Chapter 11
Sky
I sneak a peek over the edge of my menu at Kjell, who's studying his menu so attentively that he doesn't notice me. His head is tilted to the side, and his hair is sticking out in all directions. His strong jawline is visible beneath his three-day beard. I can't help but let my gaze linger on his lips. They move imperceptibly, as if he's reading the menu to himself.
I shouldn't be observing him. I shouldn't even be here with him. My God, what got into me earlier?
His gaze flicks to me.
Hastily, I take a sip of my Vino Bianco and focus on the activity in the restaurant. I watch the waitstaff darting between tables and the pizza chef in the show kitchen tossing a dough disk into the air, only to catch it moments later.
The soft background music and the animated chatter of mostly Italian-speaking guests, combined with the indirect lighting, create a cozy atmosphere.
Maybe it was a good idea to come here. In my hotel room, my worries about my father would have overwhelmed me. Just like the fear of not being able to meet the demands placed on me as the head ofTouch av lyx.
At least I have some distraction here. And that's the only reason I'm in this restaurant with Kjell.
It has absolutely nothing to do with how deeply disappointed he was by my rejection. The fact that it nearly tore my heart apart to hurt him—a stranger I should be wary of—doesn't matter. And the fact that his company feels like a carefree escape from all that burdens me is entirely irrelevant.
"Pizza di Napoli."
I startle. "I'm sorry, what?" Blinking, I emerge from my thoughts.
Kjell closes his menu across from me and hands it to the server, whose presence I've only just become aware of. "A question. How lovely."
I should probably protest, but he's waiting for that. So I order spaghetti carbonara instead and do something unexpected.
Slowly, I pull the container with individually wrapped grissini toward me. Then I take one out and hand it to him. "Here's your question. You can save it for later or ask it now and put the grissini back."
The confusion in his expression is delightful, and once again, his presence pushes the shadows within me into the background. Unfortunately, he recovers too quickly. He turns the package in his hand and fixates on me so intensely that I regret my courage instantly.
That was a damn foolish idea. What if he asks me a question I can't answer?
"All right, Sky," he says in a tone that makes my pulse race. "What's your favorite thing to eat?"
This guy is full of surprises. "Really? That's your question? Why?"
Before I can fully grasp what just happened, he triumphantly reaches for the grissini container. He pulls out two packs andplaces them alongside the one he already has on his dark blue napkin. "Minus one for my question, plus three for yours."
"Okay." Leaning forward over the table, I push my wineglass aside. He may have tricked me earlier, but that was the first and last time. "My favorite thing to eat is golden worms."
His mouth opens, but before he can say anything, he restrains himself. "Clever." He rubs his chin, then reaches for one of his earned grissinis, holding it up. "What are golden worms?"
First danger averted, good job. I take the pack from him and put it back in the container. "That's what I used to call spiral pasta when I was a child."
Clearly disappointed, he leans back in his chair and takes a sip of his wine. It's as if he needs a moment to figure out the best way to respond. "I always liked the shell-shaped ones better."
"You're full of surprises, Kjell..." I raise an eyebrow invitingly.
"Mattson," he adds his last name automatically and then bites his tongue.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. And at this moment, I realize that he's done it again. The pressure on my chest has lessened, and my lips are curved upward.
"You're..." I mutter distractedly.
He shifts in his chair, back and forth. "Yes?"
Somehow special, I think. "Fell for it," I say with a surprisingly soft voice and snag another one of his grissini.
