CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rosie
“Alessandro’s?” I asked when Lucas came to a stop in front of the pizzeria right around the corner from Lina’s building.
Just like he had done with our first experimental date, Lucas had sprung this one on me, too. He’d texted me earlier today to be ready by 9:00 p.m. “Spanish dinnertime,” as he had called it. Expecting him to take me out to a restaurant, I’d dressed up. I was wearing a midi pencil skirt, a light sweater tucked at the front, and my black leather boots.
But we were here. At Alessandro’s.
Lucas had ushered me across the street and now we were standing in front of the one place in New York City whose menu I could recite by heart.
And it was… closed. Even the metallic blinds were down.
I frowned. “Are you sure this is where we’re going?”
Lucas peered at me over his shoulder. “Yep.”
Okay.
“But before we go in,” he said, pulling a key out of the pocket of his bomber jacket, “I want to make sure I got everything right.”
I knew he didn’t need to do that because he’d gotten it just right. He seemed to get everything right.
“Phase two,” he said, reciting the plan I’d come up with. “The second date. While usually underrated, the second date is where curiosity turns into interest. You explore the spark you’ve felt on the first date.”
The spark.
I averted my gaze as heat climbed up my neck. I had some nerve talking about curiosity, interest, or sparks when I was starting to feel far more than just that. If Lucas and I—our experiment—was a romance book, I’d be pages beyond this phase. And that had slowly started showing in my writing sessions. My head hadn’t been as empty and my chest hadn’t felt as stiff, suffocated by all the pressure that had been pushing everything down, and instead of worrying about my running out of time and possibly becoming a failure, I’d found myself daydreaming about Lucas, transforming those thoughts into words on the page. The truth was, however, that time was still ticking, Lucas would leave in three weeks, I had five until my deadline, and I still was a long way from having something—anything—I could send to my editor.
Lucas’s fingers came to my chin, and he tipped my face to the side and up. He met my gaze.
“No take-backs, Rosie.” His expression was one of no nonsense. “Do you still want to do this?”
There wasn’t much to think of, not when he was looking at me like that. All sharp determination in his gaze. “Yes.”
That slow grin broke free, making me a little weak in the knees. Inevitably, I matched him with one of my own. “There it is,” he said, his fingers still on my chin and his eyes dipping down to my lips. “Deslumbrante. Como el mismo sol.”
And my heart started strumming like it was playing a goddamn set of kettledrums.
It didn’t matter that I didn’t understand the words he’d said in Spanish.
It didn’t matter that until him, I had never had a thing for accents.
It was Lucas, and that seemed to be enough. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I hope you’re hungry.”
I frowned, doubting the accuracy of the translation. But before I could complain, he was stepping away and taking care of the security gate, and poof, the sight of his backside—his ass, in particular—as he kneeled and stretched, dissipated whatever I was going to say.
Life was really unfair. On top of that smile, he also had to have a great ass. One that I’d bet my complete Jane Austen special edition collection was as firm as—
“Rosie?”
My gaze snapped up to his face, finding him looking at me over his shoulder. The biggest smirk known to man tilted the corner of his mouth. “Whenever you’re done checking me out.”
“What?” I screeched, my voice coming out high-pitched and squeaky and obvious. So obvious. I cleared my throat. “I was not checking you out.”
Lucas snickered and stood, throwing the glass entry door open and gesturing for me to go in first. “It’s okay with me, you know? I love the attention.” He paused. “And it’s good to know that you’re an ass woman.”
I was an ass woman. I really was.
With a defeated sigh, I stepped forward and focused on doing damage control on what I knew were flaming red cheeks once I gave him my back. “I wasn’t checking your ass, Lucas. I was just making sure that you…”
The words died the moment I set foot inside the pizzeria and saw what was waiting for me.
Dozens of tea lights formed a trail that parted the pizzeria and led to what I knew was the kitchen.
“I…” I trailed off, my jaw starting to chatter for a reason I couldn’t explain. My whole body trembled. And I didn’t know why. “Lucas,” I somehow managed. “I don’t even know what to say.”
