Page 67 of The One
We’re having a proper dinner? Together?
My heart leaps at the thought, excitement buzzing through my veins. Now that I’ve told him about my father’s meddling, the awkwardness between us seems gone, replaced with a natural easiness.
I watch as Mateo strides across the park toward a small food stand. From here, I can’t tell what they’re selling, but my stomach growls louder.
A few minutes later, he’s back, holding a small white box and something wrapped in parchment.
He slides into the driver’s seat and opens the box.
“Cannoli,” I say, my mouth watering.
“They only had sweet stuff at that stand. We’ll get something proper soon,” he says, almost apologetically.
“This is perfect.” I grab his forearm and give it a squeeze, letting him know just how much I appreciate it. “I’ve never had one before.”
Mateo’s brows arch, his smile turning playful. “You’ve never had a cannoli?”
I shake my head, suddenly a little self-conscious. “Nope.”
“Well, that’s about to change,” he says, handing me the box.
I take one, but hesitate, eyeing the creamy, powdered pastry. “Umm, these look kind of… messy.”
Mateo smirks. “Yeah, they can be. Why? You afraid of making a mess?”
I glance around the spotless interior of his car. “Honestly? A little. I don’t want your black leather seats looking like they’ve been caught in a snowstorm.”
He chuckles, his gaze dropping to the pastry in my hands. “Fair point.”
I offer a sheepish smile. “Maybe we should eat these outside? You know, just to be safe.”
Mateo grins and pops open his door. “Good call. Stay put.”
He gets out and rounds the car, opening my door like a gentleman. Naturally, the gesture makes me blush. He’s so thoughtful, and I’m not used to that kind of care.
We head over to the grassy area under the trees. Sitting down, I carefully lift the cannoli again, savoring the crunch of the pastry as I take my first bite. The creamy filling bursts with sweetness, and I let out an involuntary hum of approval as pastry flakes fall onto my dress.
Mateo watches me, amusement and something I can’t quite name in his eyes. “And?”
I laugh happily and lick a bit of cream from my thumb. His eyes follow my tongue, turning darker by the second.
My stomach somersaults and I have to clear my throat before I can answer.
“So so good.” And I’m totally referring to the cannoli and not Mateo’s reaction, or am I?
“Would you like one too?” I ask, lifting the box toward him, but he shakes his head.
“No, thank you. I’ve got this.” He lifts the parchment bag that’s been sitting between us on the grass with a grin. “I couldn’t resist grabbing these.Sfogliatelle, my favorite. Ever hadthosebefore?” he asks, playfully drawing out the word ‘those’.
I peek into the bag, eyeing the golden, shell-shaped pastries. “Nope. Father doesn’t let us have sweets. He doesn’t want us to ruin our figures. The only dessert he ever allows is tiramisu because it’s his favorite.”
Mateo frowns slightly. “And you don’t like tiramisu?”
I shrug, feeling a bit awkward. “Not really. Probably because it’s what Father enjoys.”
He pulls twosfogliatelleout of the bag, and, leaning closer, hands me one. Our fingers brush, and a warm tingling spreads up my arm.
The soft touch seems to linger, the air between us getting charged.
