Page 110 of The Fall Affair

“No.”

“Did you yell out the wrong name in bed?”

“God, no.”

“Then he can get over it. What does he have to say for himself?”

“That’s the thing. He hasn’t called or come by in two days. I was trying to give him space but—”

“Space? He’s Italiano. We don’t give each other space. We yell. We fight. We call each other every curse name in the book, maybe set a spell on your mother. Then we make mad, passionate love.”

I smiled through a sigh. “Maybe you’re right, and I should go over there.”

“You love him?”

My heart squeezed. “I do.”

“Then you fight for him, yes?”

“You know what? You’re right.”

“Get used to it, big sister. I’m always right.”

I chuckled again. “Thanks. What time next Saturday?”

“Seven. But call me if you want to talk before then—maybe after you take your chicken ass over to your hot boyfriend’s.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Camilla.”

“Ciao!”

***

I almost turned around.

After an entire day of making excuses as to why I should wait to go next door, the time had finally come. The sun was setting. The workers were gone. And I’d baked peanut butter brownies that smelled so good I was tempted to eat the whole plate myself.

But instead, I walked up the gravel path and stood in front of Matteo’s door for far too long. My hand hovered near the wood while my brain spiraled. What if I’d broken something that couldn’t be fixed? What if he still didn’t want to see me?

Before I could second-guess myself anymore, I took a deep breath and knocked.

There was a long pause that made me even more anxious, if that were possible, before the door creaked open.

Matteo stood there, barefoot, in a soft gray T-shirt and jeans. His hair was slicked back and wet like he’d just gotten out of the shower, and he looked tired. The expression on his face was unreadable.

“Ciao,” I said, holding up the brownies like a peace offering. “I made you something. It’s not from my grandmother’s recipes, but I swear they taste good anyway.”

Matteo put on a smile that looked like it had gotten lost halfway to his face. But he did step back. “Come in.”

I followed him into the house. It felt as quiet as mine had the last few days. “I wasn’t sure if I should come,” I said, setting the brownies on the kitchen counter. “But I needed to say I’m sorry again. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Matteo. If I’d known what that set would—”

He shook his head, cutting me off. “I know you didn’t know. You were just being thoughtful.”

I blew out an audible breath. “I still feel really awful.”

He didn’t respond to that, just leaned against the kitchen counter looking at me. Finally, he asked, “How’d your call go?”

I swallowed. “Good. They offered me a partnership to join them.”