I rush to say, “Doesn’t matter, because I didn’t do either. I mean, a couple of times while we were kissing, I did brush up against his wildcard tiles, but I didn’t put my hand inside the velvet bag and grope around for anything special.”
“I think you’re going to be fine,” she says. “Just take it slow.”
I giggle into my wine glass. “It’s just that… most people play with seven tiles at a time, because they fit on the tile rack. I think my tile rack is standard, but what if he plays with eight tiles? Or nine, or ten? Oh my god, what if he plays with eleven letter tiles, and they’re wide ones?”
Rory leans forward, sets the wine glass on the coffee table, and then runs out of my place so fast, she leaves a little cartoon dust cloud behind her.
I pour her wine into my glass and keep thinking about letter tiles.
Chapter 12
Luca arrives right on time for dinner.
This time, he pays attention to my instructions and comes around the side of the main house, right to my door.
He’s got flowers in his hands—a beautiful mixed flower arrangement, in a vase I recognize from my shop.
“You’re kidding,” I say, taking the flowers.
“Read the note.”
He comes inside and glances around quickly before turning his beautiful blue eyes back on me.
Blushing, I find the envelope and pull out one of the standard cards from the shop.
The card reads:
SORRY I’M A JERK. - LUCA
I look up, confused. He’s grinning like crazy.
“I don’t get it,” I say.
He shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll do something hideous tonight. For example, I might look around your place and ask to see the rest of it. Then you’ll tell me it’s a renovated garage, and we’re standing in all of it.”
“Oh, I have five more rooms here. They’re behind that door. Go have a look.” I point my thumb at the coat closet.
“Maybe later.” He takes the flowers and note from my hand and sets them in the middle of the table. Then he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for a kiss.
We kiss until I get dizzy and stumble back, almost tipping us over.
He licks his lips, his gaze on my mouth. “Are you going to offer me some of that wine you’re drinking?”
“I’m afraid that particular wine is all gone. It went into the, um, sauce. But I have another bottle I can open.”
He picks up a bag from just inside the door and hands me an unopened bottle. “Let’s try this.”
“The bottle’s dusty.”
He chuckles. “It’s from my wine cellar.”
I point to the closet door. “I have a wine cellar, too. It’s right through that door.”
“Sure you do.” He grabs me and kisses me again, then nuzzles his cheek against my neck. His cheek is smooth, like he shaved minutes before coming over. The feeling of his skin against my neck, along with his hot breath, makes my knees weak.
“You smell good,” he murmurs. “You smell like roast beef, which is one of my favorite smells.”
I squeal and pull away. “That’s your dinner.”
He points his finger in the air, like he’s just remembered something. “Right, dinner. I should confess. I actually ate dinner before I came over, because I knew it was just an excuse for you to get me into your lair.”
My mouth drops open in disbelief. “Did you really eat before you came over?”
He laughs. “No. I’m famished.” He plucks the notecard from the table and points to the inscription. “Now you see why I needed this. Classic jerk move, making you worry like that.”
I hand him the wine opener, and he gets to work opening the bottle.
I pull the enormous roast from the oven and leave it on the stovetop to rest before slicing. Rory left me specific instructions for the final preparations, and I do my best to follow them.
Luca hands me a glass of wine and offers to help. He and his large frame barely fit inside the micro kitchen, let alone both of us. I shoo him out and tell him to snoop around.
He looks around my place with interest, first at the finishing details of the garage conversion, and then at my collection of framed photos on the mantle above the electric fireplace.
“I didn’t know you were married,” he says.
My throat tightens, and I regret not going through my photos before Luca came over. He holds my prom photo in his hand, studying it with a frown on his face.
“That’s not a bridal gown,” I tell him. “My prom dress was pale blue, but everyone else was in much brighter colors, so I look washed out.”
“You’re beautiful.”
I grab a hot tray without an oven mitt and burn my fingers. I curse under my breath and quickly dunk my hand in cold water.