Page 45 of Falling for Mr. October

I want to finish what we started.

I also know it would be a very bad idea.

He swears. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

I shouldn’t be disappointed. He’s absolutely right.

“We both did it,” I point out. “The good news is that you’ve gone up from a two out of ten to a seven.”

It was an eleven out of ten. No, a hundred out of ten. No man has ever kissed me like Giovanni Cafiero just did, and now I have to go back to the farmhouse and sleep in the room next to his without giving in to the urge to crawl into his bed in the middle of the night like his ex-girlfriend did.

He gives me a fierce, disbelieving look. “A seven?”

“Your performance improved. Take the compliment.”

“You know it was more than a seven,” he insists, his eyes locked on mine. A shiver of need travels down my spine, lighting up my body, but I ignore it and hold his gaze.

“A seven is generous,” I insist.

Laughing mirthlessly, he takes off the “Smut Slut” hat and runs a hand through his thick hair. My gaze follows the motion, shameless in its admiration of him. “Thank you for your great generosity, Bianca.”

He’s quiet for a moment, the hat cradled in his lap, before he says, “You don’t get it. People are going to think you’re my girlfriend. They’ll say I came to Apple Ridge because of you. They’ll probably dig it all up. How my family used to come here. The fight between our nonnas. Miles’s accident. It’s a good story.”

My lips part. But I white-knuckle the wheel to center myself. “You’re catastrophizing. We don’t know who took that photo. It could have been some kid trying to prank us.”

He nods in acknowledgement. “But I don’t think it was.”

“Let’s go home. There’s no point speculating.”

“I’ll leave Apple Ridge.” He reaches for his car door. “I’ll go with my grandmother. I don’t want to pull you and your family any deeper into this mess. Honestly, I don’t.”

I reach over and grip his wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss. “Are you going to hitch back to Maine?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says miserably, slumping back into the seat. “I didn’t want to make more of a mess of everything, but that’s exactly what I’ve done. Some of these people are vicious.”

“I’m not afraid of anyone.”

He actually smiles for half a second. “I believe that, but I don’t⁠—”

“Come home, Giovanni. Come home and get some sleep. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“Okay.”

After I start driving, I turn the radio on and find a station playing a song by an Asheville band. The bass player was one of my last patients in the emergency room. In fact, I got fired because I warned him that the doctor on call had poor vision and absolutely should not stitch up his face.

I tell Giovanni the story on the ride, trying to distract him. He responds politely, but I can tell he’s stuck in his own mind—the thoughts cyclical and squeezing.

Finally, I pass beneath the Evergreens & Apples sign, and some of my unease slips away. It’s illogical, for sure, but it feels like nothing truly bad can happen on the farm. It saved us when we were children, and in my mind, it’s still that safe place no real harm can touch. Even though harm has certainly visited the people who live here.

My brother’s truck is gone when we pull up to the house.

“The nonnas will be in bed,” I tell Giovanni as I park the car. “It’s past nine thirty.”

He nods but doesn’t move after he unfastens his belt.

“What are you so afraid of?” I ask, my tone harsher than I intended.

He looks like I slapped him. “I’m not afraid of anything. I don’t want people coming here, looking into your business. I don’t want them bothering you⁠—”