll get you married by next month.’ And you know exactly who she has in mind. I just helped you fix that whole thing.”

“Helped me how?”

“I’m sending someone to have coffee with you in my place. Fuckin’ hot from her pictures, bro. Trust me, you’re gonna thank me later.”

Nico froze. “What are you talking about? Who’s coming?”

There was a pause, then an exhale over the line. “Alright, check it. I signed you up for this app to help you find someone to take to Italy. A fake date to keep everybody from fuckin’ with you about your sorry, single ass.”

A bucket of steaming hot water washed over Nico’s head. “You did what?” he growled.

In contrast, Tino was cheerful. “Her name is Daniela. She speaks Italian, or at least she’s learning, and she told me she’s moving to Italy anyway. And check this…her username is down4anything. You know whatthatmeans. Awww, yeah. She’s on her way to meet you to work out the details. She just texted. Should be there in abouuutttt…three minutes.”

Nico’s head spun while perspiration beaded on his forehead and trickled under his pits.

He whispered vehemently, “Tino, even for you, this is fucking crazy. Text her back right now and say you’re sick, you’re leaving, whatever the fuck you need to tell her. But if you don’t, I swear to God, I’m gonna hunt you down and beat the shit out of you—”

“Too late. She’s there. Have fun, bro. Remember, you owe me one. I got some money to make, my G.”

Before Nico could ask what the hell money had anything to do with this insane situation, Tino ended the call with a laugh, leaving Nico stunned and trembling with rage.

Like a man trapped, he swiftly calculated his escape options and how much time he had left to pull them off. He could leave through the front door in the split second before she appeared and pretend he didn’t see her. Or he could take the even bigger cowardly lion’s way out, find the men’s room in the back and stay there till the coast was clear. He didn’t owe her anything.

All he could envision was his hands wrapped around his brother’s thick neck, but then he forced himself to calm down. The girl, woman, whoever, wasn’t at fault for believing Tino’s shady ass. Nico would be the dick if he ditched her, so he sat there, put down the phone, and waited to explain what happened. He’d apologize and go.

A tall, brown-skinned woman wearing a yellow halter top and blue jeans walked through the door. Long dark braid, big dark eyes. Statuesque.

Goddess proportions.

She held a lavender-encased phone in her hand and looked up from it to the booths. Could it be her? His heartbeat slowed down, everything around him—the waitress, the busboys, the old white-haired man, time and space, all of it—slowed, and all he could do was sit there and watch those doe-like eyes sweep the room and rest on him. There was nothing he could do but watch the smile dawn on her full cherry-red lips and reach her velvet-brown eyes. The goddess had recognized him. And from her smile, she liked what she saw.

Goddamn. That made two of them.

Was his mouth hanging open? He closed it with a snap and a swallow, gathering his wits and trying to ignore the flame that had sparked in his belly while she walked toward him. Was she evenwalkingin slow motion?

She was a poem, but one he wasn’t sure he possessed the skills to condense into words. The only one that came to mind wassplendid. And he was definitely going to kill Tino for subjecting him to this sudden riot of confusing, unfamiliar responses.

“Hi. I’m Daniela,” she said when she reached the table. Even her voice was a rhythm, wry and smoky, from a mouth tilted at its corner. The instant, unreasonable desire to kiss that mouth, taste that humor, had to be suppressed.

“I’m Nico. Hi.”

Awkward silence stretched as they stared at each other. From this angle, her breasts were at eye level, ripe and round under the stretchy fabric of that sunburst of a shirt. The slightest hint of nipple showed through, and immediately, his mind started spinning little pornographic movies. Pulling that shirt down, finding that nipple, and making it spring to life under his tongue. He tore his eyes away, only to turn his helpless gaze to her hips, also round, also ripe, like the generous ass that filled out her jeans. Good hips he could hold on to for a good pounding.

Her arms, the skin of her face, and down the long line of her throat to her collarbones were warm walnut kissed with coppery red undertones. A hint of something sweet and buttery hit his nose, along with a tease of lavender. He’d bury himself in her neck and inhale that scent and be completely fulfilled, even if that’s all he ever did to her.

Okay, this was dumb. Nico needed to explain what had happened, apologize for the mistake, and go before he said something ridiculous. Like tell her she was lovely, and he would very much like to take her to Italy, even farther, to the moon and back.

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