I felt him come closer. “No better way to explore the spark and prove to the other person that you’re worth the effort.” A pause, in which I heard a few more steps. “That you’re worth lighting dozens of tea lights.”
I thought I heard him chuckle, but I couldn’t be sure. I had been sucked into a vacuum. A Lucas vacuum. “How?” I thought I whispered.
“Sandro closed early today. Family celebration. So, I thought we could have the place to ourselves.”
I hadn’t been asking about that, but my head still swiveled in his direction, “You thought we could—” I stopped myself, processing the information. “How the heck did you convince Sandro to give you the keys? This pizzeria is like—”
“Like a third daughter to him, yes.” Lucas chuckled, that easiness about him taking over. “He told me about his whole family tree. Also explained in detail how he considers this place his legacy. His home outside home. Built with the sweat of his back and—”
“The calluses on his hands.” Lina and I had sat through that explanation on many occasions.
“Yes.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I guess I made a good first impression.”
“So, he simply agreed?”
Sandro was a great man but not one you could win over easily.
“A few promises I’m not sure I can keep might have been thrown around, but it’s all under control.” He winked, like this was normal. Like him going through the trouble was nothing. “Let’s keep the fire hazard to ourselves, though. It can be our first ever secret.”
The fire hazard.
The beautiful candles he had lit.
Our secret.
Just like my secret crush. Or the many other secrets I kept.
I swallowed, nodding my head and soaking up the sight of the pizzeria. The feeling. The fact that Lucas had gone above and beyond and out of his way for me.
For the experiment.
“If you’ll follow the path, please?” Lucas whispered in my ear, bringing me back with a delicious shiver that curled down my spine. “I’ll show you our main activity.”
“Oh,” I murmured, moving forward. “This wasn’t the main activity? We’re not eating surrounded by tea lights?”
“Not yet.” Lucas walked close behind me, setting one of his hands between my shoulder blades and bringing me to a stop in the kitchen. “We’re eating. But for that, we need to take care of the food first.”
I stood there, wishing my skirt had pockets so I could slip my hands in and not fidget. God, why didn’t all skirts have pockets?
I glanced over at Lucas, finding him toggling with the temp controls of the large oven. “You love Alessandro’s, right?”
“I’m a New Yorker. It’s genetically impossible for me not to love pizza. But Sandro’s in particular? I adore, yes.”
“Well,” Lucas said, pulling out a large and squared plastic container and placing it on the counter. “I’m not Sandro. I’m not even Italian, but I think you love watching me cook.”
“I might,” I teased. I loved watching Lucas cook more than I loved that first sip of coffee in the morning. Or biting into a lava cake. Or that feeling you get when you know you’re reading a new favorite book. Or waking up on Christmas morning. I loved watching him cook more than I loved most things in life.
Lucas moved to the fridge and pulled a few things out of it. Tomato sauce, a few greens, a huge wedge of what looked like Parmesan cheese. “Sandro gave me a few tips, told me where everything is, and made me promise to do it justice.”
Lucas had really won Sandro over.
“So, you’re going to cook?” I asked him as he placed a package of flour on the counter. Without any kind of warning, the image of Lucas covered in flour, smiling down at me, ambushed me and I almost stumbled over my next words. “You’ll cook for us? And you’ll let me watch?”
“Nope.” He walked to where I was, and only when he reached me, I noticed what he was holding. An apron. “We’ll cook. Together. Because I deserve a little watching, too. Don’t you think?”
Before I could react to that, he moved behind me, his arms going around my sides.
“The spark,” he said, referencing phase two of the experiment, “can be explored in many different ways.” I could feel the warmth of his body radiating into mine, my breath catching in my throat. “It can be about more than lighting candles.” He moved closer, his chest almost brushing my back. “It can be about sharing something that’s important to you.”
His chin came impossibly close to my shoulder. So close that I was pretty sure we’d share our next breath if I tilted my head to the side.
“It can and should be about seeing if those glimpses you’ve offered of yourself are appealing to the other person. Seeing if they reciprocate and reveal something of their own,” he said softly, his words falling very close to my ear. “Let’s suit you up.”
