He gives my hand another squeeze. “I’ve got you. I’ll always fight for you, remember?”
He gives me a warm smile and just like that, all my worries melt away. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me feel like it’s okay to be myself. To not be perfect. To make mistakes and let people down.
God, I am so in love with him. Like head over heels, think about him when I hear love songs, am willing to tell Kate that I am in love with him level of love. Which is a true tragedy considering he has every capacity to break my heart.
But if he does, then that’s a problem for future Jane. Present Jane is going to soak up the fun with Sexy Chef Reid while she has the chance. Future Jane can drown her sorrows on Lola’s couch with a pint of ice cream and a hundred spicy margaritas and remember the days she made Reid laugh and smile.
So before I can think better of it, I listen to that impulsive little voice in my head and interlace my fingers with his. Reid looks down at our hands briefly, and for a moment I feel like a monumental fool for grabbing his hand, for putting myself in the path of potential rejection. But then his thumb strokes small circles on the back of my hand and he looks ahead again, a look of contentment on his face. And just like that, it’s like this is the most normal thing in the world. It feels like two puzzle pieces clicking together. It’s like my hand was meant to be in his and his smile was meant for me and my heart was always meant for him.
It just feels . . . right.
Chapter 23
We continue driving up a long, winding driveway to a house that looks completely opposite to the bright villa Jason booked for us. This house looks cozy. Lived-in. Loved. We are well outside of the city now, and I’m only slightly nervous about getting back to Positano and picking up Kate’s champagne in time.
But then Reid gets out of the car and opens my door for me, extending a broad hand to help me out of the car and all my worries melt away. I place my hand in his with a smile. The fog has started to thicken slightly out here, but I swear I can see the water rippling in the distance as wind starts to pick up. I can only imagine how gorgeous the views would be from this adorable, comfortable home when the sun in shining.
I’m taking in the exterior of the beautiful little farmhouse and the smattering of brightly colored flowers in its window boxes as we walk up the front steps. “This is a beautiful place to dump my body.”
“I also figured I’d feed you delicious pasta and dessert before depositing you here.”
“The perfect way to go, to be honest.”
He chuckles softly and a smile touches my lips. Reid pulls my hand and I follow him easily into the home. The dark wooden door flies open and a man greets him in Italian and Reid, not at all shockingly, replies in near fluent Italian. I am fully aware I’m staring at him with my jaw on the floor. There might even be drool on my chin, but I’m incapable of stopping. I hear my name roll off his perfect tongue and he gestures to me. When the man turns my way, I finally snap my mouth shut and wave.
He smiles at me, replies to Reid, and just like that we’re walking through a small door.
“When did you learn Italian?” I whisper to him.
“Kai gave me some lessons before we left.”
I gape again. “First of all, Kai is not an expert in language.”
Reid shrugs. “He did a pretty good job helping me.”
“Second of all, when did you and Kai start talking?”
“Shortly after the engagement party.”
“I . . . I have so many follow-up questions.”
He winks at me and my stomach bottoms out. “I’ll answer them all for you after we’re done making delicious food.”
The man gives us a brief tour of what I assume is their actual home as he walks us through the foyer and surprisingly past the kitchen to a huge room at the back of the house. The walls are all giant picture windows and a glass double door leading to a patio with a set of comfortable-looking patio furniture facing the water.
Excited chatter fills the room from the group of other people in here, waiting to learn about making authentic Italian favorites. The room smells like fresh herbs and raw dough despite the fact that we haven’t even started cooking anything yet. We’re greeted with five massive tables covered in baskets of fresh produce, little jars of spices, bags of flourand sugar, and cartons of eggs. Four of these tables are already filled with other pairs ready to tackle the challenge. We take our spots at the empty table and Reid wordlessly hands me a basic white apron with a heart made of spaghetti noodles embroidered in the middle.
“What is this?” I ask, looping the apron over my head and tying it around my back.
“An apron.”
“Reid.”
“Pasta-making class.”
I narrow my eyes at him teasingly. “Weird, I thought you were the king of every type of food.”
“I am.”
