Awww, he’s still protecting me. “Why do you care?”
“Maybe I’m a nice guy.”
I snort. “No, you’re not.” But, okay, I’ll play. I wanted to sit in a booth, and he’s apparently got the biggest one in the place, all to himself.
So I let him maneuver me but take the opportunity to sniff him. He smells nice. Like… meat. Barbecue. Smoke. Steak. Bacon. It’s a comforting smell. We should bottle it and sell it. Papa’s a perfumer by trade—at least, that’s his official business. He mostly deals with botanical essences, but if he could distill this guy’s scent, we’d make a mint.
Blondie settles me into the large circular booth and slides in after me, making me scoot deeper into the seat. There’s plenty of space, but I kind of like how he’s crowding me. Gives me tummy flutters. I wriggle my hips and press my thighs together to stuff down my excitement.
“How’d you score this booth if you’re sitting all by yourself?”
“Dolores likes me.”
The waitress strides by, slapping a menu down in front of me, and takes off without looking at us. I eye her retreating back. “Really?”
“No.”
I go to grab the menu, and he slips it out of reach before I can get it.
“Hey, that’s mine.” I glare at him, but he’s too busy reading the menu. “I want pancakes.”
“No. You eat too much sugar.”
WTF? How the heck does he know that?
Did he just admit to following me? I knew someone was tailing me on my tour of all the Panetteria Principessa locations.
“Okay, Dad,” I mutter.
He lowers the menu long enough to shake his head at me. I wonder if he’d prefer I call him Daddy. I file that idea away for later.
“I’m hungry,” I whine.
He raises his hand and catches Dolores’s eye, and holds up two fingers, then five, then five again. She nods, disappears into the kitchen, and returns mere minutes later to lay out seven plates of food in front of us.
“Wow. She does like you.” The tables around us are still waiting for their coffee.
He pushes a plate of bacon my way. “Eat up. You need protein.”
I dig in. He’s right, I probably should eat more than sugar-coated carbs for breakfast. I stuff my face and take the opportunity to study the man beside me. He’s slow and methodical but somehow inhales an entire plateful within two minutes.
He’s got his hair down around his shoulders, and I realize why he looks familiar. He looks exactly like the guy on the cover of my favorite romance novel.
“Are you a professor?” I ask with my mouth full of bacon.
He pauses in the act of cutting his second steak. “Do I look like a fucking professor?”
I grin at him. Unitas professors seem to always be wearing scholarly robes. I don’t know if it’s required or they’re just pretentious. Either way, I can’t picture Blondie here behind a lectern, wielding chalk. I can picture him in a ring, throwing a chair at his opponent before putting them in a headlock. “Maybe you teach wrestling.”
He gives me a look that says, Try again.
“MMA fighting?” I suggest. Mixed martial arts training would explain why he moves so gracefully.
He shrugs and keeps inhaling his steak and eggs. My guess must have been close.
Not much of a talker, this one. And I need to figure him out. My life might depend on it.
He threatened Radley easily, like it was no big deal, so I know those muscles aren’t for show.
