Page 67 of Falling for Mr. October

He doesn’t attempt to hide his grin. “Are we allowed to bring our own materials?”

“Yes.” I frown in distaste. “I wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised if Mr. Mayor rescheduled just so he could hire a pastry chef to make all of his materials.”

Giovanni gives the risotto a final stir, the movement hypnotic, and takes the pan off the heat. “Let him. People don’t like s’mores because they’re fancy. They like them because they remind them of bonfires and flannel blankets and charred marshmallows. That’s what we’ll give to them. A real Apple Ridge s’more. But we’ll make the graham crackers. I’ve always wanted to learn how to make graham crackers.”

“And the marshmallows?” I ask, my throat dry.

He grins at me, his eyeteeth looking sharp enough to bite. “You can make them, Bianca. We all know you’re sweetness and light.”

I nudge him with my shoulder, and he nudges back, and suddenly I’m thrown back in time sixteen years, to when Giovanni and Miles announced a tickle competition. The first person to laugh would lose, and the person who held out the longest would win. I don’t even know what the prize was, but all of us kids took it very seriously, even Giovanni’s big brother, Enzo, who didn’t have an ounce of silliness in his body.

Giovanni didn’t break until it was my turn to try him. I tickled under his armpit, and he burst out laughing after five seconds, who knows why. Miles had tried his pits before I did and failed to get so much as a smile out of him.

“Do you remember when you lost that tickle competition you started?” I ask.

He smiles at me. “It was a low blow to go for the armpits.”

“I like winning.”

His smile widens. “So I’ve noticed. But I only broke because you made me nervous, not because you memorized where I was most ticklish.”

“Nervous?” I say with a laugh. “What do you⁠—?”

“Oh, that was a long time ago. Who can remember? Anyway, we should get the ingredients for the s’mores ready ahead of time, but not until your next day off. You work hard enough.”

I peer at him in surprise. “How would you know?”

“I know,” he says firmly, and I believe he does. Somehow, he notices me. Knows me.

“Let’s make a plan for Friday morning. I switched shifts with the other daytime RN so I could have Friday and Saturday off.”

He nods. “Friday. We’ll do it. I’ll get the groceries.”

“I’ll figure out how to make a fucking marshmallow.”

“And don’t worry about Mr. Mayor. Who could keep Bianca Murphy down? He’s not up to the task.”

I’m smiling as I help him carry the food into the dining room, and I can’t lie: I might not have wanted Giovanni Cafiero to come here, but I don’t want him to leave.

CHAPTER TWENTY

GIOVANNI

EMAIL FROM JANINE

I don’t really believe you moved there because of that woman, Gio. You’re trying to make me jealous to prove a point.

Fine, you’ve succeeded. Happy?

Can we please talk? I know you blocked my number.

I’m YOURS,

Janine

RESPONSE TO JANINE

I’m with Bianca. End of story. You’re married, J. Be happy. I’m not trying to make you miserable, but I’ve moved on, same as you did.