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Which is why I nearly jumped out of my skin when there was a knock on the open door of my office and a cheery, “Hi! Am I interrupting?”

I pulled myself back together and twisted in my chair to find none other than tasty Provisions guy standing in the doorway. The man was as cute as a button in so many ways. He was on the short side with strongly Italian features. He had the olive complexion, dark, curly hair, and surprisingly blue eyes of that specific strain of Italians who looked gorgeous without even trying.

And he held a small wheel of cheese.

“Oh, sorry, I am interrupting,” he said, his face flushing as I pushed my chair back and stood.

“No, it’s fine,” I said, stepping out from behind the desk and approaching him.

The guy’s face lit up as he dragged his gaze all the way up my body to my face. I had about a foot on him, which gave me all sorts of feels I didn’t think were great to be feeling in the moment.

“I’m Marco Andreotti,” he said, his voice just a tad hoarse. “I own the new shop across the street. Well, I rent from the owner, but the shop is mine. I own the business, let’s just say that.”

Oh, so he was a talker, was he? Or maybe I just made him nervous.

That was probably it.

“I’m Bastian Gorman,” I said, extending my hand with a smile I’d worked to get as nonthreatening as possible. “My father currently owns our business, but I run it. I’m in line to inherit when he dies.”

“Oh!” Marco’s eyes went wide. I was sure it was because of my stupid choice of words. But then he shuffled his cheese wheel into his left hand and took my hand with his right. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Bastian Gorman.”

His hand was solid and warm, and his handshake was firm. He might have looked adorable, but there was power in his shake, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he had a much better physique than was apparent if you weren’t standing close to him.

Intriguing.

The handshake went on way longer than I would have expected. So did Marco’s smile. If I didn’t know any better, I would have said he didn’t want to let go of my hand.

Until he blinked and shook his head almost imperceptibly, then let go. “Sorry,” he said for no reason I could discern, then held out the cheese wheel. “I brought you Manchego.”

“No one has ever brought me cheese before,” I said, staring at the wheel for probably way too long before getting over myself and taking it from him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Marco said, his smile growing to epic proportions. “I’ve been visiting all my new neighbors to introduce myself and the shop. I’m surprised I haven’t been over here yet, but you know how busy things are when you’re starting a new business.”

“My great-grandfather started this business in nineteen-nineteen,” I said like an idiot.

Marco laughed. “Okay, so maybe you don’t know about starting a new business. But I’m sure you know how busy things can get. Does death have a busy season?”

I was in love. Just like that. Or at least I had an instant crush on Marco Andreotti.

“Believe it or not, people tend to die around holidays,” I said, even though every part of me was screaming to shut up and talk about normal things. Things that would get Marco to maybe like me back.

“I’ve heard that,” Marco said, switching to a serious face and nodding. “I guess a lot of people try to hold out and be with their loved ones for the holidays, then give up the ghost, so to speak, once things are over.”

“Something like that,” I said, fighting the flutters deep in my chest.

Less than five minutes, and I already knew I’d never met anyone like Marco Andreotti.

“Speaking of ghosts,” Marco went on, “I have to admit that I have an ulterior motive in coming over here to introduce myself.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Marco glanced around at the office, then helped himself to one of the soft upholstered couches where grieving people usually sat.

I did what I always did, put the cheese wheel on my desk, and moved to sit on the couch opposite him, adjusting my long coat as I did.

“That’s some coat,” Marco said, watching my every move with interest. “It’s totally unique.”

My guard went up like spikes shooting up from the ground. “I picked it up at a thrift shop a few years ago,” I said, resisting the urge to either apologize for my eclectic look or defend it.