Page 53 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

He didn't give her the chance to respond. He kissed her. One kiss became two, then three. All lips. No tongue. Three soft kisses, warm and perfect. She pulled back first.

"I was starting to wonder if that was ever going to happen.”

He smiled. "I hope it was worth the wait."

Kate’s eyes glistened. When she spoke, her voice was low. "These lips haven't touched anyone since Malcolm died. I wasn't sure I still remembered how."

Dash brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Based on my preliminary findings, Professor, I’d say you’re doin’ just fine.”

Baby steps for you too, Dash.

CHAPTER TWELVE

NATALIE

One month before the gala

For months Natalie had kept her guard welded shut, but something behind Hart’s eyes kept slipping through the cracks. The man oozed charm. One minute thoughtful, the next funny. She couldn’t hold in her laughter. Their Uber driver kept cutting her looks in the rearview mirror several times, clearly annoyed by her giggle fits.

The car slowed, and the driver pointed out the window.

"Excuse me, sir? Is this the place?"

"This is indeed the place." Hart unbuckled his seatbelt and swung the door open.

Natalie followed him out, eyeing the sign. “Toad's Tech? I thought we were going for Italian."

"We are."

"But this is an electronics store,” she said, skeptical.

He flashed her a grin. "Trust me. It's the James Beard winner of electronics stores."

Inside, Hart pressed a finger to his lips and motioned her along. He led her to the back, stopping at a door marked Employees Only. Curiosity prickled through her as he led her down a narrow hallway to a second door. He opened it with a theatrical flourish.

Natalie crossed the threshold into a small but tidy commercial kitchen—stainless steel appliances, a faded Italy travel poster, a portable speaker playing a Dean Martin classic. An older man and a preteen boy worked behind the prep table. A lone bistro table sat in the corner, complete with a red-and-white checked tablecloth.

They’d walked straight into Lady and the Tramp.

"Well, aren't you full of surprises?" she said, wide-eyed.

He pulled out her chair. "This okay?”

"It's perfect. How is this even a thing?"

"They're a delivery-only operation. Everything from scratch. And Nino”—he nodded to the older man—“makes exceptions for a select few."

"Nino?" she echoed.

"The old man. Doesn’t speak English but makes a mean pie. His grandson, Little Nino, is one of my most faithful readers."

Hart gave the boy a salute. The boy smiled without pausing his work.

“Your chef is a little young, sir, but I bet he makes a beautiful pizza,” Natalie said in her best Italian.

Both Ninos froze, then laughed. Hart blinked as though she’d sprouted a second head.

"You speak Italian?"