As the child skipped into the crowd, Matteo took both of Danielle’s hands. His gaze traveled over her body, leaving her slightly dizzy. If he was gorgeous yesterday in his black T-shirt, jeans, and apron, tonight he was simply spectacular in slim charcoal trousers, shiny loafers, and a crisp white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to display strong forearms dusted with dark hair. His top two buttons were open, revealing a small silver medal against tan skin. Her fingertips itched to unbutton the next button, and the next.
His gaze met hers and held, his lips curving in a subtle, private smile. “Sophia’s right. You’re very pretty, Danielle.” He pronounced her name with a panty-melting Italian accent, like some delicious dish.
Mayday!She sucked in a ragged breath and slid her hands from his soft grip. “Thanks. You’re looking very dapper too.”
She gave herself a mental smack. Dapper? What a dorky thing to say.
But Matteo’s smoldering expression didn’t falter. He moved closer, close enough to smell his subtle scent of sandalwood and sea air. Close enough to feel his breath tickling her ear as he whispered, “You’re just in time. The nonnas were closing in.”
Deep inside her chest, something fizzled like a snuffed candle. She’d misread the flicker in his dark eyes. He’d only asked her out as a shield against matchmaking matriarchs. For a split second, she considered excusing herself, claiming an upset stomach—not much of a stretch when faced with making a fool of herself over a younger man.
Then a skinny teen deposited a basket of steaming garlic bread on their table. Its tempting, yeasty aroma drew a rumble from Danielle’s middle and triggered the memory of Cari’s wise advice: “Promise me you’ll have fun tonight.” She couldn’t break a promise to a friend. Besides, these two charming gents were counting on her.
Placing a hand on Matteo’s firm shoulder, she rose on tiptoe and whispered, “You can count on me, bello.”
“Mille grazie.” He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “Now, let’s eat before all the best dishes are gone.”
Flushed and flustered, she followed him to the buffet line and filled her plate with pasta, plus antipasti of marinated mushrooms, grilled vegetables, olives, cheese cubes, and paper-thin salami and prosciutto, along with peppery rucola salad and spinach-and-ricotta stuffed turkey involtini. Good thing her new skirt had a drawstring waist.
Back at the table, Salvatore filled her tumbler to the rim with red wine. “Local family makes this up near Westport. It’s not Chianti classico, but it’s not bad.”
She sipped. “Not bad” was a huge understatement. Bold and complex, perfumed with berries and earth, the wine offered a perfect complement to the rich dishes before her. She’d tried most of the restaurants in Trappers Cove, but nothing came close to this feast. Their tablemates, two middle-aged couples and a retired fire chief, entertained them with town gossip and good-natured ribbing. Salvatore joined in, pointing his fork at the people being discussed. Matteo kept quiet, focused on the heap of food before him, but from time to time he nudged Danielle’s leg and waggled his eyebrows, as if to say, “Isn’t this delicious?”
After the chief’s story about rescuing a cantankerous pet monkey from the church steeple, Matteo’s hand closed softly over hers. “Seconds, bella?”
She blinked at her empty plate. Distracted by the genial company and Matteo’s husky laughter, she’d hoovered down enough food for two dinners, maybe three. “Thanks, but no. If I eat any more, you’ll have to roll me home.”
The woman across from her asked, “So, Danielle, you Italian?”
“Partly. My grandfather’s family came from Genoa. Dante Delfino was his name.”
“Meraviglioso.” The woman’s husband pinched his wife’s plump cheek. “See, Rosa? Matteo’s found himself a nice Italian girl without your help.”
Rosa gave her husband a shove, but the smile she gave Danielle glowed with genuine warmth.
Beneath the table, Matteo squeezed her knee, igniting sparks of pleasure that zinged up her leg. Why not play along? Just for tonight, she’d help her new friend by letting these matchmakers think they were a couple.
Rosa asked, “What do you do in Tacoma?”
“I’m a speech therapist for the school district.”
Matteo leaned in, eyes alight with sincere interest. Or was he just that good at flattery and flirtation? “So, you help kids with lisps and stutters?”
She nodded. “Some of my students have difficulty with certain sounds, like L or R or TH. Others have speech delays or learning problems that affect their oral communication.”
“Big kids or little?” Salvatore asked.
“Mostly little. With early intervention, they can make big improvements.” She tapped her sternum. “Like me. When I was little, I couldn’t say my S’s. Other kids made fun of me.”
Further explanation was interrupted when a tall, bony-faced gentleman stepped up to the podium to thank the chefs. A tiny, beaming nonna accepted a lavish bouquet for organizing the meal. She angled the mic down and rattled off a long list of names. “And thanks to Matteo, our muscle man, for carrying all the heavy stuff.” She blew him a kiss, which he caught in his palm and pressed to his heart.
Danielle stifled a moan over his sheer adorableness. Though tonight didn’t really count as a date, sharing this amazing feast with Matteo would definitely be the highlight of her solo beach trip.
“Before we start dessert,” the MC continued, “you got ten more minutes to buy your raffle tickets. Remember, all proceeds go to the scholarship fund, so dig deep.”
Salvatore pointed to a long table at the back of the stage. “Go take a look, you two. It’s for a good cause.”
Huh. Did her old friend have matchmaking inclinations too? People rose to stretch, and several moved toward the display of raffle prizes. Danielle slid through the crowd on Matteo’s arm, their passage marked by whispers and pointing fingers.
