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I nod. “It’s a… What’s the brand name again?”
They say it in unison.
“It’s the most beautiful luxury I’d love to be able to afford.” I chuckle and then realize my joke might not be funny around people who can buy such luxuries.
When Corrado keeps staring, I finally ask, “Why do you keep staring at me like that?”
“Because your face pleases me.”
I hide my smile by looking away.
“And also because I’m thinking,” he says.
“What about?” I ask.
“If I wanted to tell you, I would have already. Besides, curiosity kills kittens.”
“Most people say curiosity killed the cat,” I tell him.
“I’m aware of the saying.” Corrado taps the door. “We’ll take it.”
I can’t hide my smile. “Excellent choice,” both Charlie and I say in unison.
Since Corrado is blocking my exit, I remain in the car while a thrilled Charlie climbs the steps two at a time. I guess waiting for the elevator proved too long a delay to close the sale.
Corrado opens the car door for me, and I step out. I open my mouth to tell him something when he catches me by the back of my neck and holds me at arm’s length. It’s a possessive move and also dangerous. I expect him to yank me against his body and kiss me next, but he simply squeezes the back of my neck and says, “Your espresso is getting cold.”
He swipes a small paper cup from the roof of the car and hands it to me.
I sip, then make a face at which he smiles, showing me his left dimple.
“What’s the matter? Needs sugar?”
“And milk.”
“Most people,” he says in a tone that lets me know he’s returning my reference to most people to me, “drink espresso straight up with as little sugar as possible. The point is to enjoy the shockingly strong taste.”
That sounds like he’s making me taste his personality, and I tell him so. “Kind of like you.”
He slings an arm around my shoulders, and we start moving toward the stairs. “Oh yeah? Shockingly strong,” he repeats. “Served dark and straight up, without milk.”
I sip the drink. God, it really is strong. “Let’s say I’m in Italy, and I ask for milk with my espresso.”
He tsks and says something in Italian. “You would order a cappuccino.”
“An espresso with milk is a cappuccino?”
He nods. “The question is, do you want an espresso or a cappuccino? It’s a matter of taste. Tell me, which do you prefer?” We stop at the bottom of the steps and Corrado looks at me with intensity that makes me think we’re no longer talking about drinks.
He’s asking me if I want something else. Someone else. In essence, he’s asking me if I like him. It’s a vulnerable place for him because it means he cares about my answer.
What I say next is important. Life-changing, even, and yet I feel so stupid for even thinking on a grand scale in this way because it could all be in my head, and for all he cares, it’s about choosing an Italian coffee drink.
I tip the cup and finish the espresso. “A dash of sugar wouldn’t hurt.”
Corrado takes his bottom lip between his teeth, then releases it with a pop. He nods and jerks his head. “Charlie needs my signature.”
We were talking about espresso after all.
