“Switch?”I asked.
“Si.”Then he took a bite of the tart and echoed my moan from a moment ago.“This is better than the tiramisu.I will accept that.This is wonderful.”
“Your tiramisu wasverygood too.But this is like …”
Orgasmic.
I could say that now, because I’d had five orgasms—in my lifetime and in less than twenty-four hours.
“You have a bit of …” His brown eyes crinkled at the corner as he picked up a napkin, leaned across the table, and wiped the corner of my mouth.“Frosting,” he exhaled.
I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose, our gazes locked.“Thanks.”
Nodding, he sat back in his seat and took another bite.“These things are very big.Why is everything in America supersized?”
Snorting, I took a third bite of my cinnamon bun, then swapped with him again when he prompted it.“I dunno.It’s abitof a problem.”
“I will have diabetes after this.You can bet all the bread in Italy on that.”He gasped.“What is that?”Pushing his seat back abruptly, he glanced down under the table in shock, only to smile a second later and hinge forward.“Oh,Buongiorno.” He glanced up at me.“It is a cat.”
Ameowfrom under the table proved he wasn’t lying—not that I thought he was—and I glanced under as well to find a creamy, orange ball of fluff rubbing up against Tom’s leg as he ran his hand down its back.He scanned the patio, and his gaze lit up.“There are many cats.”
“Yeah.It’s kind of the bakery’sthing.Like a cat café—sort of.They’re not allowed inside though.They live in that little barn thing over there when the weather is bad.”I pointed to something that resembled a fancy, white-with-turquoise-trim chicken coop across the property.“But they’re all spayed and neutered, and given flea and parasite medication.Their collars should say their names.”
He spun the olive-green collar around the cat’s neck.“Jim.”Then he snorted.“Hello, Jim.”
Jim ignored the greeting, but soaked up the attention until he grew bored with us and wandered over to someone else.
We swapped pastries one more time, then finished them, each of us sitting back in our seats, hands on our bellies as the sugar kicked in.
“I think I have diabetes too,” I said, grimacing.“Worth it though.”
He reached for my hand, and together we hauled the other person up to stand.“Thank you for being here with me,bella.You give me strength.”He gave my hand a small squeeze before releasing and approaching the table of Sewing Circle women, who were eyeing him up like the biggest cinnamon bun in the bakery.Which wasn’t entirely wrong.Tom was a cinnamon bun of a human.However, I’d only had a brief nibble, and I was craving a proper bite.
I was craving the whole damn thing, sugar coma be damned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tommaso
LastnightafterIleft Danica’s, I Googled what gem was yellow and green like her eyes, and the closest thing I could find was the prehnite with the beautiful, dark striations and yellow-green color.Because when the sun hit her face just right, it was like two gorgeous cut gems glowed back at me.And that was exactly how she looked at me right now, with precious stones in her gaze as I told her she gave me strength.
Because she did.
She was strength incarnate, given her past and the beautiful future she and her cousins forged for their children.A fierce mama bear in a beautiful, elegant package.
We approached the Sewing Circle table, and all their eyes found mine.There were seven of them today, with one empty seat.“Buongiorno, signore,” I greeted them, flashing a smile I hoped conveyed confidence even though inside I was a bundle of nerves.
I recognized most of them from when we all had to stand in front of the Council to hear its verdict about Bonn Remmen’s land.
“Tommaso,” Jolene Dandy said with a head bob as she continued to knit without looking at what she was doing.Her eyes drifted to Danica for a moment.“Danica.”
“Hi, Jolene.”
“Sorry I’m late, ladies,” came the deep, rumbly voice of a man who also seemed slightly frazzled.He entered the patio through the French doors with a to-go coffee cup in his hand and a cherry Danish on a plate while a small burlap sack was slung over his shoulder.He took the empty seat.“Got held up at work.”
Sunflower Patrick moved some stuff out of the way in front of his seat so he could put down the cup and plate.His eyes met mine, then he stood up and offered me his hand.“Hey.How’s it going.Ansel Gregor.”
I took his hand; it was big and firm.“Tommaso Barone.”
