Page 37 of Falling for Mr. October

“I’m glad your ears work.” I pick up my phone. “Because that’s exactly what’s happening, Smut Slut.”

He sighs, but it’s through an amused expression.

He spoons up a big bite of pie, and I click several photos right as he pops it into his mouth. A giddy feeling fills me as he practically moans in the seat across from me, shaking his head from side to side. Before I set my phone down, I flip through the photos, tracing my finger across Giovanni’s satisfied smile on the small screen.

“Do you admit it’s better than yours?” I ask.

“Apple Ridge has me beat,” he concedes, leaning back in the booth. “It’s a good thing I quit.”

I’d wondered about this. His videos had stopped abruptly after he was unmasked. It’s been nearly a month since it happened, nearly a month of no videos, when he’d been posting several times a week before then.

When he “disappeared” from Maine a week and a half ago, hundreds of comments popped up on his last video, speculating what might have happened to him. An entire website was dedicated to it, and after its launch last week, it had already accumulated hundreds of thousands of views.

“Did you quit because of your nonna?” I ask, leaning forward a little. “It seemed like you had a good thing going.”

He sets an arm against the back of the booth, possibly because he knows I can’t help but check out the lobster on his bicep.

Yup, still there.

He gives me an arch look. “I don’t want to talk about any of that right now. You promised me a tour of Apple Ridge. So far we’ve gotten contraband from the bookstore and—don’t quote me on this—the best pie I’ve ever had. What’s up next?”

I give him a victorious grin. “I knew you’d like it.”

“Only a fool would turn his nose up at perfection,” he says with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You don’t have to waste your charm on me. You’ve already kissed me.”

I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean to, but the words can’t be pulled back.

“You’re tormenting me by mentioning that kiss again,” Giovanni says with a sigh. “No one wants to have it rubbed in their face that they were a bad kisser at fourteen.”

I shovel pie into my mouth before responding. “I’m sure I wasn’t so great either. I thought you were supposed to keep your mouth closed unless you were French.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” he objects, as if our three-second kiss is etched into his memory. He gathers some of the melting ice cream onto his spoon and licks it, his gaze lingering on me.

I don’t even know if he’s trying to be seductive. Unfortunately, he’s achieving it.

“Finish your pie,” I grumble.

“With pleasure.” He smiles at me as he takes another bite, and when he’s finished, he pulls out his wallet and takes out two twenties.

In response to my questioning look, he shrugs almost self-consciously.

“Maureen’s a nice lady. Seems like she might want to buy one of Emily’s smutty books.”

I feel a surge of warmth toward him, but I throw a mental bucket of ice on it, only then realizing that I’m actually quite cold. I hug myself, wishing I’d thought to sneak outerwear from the house.

“I probably should have warned you to put something on over your T-shirt,” I say. “It doesn’t get as cold as Maine here, but it’s still chilly in the fall.”

“Yeah, I should have asked Theo to toss us our jackets,” he says, deadpan. “I’ll bet he would have been totally cool with that.”

I bury my head in my hands. “I’m going to pay for that. Poor Theo.”

“Maybe I’ll give him the hat to make up for it.”

“Never.” I laugh at the thought of my stoic big brother wearing the hat.

Giovanni snaps his fingers. “I know how we can make it up to him. We’ll let the nonnas set him up with someone. I recommend Eva St. Claire.”