I nodded my head, my heart thrumming with a steadily increased pace.
Lucas placed the apron against my front and wrapped the ends around my waist. They were too long, so they furled around me twice, keeping him on the task for a little longer.
His head peered over my shoulder to get a clear view of his own hands, and the side of his jaw brushed my cheek.
One soft and quick flick of his stubble against my skin. That simple of a touch, and it sent my pulse all over the place.
Before I could stop myself, before I could restrain the need to lean into the contact, my body was moving back. My shoulder blades came to rest against his chest, and the back of my head against his throat. Warmth draped around me, turning me supple and alive in his arms. All at once.
He held his ground, welcoming my weight, reminding me of yesterday, of our hug, only different. This time, it wasn’t about comfort and support. This time, every nerve ending in my body crackled with electricity.
“I’m making sure the knot holds,” he said in a low, gravel-like voice.
I nodded my head, remaining very still while I watched his fingers work. Once done, his palms came to rest against my belly. As if incapable of letting go.
My eyelids fluttered closed at the contact, at how his hands were now pulling me to him ever so lightly.
Then, I heard him rasp at my ear, “You’re ready now.”
Opening back my eyes, I swallowed the need to tangle my fingers with his and pull him even closer. All around me. “Thanks,” I breathed out. Then, looked down. “It looks like you did a very thorough job.”
Lucas’s jaw brushed against my cheek again and all the air from my lungs caught somewhere in my throat.
“I’m a thorough man,” he answered. “I don’t do things halfway.”
And without another word, he stepped away, my whole body turning cold at the loss of his body heat.
I heard Lucas clear his throat before he moved back to the counter.
“Aren’t you going to wear an apron, too?”
“I don’t think I’ll need one.” The corners of his lips tugged up when he faced me, as if nothing had just happened. Although, what just happened? “Now, come here, Rosie. You won’t be able to cook all the way over there.”
“Okay.” I obeyed, making a move in his direction. “But don’t think I’ve missed the way you’re implying I’m messy.”
He barked out a laugh and muttered something I didn’t catch in Spanish.
I leaned on the counter and frowned. “What did you just say? It’s a little unfair that I can’t understand those little things you mutter under your breath.”
“I said, Dios, dame paciencia,” he admitted. “Which means, ‘God, give me patience.’ ”
My eyes narrowed. “What do you need patience for? I’m not that bad of a cook.”
Lucas ignored my teeny-tiny lie and dragged the plastic container toward me. “Step one, we stretch the dough.”
He took the lid off, revealing two smooth balls. His index finger delicately pressed into one of them. “These have been proofed already; see how the dough bounces back?”
Imitating him, I patted one of them, too. “Yes. I see that. And I can also tell you, mine never looks like this when I attempt it at home.”
A low chuckle came from my left. “I can show you how it’s done some other day. Now, let’s dust the counter so it doesn’t stick to it.”
He turned away and dragged the flour closer to me.
“So, an experimental date and a master class. I’m a lucky girl.” I took some flour with my fingers and sprinkled the counter. “Did Sandro leave these for us? He must really, really like you.”
“Oh, I wasn’t joking when I said I totally won him over,” he said, adding some more flour himself. “He even wants to introduce me to one of his daughters.”
I stiffened.
Lucas continued, “But I prepared these myself. I came by early today and left everything ready for us. Minus the candles. Those I brought only when the boss wasn’t around.”
Whatever jealousy I was feeling was wiped clean. He spent the day at the pizzeria? While I was home working and thinking he was out and about exploring the city?
“Before you complain.” Lucas snatched one of the dough balls and placed it in front of me. “I was very curious about the hydration rate he used. And the only way he was going to talk about that was by infiltrating his kitchen.” He extracted the other piece of dough from the container and put it down on his side of the counter. “He was reluctant at first, but when I told him…” He trailed off, and he shook his head. “But he shared it with me.”
“When you told him what?” I asked, so eagerly that I felt the need to cover for myself. “That you would marry his daughter or something?”
