EXCERPT
“You don’t date?”
“No.” Is it hot in here? “I don’t.”
He smiles. Wait—is he flirting with me?
My blog post from this morning flashes in my mind. Live in the moment.
Maybe it’s time to take my own advice.
Maybe it’s time to put a bit more of myself out there.
“I mean, I would like to date. I have dated before. Obviously,” I say, because ask me out already.
He glances at my lips, then his gaze rolls back to my eyes. He steps closer. Tension thrums all around us, as taut as a bowstring. My heart hammers rapid-fire in my chest, as if trying to get out and launch itself at Elio’s feet.
I run my tongue over my lower lip again. Is he . . . is he going to kiss me?
Is Elio, sex god, and baker of the most delicious lemon tart in the universe, going to kiss me in his kitchen?
He raises his hand. My thoughts race. He’s going to thread it through my hair, jerk me closer. He’s going to kiss me.
Please, be going to kiss me.
The bell above the shop door rings.
“Elio? I brought a little visitor to see you,” a familiar voice calls. I recognize it as belonging to Elio’s sister, who seems to be at Bittersweet almost as often as I am. The only difference is she gets paid to be here.
I don’t break our gaze. Maybe Bianca will go away. Maybe we can get this almost-kiss back. Kiss me, you infuriating man.
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