The table has turned rowdy and loud, but that’s fine with me. No one is asking me any more questions, instead focusing on Benito’s restaurant, Vito’s job at the fire station, and the latest drama at the animal shelter where Lucia volunteers.

  When Gracie gets up to start clearing her plate, I jump up to help, but she stops me with a hand. “Please,” she says. “You’re our guest.” She takes my plate from me, and as I sit back down, I feel it.

  I feel him.

  Franco’s eyes are following my every move. I swallow back my nerves as a little zing of electricity brings my body to life.

  My belly is warm and full, but there’s a different kind of pleasure when I feel Franco’s eyes on me. He looks away when my eyes meet his, and I wipe my clammy hands on my thighs.

  The meal was delicious, and the company—once they stopped talking about me—was a little overwhelming, but honestly so much fun.

  During dessert, Vito excuses himself to bed. He apologizes that he’s got to sleep at odd times due to his shifts at the firehouse, and after kisses to his parents and a sleepy nod at me, he’s gone.

  Even with one fewer Bianchi at the table, the conversation is no less animated. I listen in and savor the gooey, buttery cake that pairs perfectly with the strong coffee.

  As he’s shoveling the last bite of cake into his mouth, Benito slaps a hand on the table and leans over to kiss his mother. “Dinner was amazing. Love you all. Got to run. Got to get back to work.”

  He doesn’t bother to clear his plate, and Franco and Grace both sigh and roll their eyes.

  Mario gets up to give his son a hug, and Benito waves at me. “Nice to meet you, Chloe,” he says. “I’ll treat you to some real Italian cooking if you come down to my restaurant.”

  That elicits an outburst of good-natured insults from the family, and in a flash, Benny is out the door.

  Franco jumps up and clears his brother’s plate.

  I get up to do the same, but again, Grace stops me. “Sit,” she says, waving a hand at me. “Relax.”

  I’m pretty sure if I stay any longer, avoiding Franco’s eyes like they are lasers waiting to cut into my soul, I won’t be able to relax for days.

  I’m ready. It’s more than past time to go.

  “I’d better head home,” I say. “I walked, and it’s getting pretty late.”

  Turns out that is the absolute wrong thing to say.

  “You what?” Lucia is abuzz with nervous energy, her pretty face pulled into a strained scowl. “What’s wrong with your car? You have a car, don’t you, honey? What happened to that little sedan you were driving?”

  I shrug. “It’s fine. I just… It was a beautiful day, and I thought I’d walk.”

  That’s not true, of course. But the last thing I want to get into is the fact that I’m so broke I don’t even have gas money at the moment. I mean, I did… I just chose to put the little money I did have into other things. There’s no point in these people getting all worried or worked up about my choices.

  Mario shakes his head. “No, no, that’s no good. Where do you live? I’ll take you home.”

  That starts the fight of the century—or at least it sounds like it.

  Lucia is giving him the area I live in and exclaiming that I must have walked three miles to get here.

  Mario pushes back from the table and tugs his glasses over his eyes while he punches my address into his phone. “Is that it? I’ve been meaning to try this new map app my kids put on my phone. I used it the other day to drive into Cleveland. Worked pretty good.”

  I bite back a smile and hold up my hands. “Please,” I say. “It’s okay. I’ve eaten enough to fuel me for a marathon. I’ll be just fine.”

  “Oh no, you won’t.” Lucia is acting like I’ve suggested I swim across Lake Erie nude in January. “And Mario, you’ve had two glasses of wine. You’re not driving anybody anywhere.” I follow her finger with my eyes as she points at her son. “Franco, you’re driving home anyway. You can take Chloe home on the way.”

  “Oh no, I… It’s okay. I…” The words die on my lips as I meet Franco’s stony stare.

  He looks annoyed, exhausted, and like he fully expected me to pull a trick like this. He probably thinks his mother and I schemed this up just as a way to get the two of us alone.

