“You’ve lost your mind!” I shout when he’s close enough to hear me.
“Why?” he says with a maddening smile.
A thunderclap makes the windows shiver.
“That’s why!” I point up at the sky. “It’s not safe out there!”
He brushes sand from his legs with a towel, smiling like I just told him I love him. “You can’t help worrying about me, can you, Em?”
Since when is Luca charming?
“Ugh.” I spin back inside, needing space from him—and whatever he’s waking up in my poor, overstimulated heart.
I hear his steps behind me. I swear I can hear his damn smile, too.
“Coffee?” he offers as he crosses behind the kitchen island and grabs two mugs.
I collapse onto one of the barstools like I’ve been hit by a truck. “Yes. Please,” I groan, my head in both hands.
Luca pours with the precision of a craftsman. He sets the cup in front of me—steaming, fragrant, glorious. Even the smell starts to soothe my gut.
Before I take a sip, I go for the truth. “What happened last night?”
Luca sits across from me and casually opens a physical copy ofThe New Herald. I haven’t seen an actual newspaper in forever. Without even looking up, he says, “You drank too much.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I figured that part. But how did I end up here? I remember you said you were going to take me home.”
“I did. My home.” He flips a page.
I’m already losing patience. “No, you said?—”
“Emma,” he interrupts, finally looking at me, “you were puking nonstop. You passed out in my car. What was I supposed to do—leave you alone like that?”
“Yes!”
“Well, I didn’t.” He shrugs, sipping his coffee. “And with this weather, you’re better off here.”
“This weather? It’s just rain, Luca.”
He lifts the paper and flips it toward me, showing the front-page headline:
WINTER STORM SLAMS SOUTH FLORIDA — FLOODING EXPECTED.
Oh, hell.
“I’m stocked up for the storm. No reason for you to leave.”
I glance out the window, suddenly more awake. Sheets of rain blur the skyline, and palm trees whip violently in the wind. Somewhere in the distance, thunder cracks loud enough to rattle the glass.
“But… I need clothes, Luca. I can’t stay in this dress all day—it’s squeezing the life out of me.”
“You can wear something of mine… or nothing at all. Your call.”
What is happening? When did Luca turn into a compulsive flirt?
He raises a brow. “What?”
“You’d summon a storm just to trap me here, wouldn’t you?”
