Page 38 of Replay
“Gira means stir,” Santino’s warm breath whispers against my neck as he appears out of nowhere behind me.
“I figured that one out,” I huff back, waffling between amused and nervous because Santino’s proximity has sent flutters in places I should not be feeling flutters right now. “Am I doing this right?”
Santino moves to lean on the counter next to me, watching me for a long moment. “You need to use more chest.”
“What?” I frown up at him, trying not to get mesmerised by his disheveled appearance that I’ve quickly realised is my favourite look on him. His dress shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing his muscular forearms that I noticed when we had coffee the other morning. His dark hair is soft and wavy off to the side, and his eyes are practically glittering with mirth.
“Your chest swivels, and your stirring matches it.” He holds his hands up, pretending to hold a wooden stick to demonstrate.
I attempt the motion myself and feel ridiculous. “You’ve got to be taking the piss.” I narrow my challenging eyes at him.
The corners of his mouth turn down as his shoulders shake with laughter. “God, yes, but it was worth it to see you attempt that.”
“I’m being serious, though. Do you actually know what you’re doing with this? I am not a cook. I’ve somehow survived my entire adult life on takeaway.”
“You can’t come from an Italian family and not know your way around the kitchen. They disown you for that.” He crosses his arms over his chest and eyes me thoughtfully. “Sorry, but I’m still trying to comprehend the fact that you’re here…in my flat…in front of my stove, making sauce with my family.”
“I’m trying to comprehend the fact that you have a basil plant out there.” I gesture towards the balcony. “This really is your flat, right? Does your mum live here, too?”
“I’m a grown man, Tilly. No, I do not live with my mother.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I have a parsley plant out there too if you’re truly that fascinated by green things.”
“God, this is strange.” I bite my lip nervously and glance down at my torn jeans and white tee. I’d have certainly worn something a bit more respectable had I known I was meeting Santino’s family. I turn my focus back to my task and drag the wooden stick along the bottom of the pot. “I can make up some excuse to leave. I just couldn’t think fast enough when your mum grabbed me. This is most definitely not what I intended today.”
Santino’s eyes move up and down my body with a heated look in his expression that I really don’t want to notice right now. “What did you intend exactly?” He hits me with a direct gaze that feels as though he can read all the inappropriate thoughts I’ve been having about him the past few days.
I peer over my shoulder to see his family all working around the table and thankfully not paying any attention to us. While stirring, I reply quietly, “Well, I felt bad after our meeting Friday. You did a lot to help me out, and I don’t know why I blew you off like that.”
“You don’t know why?” Narrowing his eyes, he watches me carefully.
“I mean…I know why.” I inhale deeply, trying to force away the desire I feel every time this man is around me. I clear my throat and add, “But it doesn’t matter because I know nothing will happen between us.”
He pushes himself off the counter to join me by the stove and stir the second pot. It’s an innocent enough motion, but his arm brushes against mine, and the sensation causes those flutters to rush through my belly again. “Are you sure nothing will happen?”
I swallow the knot in my throat and feign bravado. “Yes, I’m strong enough to resist your charms, or I wouldn’t be here right now.”
He turns to look at me, a smug grin spreading over his roguish face. “You think I’m charming?”
A growl vibrates in my throat. “Idon’t think you’re charming. It’s clear thatyouthink you’re charming. But I think you’re just an arrogant pain in the arse.”
He laughs softly, and his voice is warm and wicked when he replies, “I think you’re merely stirring the pot, Tilly.”
When my family showed up at my flat today with crates of tomatoes, jars, and salsa di Pomodoro supplies, I was in a sour mood. It doesn’t help that every time Nonna walks in my flat, she tells me everything that is on her mind, good, bad, or otherwise…mostly bad.
“Your pants are too tight, this salad is too salty, you need more sunlight on your face, a white sofa is not a smart purchase. Good windows here.”
It’s a treat.
However, I always know where I stand with Nonna, so that’s something to be respected.
Then my mother snapped at me for cutting the tomatoes wrong while Angela did nothing but moan about the fact that her boyfriend wasn’t invited to help out today. And Bart, bloody hell, my stepfather is a kind man, but he does more eating than working, and it drives me absolutely mental to watch him riffle through my pantry like he owns it.
Nevertheless, this is my family. This is what they do. They show up a few times a year on Sundays to stock my shelves with whatever essentials they think I need. In today’s case, it’s sauce. So, we work for several hours, eat, and they leave me with a giant mess to clean up.
Normally, it’s a process I enjoy. Nonna and Mum taught me how to cook at a very young age, so being in the kitchen is never a bother.
However, today, I was not in the mood to deal with everyone. I just wanted a quiet day alone to brood with my thoughts.
Then…Tilly showed up.
