Jesus. I won’t survive this date.
“I’m not much of a baker,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
Antonio nods, distracted by the food, and blissfully unaware I’m silently unraveling.
He lifts the tall glass bottle.
“This water looks fancy. Is it something you usually drink, or are you trying to impress me?”
His frown is adorable. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too hard.
“I wouldn’t dream of trying to impress you with water. I just grabbed it.”
He nods again, then finds the lemonade. His mouth curves.
“I love elderflower .”
“It was either that or strawberry basil. Cole thought this one looked more elegant.”
“You can pour me a glass,” he says generously.
He leans back on the blanket, soaking in the sun. His wrists look delicate, though I know they aren’t. I’ve seen him balance plates like it’s nothing.
I’ve seen the quiet strength in him.
I pour carefully, acutely aware of how close we are. I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.
He looks away, suddenly shy.
“Do you come here a lot?”
“Not so much anymore, but this place is special.”
“Why?”
He sips the lemonade, licking his lips. I try not to stare.
“This is good.”
“I’m glad you like it,” I say huskily. Then I clear my throat.
“I found this spot by accident when I was jogging along the shore.”
“How did it become special?”
Another sip, another pleasurable sigh. Another jolt of want.
“Breathing’s easier here,” I explain, almost surprising myself with that. I gesture around. “I have a great view at home, but this is different. I feel safe here. In the light.”
Antonio studies me carefully.
I feel like he really sees me—and understands what he sees.
“I get that,” he says quietly.
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
He flashes me a beautiful, brilliant smile.
