“That makes sense,” he says, guiding his first bite to his sensual lips.
And I’m suddenly riveted, anxious to know what this near stranger might make of my cooking.
It’s embarrassing, really, how much I care, but for some odd reason, I want Gio’s approval nearly as much as my son’s.
My heart flutters as his lips wrap around the fork and his eyes slide closed.
Resting his fists against the table, Gio releases a groan of appreciation that makes my stomach clench.
Heat rushes through me, and I press my thighs together at the mortifying anticipation that pulses in my core.
This was such a bad idea.
After my rather steamy dream about him this morning,
I have no right tempting fate by bringing him into my home.
But dear God, the man is dangerously sexy.
It’s like he’s stepped off the cover of a magazine, and I don’t think he even has to try to be this good-looking.
“Good?” I ask, swallowing hard when the question comes out breathy.
“So good,” Jackson agrees around a massive mouthful.
His bulging cheeks are enough to clear the lusty fog from my brain, and Gio and I laugh together as I smile at my son.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“So, S—Jane,” Gio says, pressing a fist to his lips and clearing his throat before swallowing his bite. “What is it you do for work?”
“Oh.” My fork pauses halfway to my lips, and I beam. “I actually have a little flower shop in the city called Blossoms.”
Gio chuffs, the sound almost amused, and my stomach drops as I wonder if he’s laughing at me.
“Is that funny?” I ask, trying to mask the hurt that creeps into my tone.
Gio’s eyes widen as they snap up to meet mine, and his face looks so genuine, I know that what comes next will be the truth.
“Not funny at all,” he assures me. “It’s just… I could have guessed that—should have, really.”
“Oh?” Again, that sense of familiarity washes over me, and I wonder if I might be more on target than I realized.
“Well, yeah. I mean, the first time I saw your front yard, I thought it could have come straight from the pages ofThe Secret Gardenor something,” he says, his teeth flashing in a disarming smile.
That makes me laugh, and my guard drops instantly. “That’s actually one of my favorite books. That andMandy, by Julie Edwards. Both girls are in love with gardening—so I can definitely relate.”
Gio chuckles, his eyes softening as he sits back in his chair. “That tracks.”
His gaze lingers, the warmth of it sending a shiver of anticipation up my spine, but before I can read too far into it, he turns his attention to my son.
“What about you, Jackson? Are they favorites of yours as well?”
He nods, swallowing his bite before speaking. “Mom used to readMandyto me all the time before bed,” he admits, his face turning shy. “When I was little, I mean. She doesn’t have to read to me anymore or anything.”
He says it proudly, but the admission makes my heart squeeze as he reminds me just how quickly he’s growing up.
Gio nods solemnly, his eyes casting in my direction so quickly, I almost miss it, but in their depths—for just a moment—I see a shadow of indescribable loss and deep melancholy that eclipses the nostalgic sadness I feel whenever I think about all the sweet traditions Jackson and I had before he outgrew them.
