“Have you stalked his Instagram? What’s his name? Or should I just call him Mr. I’m-going-to-make-your-knees-weak?”
“His name’s Dan Bianchi. And I’m definitely not stalking him.”
She’s already tapping her phone. “I am.” Her face frowns. “Huh? There’s nothing coming up for him.”
“I don’t think he has social media.” I’ve already searched many times over the years.
“Oh, I thought he’d want to show off his garden tools?”
I nearly spit out my tea this time. “What do you mean, garden tools?”
“Come on, Grace.” She leans in, lowering her voice like she’s telling me a deep secret. “We both know he’s got those big… gardening hands. And you’ve seen his arms. Don't even pretend like they don’t make you wonder how he’d handle… other things.”
I roll my eyes, but my heart’s racing, and I can feel a blush creeping up my neck. “You need to get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Gutter? I’m in the penthouse. I know exactly where your mind is going. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice how he fills out his jeans. The way he tugged that white t-shirt over his chest? Don’t lie. You were practically drooling.”
“I wasn’t drooling,” I snap, my voice louder than I meant. But it’s no use—she’s grinning as if she’s just won the lottery.
“Uh-huh,” she says, sipping her tea as if she’s just had the juiciest gossip of the decade. “You don’t have to admit it, babe. Your blush says it all. I mean, I can’t blame you. Dan is—chef’s kiss. He’s definitely got that ‘I’ll break your heart but I’ll be worth it’ vibe.”
Don’t I know it?
“Fine, whatever,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “But I’m telling you, there’s nothing happening between us. He’s just a guy who is good at pruning roses.” He certainly cut me down many years ago.
She bursts into laughter. “Oh, Gracie, keep telling yourself that. But we both know you’re counting down the days until he’s pruning more than just your… bushes.”
The kitchen door creaks open. We both stare at Dan. His grin couldn’t get any wider, as if he’s heard everything we’ve said and his ego’s about to explode.
He lifts the mug. “Thanks for the tea.”
Helena’s phone pings, and she rolls her eyes. “I gotta go.” She walks past Dan and into the hallway. “Charlie, we’re going.”
I follow her into the hallway. “Thanks for bringing Angelos home.”
“It was worth the thirty-mile round trip just to… you know.” She winks as the boys come downstairs, then air kisses my cheek. “Get it, girl.”
“Thank you for having me over last night. Mrs. Eseloma,” Angelos says.
“No problem. See you at school tomorrow.” She and her son wave as they walk to their car at the bottom of my drive.
I hug Angelos now his friend’s gone, and kiss the top of his head. “I’ve missed you. Are you hungry?”
“Yeah, can we get a takeaway?” He looks up with his beautiful silvery-blue eyes that are all too similar.
“Sure. Why not?” I follow him into the kitchen, but halt in the doorway.
Dan stands there frozen in place, mug in hand, eyes glued to my son. Dan’s gaze cuts to mine, sharp and questioning. The mug in his hand trembles ever so slightly.
I take it from him and place it in the sink. “Anyway, it’s been a long day. Thank you for your help…” I smile through gritted teeth. “…with my bush.”
Dan doesn’t move. He just stares at Angelos. Or, more accurately, stares at the features that mirror his own.
My chest tightens. It’s so hard to breathe in here. I open a window, needing fresh air. Needing a distraction from Dan.
Angelos opens the fridge, rummaging around like it’s just any normal Sunday, helping himself to a can of fizzy pop.
“Don’t you have to get off now?” I say as I turn around from the window.
