Page 70 of Falling for Mr. October

“Yeah, they’re definitely happy to be together. Not a single apple has been thrown.”

We all have a good chuckle over that. Then Enzo says, “Lucia and I spoke with Nonna yesterday, and she mentioned something about the possibility of you making videos with your shirt on. Why don’t you give that a try?”

Nico bursts out laughing. “Right, you think Giovanni’s going to hide his chest after all the work he’s put into it?”

“Ha-ha, very funny. But seriously, I don’t know. Bianca’s the one who suggested a fully-clothed version, but the whole reason people were interested was because they liked the gimmick. Without it, I’m just some guy.”

“If you keep ignoring all the people who want to keep you famous, then you really will be just some guy soon enough,” Enzo says. He’s never been a soft touch, something I’ve always appreciated about him.

“But isn’t it…” Dumb…vain…foolish…conceited?

“Look, man, I’m sorry I came down on you hard,” Enzo says. “Lucia made me watch some of your videos⁠—”

I groan.

“And I liked them, once I got over the fact that I was getting an eyeful of my little brother’s assets.”

“Oh, come on. Nico’s the little brother. I’m barely younger than you.

“And he’s barely younger than you,” Enzo says. “You’re both my little brothers.”

“We all know how old we are,” Nico agrees. “Now, stop avoiding the point, Giovanni.”

Huh, has he been talking to Emily about my avoidant personality? There’s no denying I haven’t even cracked the book she gave me, although I did place it on my bedside table.

“People want more of the Shirtless Chef,” Nico continues. “I know this because dozens of them show up every day asking for you. I’m thinking of selling some of your stuff as a side hustle. ‘This is the first Bundt pan the great Shirtless Chef ever used. These are the tweezers he uses to pluck hairs off his balls. This is the cup he used to protect his junk when he played Lobster League baseball.’”

I laugh with them, feeling a pang of loss. I don’t miss our hometown the way I thought I would, especially since the last weeks I spent there were hell, but I do miss them. Aria too.

It feels strange for my siblings to be so far away, when this was always a place we visited together, running through the creeks, climbing the trees, and being wild and free and far from the cares of home.

“When you come back, we can make all kinds of new, useless crap to sell,” Nico continues. “Used tissues. Half-eaten snacks. The possibilities are endless.”

I feel a confusing lurch of emotion. When I come home, like it’s a given. I suppose it is, although it’s hard to imagine going home. What’ll that look like? Am I just going to slip back into my life and pretend none of this happened unless old fans come by?

“Yeah, I guess so,” I reply. “I don’t know when that’ll happen.”

“Speaking of Bianca,” Enzo says.

“No one was,” I murmur. Not that I wasn’t thinking about her.

I’ve been thinking about her a lot.

I think about her in the morning, when I come downstairs and see the ghosts of her—the coffee cup in the sink, the energy bar wrapper in the trash—and I think about her during the day, when people ask about her at the pumpkin patch.

How’s your girlfriend, Giovanni?

Tell me again how you met.

I think about her in the afternoon, when I decide what to make for dinner—something that will give her plenty of energy for the next day. And I think about her in the evening, when she comes home late, wearing her scrubs and looking like she’s been through a battle.

I definitely fucking think about her at night, when I hear that maddening little electronic hum through the wall, accompanied by her soft moans. It drives me crazy wondering if she knows I can hear it⁠—

If maybe she even likes that I can hear it.

I suppose what I’m saying is that I think about Bianca Murphy all the fucking time.

“Well, now that we’re talking about her,” Enzo says, “Nonna Francesca doesn’t believe your relationship with her is fake.”