He shot me a quick glance, amusement entering his expression. “You know what? He did offer his blessing.”
“Fab,” I said, returning to the dough.
He nudged me with his hip. “I told him I wasn’t in the market for it.”
Somehow that didn’t make me feel any better.
Another bump of his hip against my side. “As cute as you get when you’re jealous, I don’t want to see you frowning, Rosie.”
“I’m not frowning,” I muttered. “And I’m not jealous, either.”
He laughed. “All right, index and middle finger out, press softly into the middle of the ball. Just like I’m doing.”
With maximum care, I followed his lead. Switching to my knuckles when he told me to and trying really hard not to get caught up in the meticulous and confident motion of his hands, which became a hardship really quickly, because the sight of Lucas’s hands working was turning me… unproductive.
“So, Rosie,” Lucas said, lifting the dough with a slow spin. “How many words did you get in since our first date? Any luck with that inspiration?”
Imitating him, I held my dough in the air but it just… stretched down languidly. “I think I’m doing something wrong.”
His hands came over mine, sending a sharp flare of electricity up my arms.
“Thanks,” I told him quietly, letting him take over control of my motions. “Some words,” I answered just so I wouldn’t think of his warm palms pressed against the back of my much smaller hands. “Not many with Olly and everything. But some. Definitely some. I’m…”
His strong fingers intertwined with mine for a moment, distracting me.
“You’re what?” He pressed.
Our fingers worked the dough in circular motions, and I had to clear my throat. “Starting to feel the inspiration.”
Lucas moved our hands to the counter, resting them on both sides of the stretched dough.
“Just so you know, I’m dying to hear all the details about Officer Burns’s best friend.”
Officer Burns? Hold on. Did that mean that Lucas had—
“Have you read my first book?” I blurted out.
“I’m a thorough man,” he said, repeating his earlier words, not answering my question. “And I won’t ask about the second until you’re done. I don’t want to jinx what we’re doing here.”
I wrinkled my nose, not thinking about Lucas reading the steamy scenes of the book but focusing instead on how happy it made me to hear he was that invested in this. In me. In my writing. My books. I’d been so busy trying to protect myself from what anyone could say, writing in secret, hiding behind a pen name, that I hadn’t shared this with anybody but Lina. And I… God, I loved how it felt hearing that this man cared. “Jinx it, huh? You’re superstitious?”
“I’d love to say no, but I’d rather bite my arm off than walk under a ladder.”
A laugh burst out of me.
He froze, as if the sound had caught him off guard. Then, I felt more than heard him exhale through his nose before finally stepping away, leaving me a little unbalanced without the safety of his hands on mine.
“So…” I trailed off, recovering as best as I could. “What toppings are we using?”
“We have a little bit of everything. But I want you to be creative.”
“Creativity hasn’t been my strong suit lately.”
“Rosie,” he said in a way that made me look over at him, “I believe in you. I’m Team Rosie, remember?”
I smiled to myself, reveling in how good, how confident, hearing that made me feel. Then, I reached for a few slices of some cured sausage and worked in silence for a while.
“I know this is not exactly date—experimental date—night talk, but I’ve been meaning to tell you that Mr. Allen called this morning.”
“The Psycho Landlord?” Lucas grunted.
His reaction made something in my belly tumble. “He said the contractor might take some additional time to finish.”
Lucas didn’t say anything, not right away. Then he sighed. “You’re right, this is not date night talk.”
Nodding my head, I took a few more slices of the sausage. “I know, but I just wanted to say how grateful I am for you letting me stay in Lina’s place with you and that if this is turning into too much, I could still look for someplace else. Just say the word.”
He seemed to think about his answer. “You’re comfortable staying with me.”
My hand halted in the air. “Of course, I am.”
“And if there’s something that bothers you, you will tell me.” He held up a piece of juicy mozzarella. “This will complement the finocchiona you’ve picked.” He shredded it with his fingers roughly. “Even if it’s me snoring.”
“You don’t snore.”
“Or me being a little chaotic in the kitchen. Or the music I play when I’m cooking. You’d tell me, right?”
