Page 120 of Falling for Mr. October

Judy calls out another letter-number combo, and Theo laughs to himself. “Well, I’ll be damned. Bingo!”

Bianca: I can’t sleep.

Me: Why didn’t you knock?

Bianca: I didn’t want to wake you up.

Me: You can always wake me up.

Bianca: I think I want some apple pie.

Me: You’re in luck, I brought some home.

Me: Meet me in the kitchen?

Bianca wasn’t home when I got back from bingo. She’d gone out with Emily, and I’d nodded off in my bed with my copy of Yes, Chef splayed half across my face.

I was awoken by my phone buzzing in my pocket, not that I wanted to admit to Bianca that I’d been asleep. She’d probably try insisting that I don’t need to feed her.

Bullshit.

I live to feed her.

I hurry down the stairs, the imprint of my book still on my face, and put a large slice of apple pie in the oven to warm for her.

Luanne and I made three pies today, but I left two and a half at The Rotten Apple for the residents to enjoy.

Bianca comes into the kitchen wearing a silky black robe that immediately tears a swear from my lips. She looks sexy and a bit undone, with her hair loose and messy around her face, which is bare of any makeup.

“You are an absolute vision.”

She laughs and swats my arm as she leans down to peer into the oven.

“An impatient vision,” I add.

“I’m so hungry,” she moans, straightening. “I was helping Em with something for the store, and I lost track of time.”

“I’ll make you something else too. What will it be? An omelet? A grilled cheese?”

“You’re always feeding me,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like a complaint, and she rises on her toes to kiss the side of my mouth.

“Sit on the counter,” I say softly. “Sit next to me, and I’ll make you a sandwich. Please. You’ll be doing me a world of good.”

She offers me a smile that feeds my soul better than any amount of bread and cheese could, which is saying something, because bread and cheese are proof of the divine.

“You make it sound like I’m the one doing you the favor,” she says, stretching in a way that presses her breasts against the silk of her robe. I enjoy the view, feeling lucky in the knowledge that she’ll let me suck on them later.

“You most definitely are,” I say as I boost her onto the counter. “You know I like seeing you up here.” I lean close to her ear and whisper, “It reminds me of what it felt like to have your legs wrapped around my shoulders on this very counter.”

She tugs me toward her by the neck of my shirt. “You could refresh that memory.” She glances down the hallway. “We’d hear if one of them opened their door.”

True. I oiled most of the door hinges in the house, but I’ll be honest, I was a little self-serving in the work. I didn’t oil the hinges on the nonnas’ doors, and I happened to mention as much to Bianca.

Also, damn, she’s making this hard for me, in a whole lot of different ways.

“Yes, I would absolutely like to do that,” I say, my hands on her legs, soft beneath the silk of her robe. “But first I am going to make you a sandwich and tell you all about your fifth-grade teacher’s love life. I can’t let my girl go hungry.”

Her whole face lights up, and I feel lucky enough that I’m half tempted to yell out bingo! or jackpot! like a real jackass.