Page 9 of Falling for Mr. October

Still, I accept the boost, feeling his easy strength as he closes his fingers around mine and hoists me up.

“Have you talked to Miles recently?” I ask, trying to sound like the answer means nothing to me.

He studies me with bemusement. “You changed your clothes, and you smell good, but you’re still wearing all black. Is it because of the hospice thing?”

“I like black. I’ve always liked it. The same way you like that necklace you still wear.”

He lifts a hand to the golden chain beneath his shirt as if to say, This one?

“Yes, that one. I’ve noticed you don’t like answering questions. Have you talked to Miles?”

“Sure. He’s still a good friend.”

Jealousy spears into my heart. “What have you talked about?”

“He’s working through some things.”

“When isn’t he?” My voice sounds bitter to my own ears, so I swallow and try again. “What’s he working through this time?”

“That’s between me and Miles, Dr. Death.”

“That’s Nurse Death to you.” I stand up straighter. Doesn’t matter much. I’m five-three, and he’s a foot taller. But I will not let any man think he can look down on me, even if it is true in a literal sense.

“Enjoy the promotion, Bianca.”

With that, he heads down the stairs, whistling, and I very nearly regret not having let him fall.

CHAPTER THREE

GIOVANNI

I’m still shoveling food onto my plate at the dinner table when my nonna says, “You eat like a bird, Giovanni. How are you going to survive if you eat like this? Here, take more bread.”

She plops what looks like half a loaf of bread onto my plate.

I catch Bianca’s eye, hoping she’ll smile, but she gives me a flat, unimpressed glower. The black she always wears makes her eyes look a richer brown. They’re dark but luminous, fringed with lashes as dark black as her outfit and wet hair. Her lips are pressed into a thin, pink line that can’t hide their plumpness.

She’s a knockout, and no more into me now than she was all those years ago.

In fact, she looked at me pretty much this same way when Miles dared her to kiss me when she was thirteen—and then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine with as much enthusiasm as if I were a frog. Because Bianca Murphy wasn’t the kind of girl who’d pass up a dare—or enjoy it.

I’ve always enjoyed dares. In fact, I’ve been told I enjoy them too much, by people who know what they’re talking about. And it would seem they have a point, given that my weakness for dares is one of the reasons why I’m in this mess.

Bianca is still giving me a dirty look as I resume my seat. Watching me as if she wishes I’d blink out of existence.

It’s kind of nice to be looked at that way after the past couple of weeks of being ogled by passersby. Not to mention the people who’ve been lining up around the block to get into Hidden Italy so they can get a glimpse at me. So maybe that’s why I’m tempted to keep riling her.

I pick up the bread and chomp into it, lifting my eyebrows at her in a taunt.

“Should we say grace?” Bianca asks pointedly, glancing at our nonnas.

I grin as I swallow the hunk of garlic bread. “Grace.”

I’m not surprised when my nonna gives me a testicle-withering glare. “Sei pazzo. What’s the matter with you? You apologize to Nonna Rose. Mother of God. I never thought I’d see the day…”

I apologize, chastened, because Bianca was right about one thing: it’s my fault we’re here.

My grandmother declared last winter that she was nearing the end of her life and wanted to right all of her wrongs. Hurling the first apple in her infamous fight with Nonna Rose was one of them. But we came to Apple Ridge because of my wrongs, which, according to my grandmother, would fill the devil’s book.