She chuckled, the weathered skin around her dark eyes crinkling with amusement.
"I had heard that." Then her smile faded.
"If I pick up anything, I'll pass it on." Jo had long been a useful source of intelligence for me. She caught things spoken in passing, and when it affected me and mine, she let me know. I appreciated her loyalty. After Ma died, she'd been someone to talk to.
"Now what can I get you two lovebirds?"
I watched with amusement when Verity's cheeks flushed pink as she stared at the glass cabinet of Italian pastries.
She hesitated for a beat before asking, "Did you make the cannoli?"
Jo smirked. "Of course,cara. Everyone loves my cannoli."
A smile lit up Verity’s face. It was as if the sun had broken through the clouds.
"Can I have one, please? And a double shot espresso, black, no sugar."
"My usual, please." Jo winked at me and sashayed off toward the big, shiny coffee machine, clearly brimming with intrusive questions, but savvy enough not to bombard me with them. No doubt the next time I stopped by for coffee, she'd give me the full Spanish Inquisition treatment.
"I had no clue this place existed." Verity gazed around in wonder as we took a table overlooking the bay. Thick clouds, heavy with the promise of more rain, scurried across the sky. Minutes later, fat drops fell, lashing the salty windows.
"I've been coming here for years. Jo's coffee is the best for miles."
"The cannoli looks good, too." A small smile lifted her plump lips, and immediately my thoughts fell into the gutter, picturingthose same lips wrapped around my cock. Fuck my life. There was a place reserved for me in hell.
18
Verity
Cannoli was my weakness. With each delicious sweet, buttery mouthful washed down with the best coffee I'd tasted since leaving Italy, my mood lifted. Honestly, it was hard to be depressed while scoffing food this perfect.
By the time I'd cleared my plate, Conal appeared amused.
"Would you like another one? That cannoli went down quick."
"No, I'm good," I replied, embarrassed at my gluttony. I bet his glamorous girlfriend, Maeve, didn't shovel food down her throat like a starving person. No doubt he thought I was a greedy bitch. He had a point.
"Sure? I'm having another coffee."
I shook my head. My jeans were already snug, so one more cannoli would tip me over the edge into fatsville, population: me.
"I'll have another coffee, though." Black espresso only had, like, two calories.
Conal raised his hand and Jo came rushing over.
"You want something else?" She glanced at my empty plate, smiling with satisfaction. The woman was a feeder. I’d put money on it.
"Two more coffees, please, Jo."
"Coming right up." She grinned and bustled away. A pair of soaked hikers with a wet spaniel entered the cafe, chatting about the shit weather, and then approached the counter. I gazed at the dog longingly, wishing it was mine, then looked away when I felt Conal watching me. He saw way too much.
"Why did you bring me here?" I asked eventually, once Jo had brought us fresh coffees.
"Because you needed to get out for a bit," came his reply. He picked up the small blue and white cup and sipped his steaming flat white. The spaniel had flopped in front of the wood burner, a hopeful gleam in its eye as it watched its owner eating a slice of chocolate cake.
I looked past the dog and scanned the paintings hung haphazardly on the whitewashed walls. Local landscapes. A few of them were good. Seriously good.
Conal shifted in his chair, drawing my attention back to him, like iron filings attracted to a magnet.