  All of a sudden, all the food in my stomach isn’t sitting so well. “Really, I don’t want to be any trouble.” I push back from my chair and head to Lucia. The last thing I want is to ruffle anyone’s feathers. Especially her son’s. “The meal was amazing,” I tell her, tentatively opening my arms for a hug.

  Lucia pulls me close and holds me tight. “You’re never alone, you hear me?” she asked. “You have family here, Chloe.” She kisses my cheek and releases me, shouting for her husband to hurry up and make me a plate of leftovers.

  “Oh no, I…”

  “It’s pointless.” Franco’s grumpy rasp sends chills along my arms. Even under my thick cardigan, I can feel every inch of my skin pebble as though a cool breeze is blowing right through every layer I have on.

  I turn slowly and face his searing gaze. “I’m sorry? I…”

  He holds up a hand. “You’re not going to win this one. Ma will have visions of you dying by serial killer all night, so you’re not going to walk home. And Dad won’t stop complaining that you didn’t like his cooking if you don’t take a plate.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You may as well get your boots on. As soon as your leftovers are ready, I’ll drive you.”

  He stalks up to the front door, where his boots are waiting beside mine. I keep my eyes on the floor as he walks past, hoping he won’t see I’m embarrassed by every bad choice I’ve made that’s led me to this moment. The outfit I wore, the boots, walking here. I’ve never felt more wrong or unsettled within myself.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and lean against the wall with my back to him as I slip on my boots.

  I’ll be home soon. Done with this night that I can file away as a wonderful memory of something I never have to go through again.

  Once my feet are securely in my boots, I look back over the Bianchi home.

  Gracie and Lucia have cleared almost all the dishes, and Mario is coming from the kitchen with a heck of a lot more than a plate. He’s packed up a travel bag of some kind. He’s easily got several pounds of food in there by the size of it.

  “Pops, she’s one person.” Franco reaches his hand to take the handle of the travel container.

  Mario lifts a shoulder. “And now she won’t have to cook for herself for a while.”

  “That’s too much,” I say, shaking my head. “Too generous.”

  Mario waves me off with a hand. “Come anytime, sweetheart.” He gives me a grin and then turns to his son. “Get her home safe, and then yourself.” He claps Franco on the shoulder, and Franco gives his dad a kiss on the cheek.

  “Thanks for dinner, Pops. Love you. Love you, Ma. I’m leaving!” Franco bellows through the house, and I hear Gracie come padding into the hallway.

  “She’s up to her elbows in soap suds. She says bye and she loves you.” Gracie kisses her brother’s cheek, then smacks him hard on the back. “Don’t be a dick,” she says, and Franco glares.

  “Bye, sweetie,” Gracie says to me. “I’ll probably see you Tuesday for coffee.” She leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek, and I’m so stunned you could probably knock me over with a feather.

  I nod and say nothing, just look back at the dogs on the couch, the table that’s almost completely clear of dishes, and I can hear the sounds of water running far off in the kitchen.

  I was so anxious to get home, but now that it’s time to leave, a part of me feels rooted to the floor.

  This is a home.

  A real family.

  So unlike anything I’ve ever had, and while it was a lot at first, I’m already sort of adjusting to it.

  But then Franco clears his throat and opens the front door.

  “Did you bring your bike?” Mario asks, peering past him toward the street.

  “Nah,” Franco says. “Drove the truck. We’ll be fine.” He lifts a thick brow at me. “You ready?”

  And even though I’m not at all sure that I am, I nod and follow Franco and ten thousand pounds of leftovers out into the night.

  The drive is only three miles, but somehow walking it seemed to feel faster than riding beside Franco.

  He hasn’t said a word since we got inside, other than to ask for my address. He opens his window and then mine just a crack. He leans his elbow out the window, resting it on the door, and drives with one hand. He seems completely at ease with the silence.

  For the first few minutes, I am too, but then it just gets weird.

  “So, Franco.” I force myself to say his name. It feels dangerous and delicious on my lips, and I shake my head to clear away the idiotic thoughts. “Are you a reader?” I ask.