He was ridiculous. “Lucas, it’s you, the one sleeping on a couch when you were promised a complete studio apartment. Bed included.” I shook my head, observing my work. “Meanwhile, I have a handsome man cooking delicious, five-star meals for me every night of the week. Why would I ever be uncomfortable?”
“Hmm, okay,” Lucas said, seemingly appeased. “And I’m also happy to hear you think I’m all that handsome and irresistible.”
Oh, dammit. That had totally slipped.
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t say anything about being irresistible.”
“Ahem.”
“And it’s not like you didn’t know you’re handsome.” Or irresistible.
I glanced to my left to find him leaning on his side, his arms crossed in front of his chest casually, his gaze on me. In fact, he looked like he’d been done with his pizza for a long time.
Without thinking too much about it, I said, “You’ve dated plenty.” I used his own words. “All those girls must have told you you’re handsome.”
He shrugged. “You’ve been my first date in a long time so maybe I needed the reminder.”
Experimental date, I felt the need to correct him. Even if only for myself.
I searched his face. “You never said why you’re not dating anymore.”
“It’s not something I can focus on right now.”
“Because of your career as a pro?”
Lucas hesitated, and I watched a shadow cross his features. “Something like that.”
I didn’t want to reveal myself, my feelings, but I had to ask. “Are you excited to return? After you recover from… whatever happened?” His eyes narrowed slightly and I felt the need to say, “Lina said you were smashing competition after competition. You had sponsors, and social presence… You were killing it. Before the break.” Lina had never told me all that much about Lucas. I’d gathered most info from his social media. From how much he had shared online before he’d vanished completely weeks before the wedding. “So, I just wondered.”
Lucas swallowed. And he stayed quiet so long that I thought he wasn’t going to say anything. I started turning away from him, just to hide the disappointment of him not confiding in me, but just as I moved, his hand wrapped around my elbow.
“I can’t do any of it anymore, Rosie,” he said, and I could feel the weight behind his words, as if these were rocks he was hardly able to lift. “I… won’t be able to surf ever again. Not at the level I did. Not even close.” His gaze tipped down to the leg I knew bothered him more than he wanted to show. “So, that career as a pro? It’s not exactly stopping me from anything. Especially not dating. What will I be offering anyone anyway, huh?”
And oh.
Oh my God. This wasn’t just a vacation. He wasn’t taking time off to recover from anything.
And I… Lord, I wanted to wrap my arms around him. To smack myself for asking those questions because it must have been so incredibly hard for him to answer them.
I also wanted him to tell me everything. How he felt and how it had happened. I was on the quest to know all there was to know about Lucas Martín and it wasn’t because I was curious, but because I cared.
But Lucas looked at me like he’d just been cut open, exposed, and had nothing left in him to deal with that conversation. So I didn’t ask. This was big enough already. He’d given me a meaningful, crucial part of who he was today. Now. Not the social media persona he once had been that I had happened to spy on.
“You’re not defined by a career, Lucas.” I let my hand fall on top of his, very briefly, just so I didn’t lace my fingers with his like I was desperate to do. “You’re way more than just that. You have more to offer, too.”
He blinked, a muscle in his jaw jumping, his gaze clouding with something that looked a lot like wonder. Awe. Also, surprise.
And just as quickly, he was walking off, severing the contact, and reappearing with a large wooden spatula.
He leaned down on the counter, assessing my work like we hadn’t had that conversation. “Good job, Rosie. I think you might have a knack for this.”
He slid my pizza onto the spatula and left to put it in the oven. I took the opportunity to check his toppings choice. “Whoa. Is that honey that you drizzled on yours?”
“Yes,” he said when he came back and repeated the process with his pizza. “Pear, walnuts, some prosciutto because I couldn’t find any jamón that was worth our time, and a little of blue cheese, too.”
He walked back to the oven, and my gaze followed him this time, getting caught up in the way his back shifted as he slid the spatula in and out. Muscles moved and rolled, making me think of him in the water. Him, a board underneath his body. And him, not able to jump on one anymore.
“… Or in other words,” Lucas was saying, “any Italian’s nightmare.”
