Her common sense made a last, futile stand. “Matteo, I’m old enough to be your—”
“No.” He squeezed her hand. “You’re not. Though you are old enough to be my sexy babysitter.” His chuckle rumbled deep in his throat. “Every guy’s fantasy.”
She spluttered a laugh, and he joined in. “Last night, you helped me by pretending to be my date. That was a sweet, generous thing to do. But I’m not pretending today, Danielle.” He released her. “What do you say? Lunch tomorrow if I promise to keep my hands to myself?”
Swallowing hard, she nodded, even though she’d much rather have his hands all over her. And she suspected that’s exactly where they’d be tomorrow night.
“Great.” A wide grin lit his face. “I’ll meet you at noon.” He pecked her lips, then turned and jogged toward town, leaving her to stumble back to her cottage, her heart tripping like a sprinter’s.
Inside, she collapsed onto a wicker chair by the front window and grinned into the distance, slowly shaking her head. She reached for her phone to share the news with her book club friends, then paused, finger poised over the screen.
Soon, she’d share the happy news. Cari, Laurie, and Marie would applaud her audacity. But for now, she’d keep this sweet surprise to herself, polishing it like a secret jewel, something to keep her warm in colder days to come.
Chapter Six
Tuesday, June 25th
WhenMatteoknockedpromptlyat noon, Danielle squeaked like a cat toy, gulped a deep breath, and quick-stepped to the door. There he stood, leaning on the frame, a knowing smile on his handsome face. Such a sexy, relaxed pose. Did he rehearse in front of a mirror?
“Hi.” She pecked his cheek. “Come in.”
He set his backpack on the table by the door. “I like what Mary’s done with the place.” He gazed around at the cushy couch and white canvas armchairs, the bright pillows embroidered with sea creatures, the porthole mirror above the brick fireplace, and the nautical knickknacks.
“You know the landlady?” she asked.
“Limoncello gelato in a sugar cone and espresso doppio.” He grinned. “I doubt there’s a full-time resident Sal hasn’t introduced me to. Hey.” He stepped around the counter into the kitchen. “That table’s one of mine.”
“Really? I love this piece.” She trailed her fingertips over the tabletop’s little blue and green tiles scattered with gold like glints of sunlight on water.
“This started as doors from an old dining room hutch.” He stroked the blue-tinted wood as if caressing a lover. “Picked up the tiles from an art shop going out of business. Serendipity, eh?”
She nodded. “It’s gorgeous.” Like its creator, the table had a beautiful surface and surprising depth. Original too. An idea snapped into place. “That’s what you should call your shop.”
“Pardon?”
“Serendipity. Perfect name for what you do.” She flushed, aware he could take that in more than one way. “With old furniture, I mean.”
He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever get a shop of my own. For now, I’m doing fine with word of mouth.” His brows drew together as he patted the tabletop. “Not looking to set the world on fire. I just want to make good quality pieces.”
Oh, crap. Did he think she was criticizing him? She brushed the awkward moment aside by fluffing the full skirt of her navy sundress. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”
When he faced her again, the scowl was gone, replaced by a crooked grin. “You look gorgeous. As long as you can climb over rocks in that, you’re golden.” He gestured toward the backpack. “Gourmet picnic for two. Better than braving the mob on Main Street.”
“Not a fan of the tourist hordes?”
He shrugged. “Can’t blame people for loving the beach. But I’d rather focus on you without shouting over the noise, you know?”
She ducked her head to hide her flushed cheeks. “Give me two secs to pack a few things.” Back in the bedroom, she slid into sturdy Keds, rubbed sunscreen on her shoulders and across her nose, then packed her bag with a ball cap from her daughter’s soccer team, a towel, tissues, a phone charger, a few Band-aids and antiseptic wipes…
“God, I’m such a mom.” Too bad she hadn’t packed condoms and lube for this trip, but honestly, the thought had never occurred to her.
Once again, they strolled toward the beach. The sun burned brighter today, and the wind had calmed to a soft breeze that lifted her hair and cooled her damp nape. Matteo kicked off his Vans and led her across the pebble-strewn sand, past lounging families, giggling kids, and dogs chasing sticks and frisbees, until they reached the water’s edge, where he paused, his dark gaze trained on the horizon.
“I never get tired of this,” he murmured. “Il mare. My ancestors have always lived near the sea. Fishermen, boatbuilders, traders—the tides run in our blood.” Stepping behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her breathing slowed, soothed by the waves’ whispered rhythm. Cool breeze at her front, warm man at her back, perfectly at peace.
His grip tightened. “How can it be, bella mia, that I never met you before? Every summer, I was here, and you were here. We must’ve passed on the street dozens of times.”
That very question had danced in her head as she lay in bed last night, basking in the afterglow of Matteo’s kiss. How could she have missed him—in the gelato shop, on the beach, in the stores on Main Street? Just an accident of time, a corner turned two steps ahead of him, a child’s distracting cry, a husband’s grumpy complaint.