  “What?” His question is sharp-edged and defensive.

  “Read?” I press. “You know, I own a bookstore now. I was just curious if you, you know…read.”

  I watch him out of the corner of my eye and see his shoulders relax just a little. “Oh,” he says. “Nah. I’m not much for books.”

  “Ouch,” I say, clutching my heart. “I think that brings me actual physical pain.”

  “Could be heartburn from the coffee and sauce,” he says, and something in his voice is a tiny bit lighter.

  Is he teasing me?

  I let myself relax into a full smile. “No, no, I’m pretty sure what I feel is my little bookselling heart breaking. Have you always been that way? Or did you just kind of stop reading after you got out of school?”

  He flicks a quick glance at me. “That way?” he echoes. “You make it sound like I’m defective.”

  Oh boy.

  The momentary lightness between has just been obliterated.

  Nice one, Chloe.

  I slide my hands back into the sleeves of my sweater and wrap my wool-covered fists together. “That came out wrong. Sorry,” I say quietly. “Just trying to make conversation. But we don’t have to talk. I appreciate your being willing to give me a ride.”

  I lean a little closer to the passenger side window and stare out into the town that rolls past. I notice plenty of trees in Star Falls, lovely houses, and well-tended lawns. I entertain myself by counting the number of pickup trucks we pass.

  I’ve just counted five when Franco blurts out, “So what’s the real reason you walked? Something wrong with your car?”

  I definitely can’t tell him the truth, but I also don’t want him to look at it and realize I’m just about out of gas. He’ll either think I’m really stupid, or he’ll think I’m pathetic.

  “It was stupid of me. I should have driven. I thought the walk would be nice.” I’m staring out the window, watching the blocks pass, wishing the longest car ride I’ve ever been on was almost over.

  With every breath I take, the truck seems to be warmer, and a mouth-watering fragrance that has to be Franco competes with the food. A light hint of smoke and oil and…I don’t know what it is, but it smells like warm leather and sunshine.

  I wish I could lean into his neck and take a deep breath, and yes, that officially makes me creepy.

  I can’t help it.

  He’s the kind of man that any woman would want to lean into and smell.

  “I don’t have anything against books,” he says, returning to our previous conversation, thankfully unaware of the deep breaths I’m taking as I pull in his scent. “I do read. I shouldn’t have said that before. I mostly read nonfiction and shit online. That’s what I meant.”

  A bloom of heat unfurls in my chest. He’s trying to be kind. He’s trying to open up a little. I won’t read more into it than it means. I’m just super happy that the weird, awkward bubble stealing all the air between us seems to have popped.

  “Awesome,” I say, a little too brightly. “I wasn’t judging you.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he says, his voice a sultry purr. “You just about had a full-on heartbreak when I said I didn’t read. I think you were judging me.” But this time, there’s nothing defensive or guarded in his words.

  I lean back against the seat and smile. “Hmmm, true. I was judging you harshly. In fact, I was secretly planning to pull my aunt’s chicken-and-bacon grilled cheese from the café menu just to punish you.”

  He chuckles a bit and turns on the blinker as he slows to a stop in front of my building. “This you?” he asks.

  “Yep.” I unfasten my seat belt and pull on the door handle. I open the door just a crack, but I don’t step out just yet.

  The silence is back between us, the air in the truck thick with tension. I feel like I can’t leave without saying something, without addressing it somehow. It’s not my fault his mother wants to set us up any more than it is his. And I just don’t think I can be friends with Lucia if Franco is constantly…mad like this. Or whatever this is.

  “Franco,” I say.

  He doesn’t face me but stares straight ahead. “You’re welcome. Have a good night.”

  He’s not even going to look at me. In his mind, he’s already left, maybe planning wherever he’s off to next.

  A woman’s place, maybe? Yeah. He’s probably got a lot better places to be than with me.

  But something inside me doesn’t want to be ignored. Dismissed. I pull the door closed and turn fully in my seat to face him.

  “Thanks for this.” I rest my hand lightly on his arm.