He strolled back to where I was at the counter, and I nodded my head, fully aware that I had spaced out. “Yes, total nightmare.”
“You didn’t listen to a word I said, huh?”
“What? Of course, I did.”
He snickered knowingly. “Rosalyn Graham, and you dare deny I’m irresistible.”
I was ready to deny it again, but now that he was standing closer, not more than a foot away, I could see that the tip of his nose was covered in flour so I told him, “Your ego is so big that I should probably let you walk around the rest of the night like this but… you have something on your face.” I brought my index finger to my nose, pointing him in the right direction. “Right here.”
He dragged the back of his hand across his nose and cheek, but only made it worse. He asked, “Now?”
“Yep,” I lied through my smile. “Much better.”
He narrowed his eyes, inspecting my face. “It’s not gone, is it?”
I shook my head and finally let out a laugh.
Lucas’s palm returned to his face, but he must have covered his hands in flour when he slid the pizzas onto the spatula, because he somehow managed to paint his chin white, too. “How about now?”
I laughed harder. Smiled bigger.
“Come here and take pity on me, woman.” He held both hands in the air, looking at his palms. “Fix me up, before I end up completely covered in it.”
“But you look soooo cute.”
He sent me a dark look that made me immediately move, closing the small distance between us and stopping right in front of him. I held my hand up in the air, reaching for his face but not making contact. And I swore, I’d never—ever—understand what got into me to say what I said next.
“Maybe I like you covered in flour.”
Lucas’s eyes sparkled with surprise. Something warm and sultry, too.
My smile died slowly. My left hand reached for the remnants of flour that had been covering the counter and I covered my fingers in it.
“Rosie,” Lucas rasped. “Don’t.”
But that only encouraged me.
I made sure to meet his gaze when I smudged the flour all over his left cheek.
Lucas’s expression morphed, that intensity I’d gotten glimpses of in our first date swirling in. And just as I was about to retrieve my hand, his fingers closed around my wrist. He asked in a gravel-like tone, “You want me messy or cute, Rosie?”
My belly took a deep dive at the quality of his voice, of his gaze, of his words. I swallowed. “Both.”
Without breaking eye contact, Lucas leaned forward, towering over me with his flour-covered face and making me tilt my head back. “You can’t have both. Choose. What will inspire you tonight, Rosie?”
“Messy,” I breathed out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him stick his thumb in the tomato sauce container. Then, he was moving, shifting us so my back was against the counter, my wrist still in his hold.
Before I could fully process any of that, his thumb was sweeping over my nose, leaving a sticky trail behind. “Then I’ll make a mess of you, too.” I felt his breath on my mouth. His body coming closer. “Ever since I tied that apron around you, I’ve been stopping myself from doing exactly that, anyway.”
An uproar took place at the pit of my stomach at his confession, but just as I was about to answer, to ask him to please shred the apron to pieces if he had to, his thumb reached the corner of my mouth. It swept right and left.
“Have you ever felt this on a date before, Rosie?” His voice was low, barely a grumble, but it reached deep inside of me.
I shook my head. My pulse raced through my body, reaching areas that had been neglected and were now wide awake.
“Is this a strong enough spark for you?” His gaze dipped down to my lips, where I was smeared with tomato sauce. I watched his throat bob. “Because I can try harder. For you, I will.”
A shiver curled down my spine when his hand moved and cupped the back of my neck. Lucas leaned forward, pushing me softly against the counter at my back, his body heat now blanketing all around my front. My lips parted at the contact and his gaze moved to my mouth again.
The brown in his eyes flared like chocolate fire.
His brow furrowed.
His brow furrowed?
And then the smell hit us.
“¡Joder!” He released me and sprung backward with a trail of curses in Spanish.
I had to catch myself on the counter.
What the hell had just happened?
Regrouping, I tried to make sense of the pounding in my chest, the tomato sauce trickling down my face, the scent of smoke flooding Alessandro’s.
The scent of… smoke.
“Oh crap!” I snapped into action, joining Lucas at the oven and peeking at the charred remains of what had once been two pizzas.