He sits.
I write a three in a random square, like I have a purpose in life.
“Antonio.”
Swallowing with difficulty, I look up.
Caspian is smiling at me. I blush immediately because my body is a traitor and wants to sit in his lap.
“I have a day off,” I whisper.
“That’s nice,” he says. He takes a sip of coffee. His muscles shift. I could name them in Latin for him.
“I apologize for being all sweaty,” he says.
A sound escapes me. Probably a plea for mercy.
He studies me. “What made you come to Baywood?”
I open my mouth, then close it. I did not think this through.
“Not—not you,” I say, then promptly die of mortification.
He doesn’t laugh at my stupidity. He waits for me to continue.
“I came for the local literary atmosphere,” I explain, like that’s a thing. I gesture vaguely at Mom’s book.
He looks at the cover. It has biscotti and a kitchen knife on it, both dripping with blood. Oh no. What if Caspian thinks I have violent urges? Well, I did plan a murder by cake fork when I pictured him here with someone else.
“I’m not sure if Baywood’s literary atmosphere is savage enough, but I canask around for you,” he says, lips twitching.
I fidget with my bracelet and watch him take another sip of coffee. I watch his throat, then his jaw. His mouth. His—
Caspian’s looking at me. He’s looking at me and there’s nothing I can do about it. I sit helplessly under his scrutiny, cheeks flushed, trying not to squirm when he takes in every detail. My shirt. My arms. My hair. I brush a curl back, flustered. He notices. Oh how he notices.
He’d better ask for my number soon so I don’t have to throw my pencil at him.
Afterward, I can allow him one moment of ardent admiration. As a courtesy. Then I’ll go and breathe into a paperbag.
“Now that you’re here,” he starts, his calm voice causing my toes to curl in excitement, “I’m going to use this opportunity and ask for your number again.”
Does Baywood have a doctor? I’m half-deceased.
His hazel eyes lock into mine.
“If you say no, I’ll leave you alone. Completely. I promise.”
He waits. Gives me time.
I feel like I’m coming home after a long and exhausting journey.
“So,” he says gently. “Could I have your number?”
Oh God. Fuck. Shit.Yes.
CHAPTER 35 – CASPIAN
I’m betting my entire stupid heart on this. Antonio has glared, scowled,hissed. Avoided me, insulted me, rejected me. But he’s here now. I let himglower, let him pretend he isn’t blushing down to his throat. Let him claimthat he’s herefor the literary atmosphere. All that matters is that he’s here.