  He tenses under my touch and turns toward me.

  The engine is idling, and we’re parked just below a streetlamp.

  He is bathed in artificial light, making shadows fall over the sharp planes of his face. His eyes, even in the darkness, are intense as he just watches me. Waits.

  I yank my hand back as if he’s burned me, but I don’t look away. Something about him makes me want to be bolder. Stronger. I want him to see me. Who I really am, not the needy wannabe date that his mom’s made me out to be.

  “I just want you to know that I’m not in on whatever plan or scheme your mom has going on. I don’t want her to set me up with you. I mean, I had no idea that was on her mind. I just… I mean… You’re… You know…” All of a sudden, this definitely feels like high school. I have no clue what to say, and yet words keep coming, spilling past my lips and fighting one another as they come out.

  Franco is looking at me with a combination of confusion and something else… Amusement, maybe? I don’t like it, and I can already feel the flush burning its way up my chest and leaving a feverish heat in my cheeks.

  “I’m what?” he asks quietly.

  “Excuse me?” I’m blinking and leaning away from him, but he’s leaning toward me. The beam of ugly light from the streetlamp falls over his features as he looks at me.

  Really looks at me.

  Suddenly, I’m speechless. My body feels warm; my hands shake. With every breath, I smell leather and smoke and pasta sauce, and the truck cab feels suddenly way too small to contain the energy, the whatever this is that I’m feeling. I’m quiet as I fumble behind me for the door handle.

  “You said that I’m something, but you didn’t finish. So, what is it? What am I?” He shocks the heck out of me by reaching forward and tipping my chin up with two fingers.

  His skin is hot and surprisingly rough and soft at the same time, and a bolt of electricity shoots through my limbs. I gasp a little, deep in my throat, and lick my dry lips.

  Franco drops his hand and glares again, and I shake the moment off. Whatever that was, that chin-touch thing…it felt good. Too good. Like, I’m hot between my legs, and I’m going to ride my vibrator tonight thinking about those long, strong fingers. His intense blue eyes.

  The stubble on his chin rough against my…

  Oh hell.

  The fact that I’m in a enclosed space with this man thinking about getting myself off to his fingers…

  This night has officially gotten out of control.

  “I’m going to go in,” I blurt out in a rush. “I just wanted to clear the air.” I scramble toward the door and practically fall onto the sidewalk.

  I smooth down my sweater, trying to fix how I look on the outside in case I look as jumbled up and wild as I feel inside. I fumble for my keys, keeping my chin down.

  No matter what, I’m not looking back.

  He waits there, idling, until my trembling fingers unlock the dead bolt and the doorknob—two separate locks, and even with just one key, it feels like so many extra steps—and then I open the front door.

  I flip on the hall light so he can see I made it inside and there are no killers waiting in the shadows. Once I’m inside, I lock the knob and dead bolt behind me, and then finally the headlights of his truck pull a U-turn in the street, and he drives back in the direction we came.

  My heart is beating way too fast, and I’ve broken into a light sweat. I kick off my boots and head straight for the bathroom.

  “That’s it,” I say. I knot my hair in a bun on the top of my head and dig in the bathroom vanity for my vibrator.

  But then I shake my head and put the plastic toy back under the sink.

  A bath and a steamy book are the only cure for these feelings.

  Because for better or worse, I’ve got a pickup truck-sized crush on Franco.

  5

  Franco

  “You going to Latterature for some food?” When my buddy Jack shouts over the music, my heart stops for a second, like I’ve been caught stealing.

  Which I kind of was.

  I still haven’t found the damn purchase order Jack lost last week, but instead of digging through yet more piles of paperwork, I’d been staring off into space. Lost in a filthy fantasy about the owner of Latterature.

  Ever since last night when I spent, what, ten minutes alone in my truck with the woman, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.

  She’s nothing, and I mean nothing, like the women I usually go for. And that might be what had me fisting myself in the shower this morning.

  “What?” I growl, half pissed that I’ve been interrupted, half embarrassed.