“Forgiven.” Smothering a smug smirk, he rubs a thick inked hand over his stubbled jaw. I almost melt at the way his icy-gray eyes rake over my body as he says, “And of course I can cook.”
Screw it. The cocky man should be knocked down a peg or two to deflate his colossal head. And my attraction to him.
“Okay.” I pull out a stool at the island and sit down. Elbows on the counter, I prop my chin on my fists and grin. “Prove it, baseball boy.”
“That sounds an awful lot like a challenge.”
“You up for it or not?”
“Oh,gattina, I’m alwaysupfor a challenge where you’re concerned.”
I can feel my face flame at the way he says “up”. My eyes dart to his package. When I return my gaze to his, he’s grinning. He shoots me a wink and returns to cooking.
“What’s with the butterflies? I saw the same kind on your wall,” he says as he stirs something into the pot.
I tug at my robe. He’s observant. I didn’t realize he had seen the painting on my wall while trying to put out the fire in my stove.
For some unknown reason, I answer, “They remind me that transformation is a part of life. Turning into something completely different from what was expected. It’s beautiful. And poetic.”
“Interesting.” That’s all he says as we fall into a comfortable silence.
I watch him, memorizing every tattoo inked on his body, as he whistles and moves about the kitchen—stirring, chopping, sauteing. It doesn’t take long for him to place a plate of food in front of me. I fully expected him to make me bachelor food, like grilled cheese and soup. Nope. The man whipped me up a freaking gourmet meal.
“This is just a little pasta primavera.” Nico sets a plate beside me for himself. “I wasn’t sure if you were a vegetarian or not.”
“I’m not.” I turn the dish from side to side, taking stock of all the ingredients inside. “This looks and smells amazing.” I dig in and moan as a burst of flavor hits my tongue. “Whoa, this is delicious.”
“I’m going to pretend that wasn’t insulting.” Nico chuckles.
My insides twinge with regret. “I’m sorry I judged you. You are an excellent cook.”
“Thank you.”
I watch him place a bite of food in his mouth. The way his pouty lips wrap around the tines of the fork makes something a little lower than my stomach twinge this time.
Ignoring the heat currently pooling between my legs, I admit, “If it makes you feel better, I’m a terrible cook. But I can bake. Brownies are my specialty.”
“I had better be on the receiving end of those brownies soon.”
“You can count on it.” It slips out of my mouth before I can stop it.
His lips slowly turn up into a sexy grin.
I need to change the subject before I get caught in his web. “Where did you learn to cook?”
The look that takes over his handsome face can only be described as loving. “My ma and zia.”
“Zia?”
“It means ‘aunt’ in Italian.” The endearing way he uses Italian words catches me off guard.
For the rest of our meal, we chat. Well, Nico chats, and I let him. He explains that his mother and aunt own a restaurant together, Belladonna. They are both single moms and together raised Nico, Talia, and his three cousins in the same home.
“If I wasn’t playing baseball, I was at the restaurant helping wherever I could.”
“That’s sweet.” I glance at my phone and notice the time. Nico and I have been talking for over an hour. It’s past nine, and I have the 5am shift. “I should go.”
“Or you can stay and have dessert with me.”
