Page 18 of Unrelenting
Although we didn’t have sex, he said he wanted to feel my skin against his. I can’t deny it was comforting. I haven’t slept so well in a long time.
The aroma of coffee hits me about halfway along the corridor.
When I get to the kitchen, I find Lorenzo there. Fully dressed, he even has his jacket on.
Spotting the brown paper bags and coffee cups on the countertop, I realize he’s been out.
He hasn’t seen me yet, so I lean against the doorframe and watch as he pours the coffee from the takeout cups into a couple of my earthenware mugs.
Then he puts the pastries on a plate and tosses away the bags they came in.
“You’re not going to pass this off as your own creation, I hope.” I step into the kitchen.
Lorenzo looks up and grins. “Just the coffee.”
“Why?” I cross the room and take a seat at the breakfast bar. My apartment is small, but it has an enormous kitchen. I can live without a large bathroom or a walk-in closet, but when it came to buying an apartment, I had to have a fully equipped kitchen. “I have plenty of coffee.”
Something that might be embarrassment forms on Lorenzo’s face. “I can’t make coffee.”
“You’re kidding!” I don’t mean to come across as judgmental, but I do.
“I can cook. I can bake bread.” Lorenzo shrugs. “For some reason, I’ve never managed a decent cup of coffee. Even with the Keurig, I manage to fuck it up.”
“You need to surrender your Italian citizenship immediately.” I pick up the cup he slides across to me, and take a sip of the coffee. It’s scalding hot and rich with a bitter aftertaste, just how I like it. I’d usually have a cappuccino for breakfast, but this is better. It wakes me up. “I’m not sure I can associate with a man who can’t make coffee.”
“It’s the least of my flaws, believe me.”
“I’m not sure I want to know about your other flaws.” I take one of the apricot pastries from the plate. “You went to Pino’s for these?”
There’s a bakery at the end of my street that does perfectly acceptable pastries, but it’s worth walking the extra three minutes to my friend Pino’s place. He bakes all the bread for Gianetta’s and is arguably the finest baker in Italy.
“Of course. Only the best for my woman.”
I bristle at his referring to me that way, but I don’t say anything.
Instead, I eat the pasty while Lorenzo retrieves his phone from his pocket to check an incoming message.”
“You have a busy day ahead?” I ask.
Lorenzo nods. “There’s a deal I need to close. The seller is being…..” He searches for the right word. “Obstinate.”
“What will you do?”
“Change his mind.”
“You think you can? You didn’t change mine.”
“I didn’t use my usual tactics with you.”
Though I’m not sure I want details, I can’t help asking. “What tactics?”
Lorenzo shakes his head. “You do not want to know.” He sweeps a strand of his messy brown hair back from his face. “It’s best if you don’t ask about what I do.”
Studying him carefully, I take another bite of my pastry. “You know, it limits the scope for conversation if I can’t ask about your business.”
He shrugs. “We can talk about your day.” He sets his phone down and leans forward, resting his arms on the counter between us. “What has mygattinagot planned?”
“Well, I’m going to do a little shopping. You wouldn’t believe how many pairs of sneakers I go through.”
