He ponders my response. “Okay. Where would you go first? If money was no object?”
That’s easy. “Hawaii.” I watched a documentary about the islands once, and it was my idea of paradise.
Romeo slides his dish away from him. Without a word, he settles the bill, pulls his jacket back on, and offers me his hand.
And I take it. Because when I step outside with his hand smothering mine, it feels like the safest place in the world tobe. His fingers are so big, covered in more ink that curls gracefully from underneath the jacket sleeve, and in that moment, nothing matters more than finding out how much of him is tattooed.
I take a deep breath as we walk along the sidewalk. The sky is a delicate shade of lilac as the sun starts to sink, and the vibe is ‘a casual stroll along the boardwalk’ kind of evening.
“So,” I say before I can talk myself out of it. “You have tattoos on your neck. In your hair. On your hands.”
He cringes slightly, and I feel him start to pull his hand away. I squeeze, holding him there.
He sighs. “Sorry. I just… I know I’m big and rough and nothing like the kind of guy you would normally date.”
I suck on my top lip and suppress a grin. “The kind of guy I would normally date? What kind do you think that would be?”
I swear he deflates slightly. “Smart. No ink. Probably works in Wall Street.”
I can’t help chuckling but try to be serious when I realize that he isn’t laughing. The last thing I want to do is make him feel stupid. The absolute last thing in the world. Because Romeo is a million miles from my definition of stupid.
I stop walking and face him. Or rather, I face his chest and peer up at him. “You’re wrong, Romeo. The last guy I dated worked on the Hudson ferry.” Too much information. Again. “What I’m trying to say is: I haven’t dated anyone in a long while because I’m picky.”
When Romeo is uncomfortable, he wrinkles his nose, and it’s the most charming thing I’ve ever seen. If I thought itwouldn’t give off stalker vibes, I’d whip my phone out of my pocket and take a picture of it. But even I realize that it would be crossing a line. So, I don’t.
“What does that mean?” he asks.
“It means that you’re the only person I’ve said yes to in a long while.”
It must be the right thing to say because his eyes gleam like emeralds, and his smile…
“Why me?”
I thought it was obvious from the permanent heat in my face whenever he’s in the salon.“Because I like you.” I shrug. “And because you offered to buy me sorbet.”
Now, he chuckles, the sound vibrating in his chest.
“I had no idea what sorbet was.” He pauses, his expression dropping again. “I’m a lot, Sara. I’m not a nice guy. I’m too big. People feel intimidated by me. Scared.”
“Should they be?”
He frowns, small lines appearing between his brows. I love that he takes everything I say so seriously. It’s like he’s always trying to find the best possible answer. “Maybe.”
“Why?” I have to ask. It already seems to me that Romeo’s perception of himself is nothing like what other people see.
“Between my time in the Marines and working for Elio, I’ve done things that God and all the angels in heaven would probably have me on an express train to hell for.” He shakes his head, and I can see in his eyes that he already thinks that he has lost me. “But I’d never hurt you. I promise. I’d never hurt anyone I care about.”
I nod. He already told me that he saved a man’s life, but here he is focusing on the worst parts of himself. Self-sabotaging. “My mom says my dad was a violent man. Are you a violent man, Romeo?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not violent by nature, Sara. I am dangerous as hell by circumstance though. And if anyone tried to touch my woman…”
The answer blows me away. It’s honest. Raw. Plus, a man who’s going to leave bruises on my skin isn’t going to just outright admit to it. That particular kind of asshole would pretend to be a real catch, hiding behind a gentle façade until they’ve reeled their next victim in. That isn’t Romeo.
I stand on my tiptoes and peck a kiss on his cheek.
Beneath his olive skin, I can see him flush red. “What was that for?”
“Good guys are overrated anyway,” I say. “Superman’s not nearly as hot as the Joker.”
