Page 23 of My Foolish Heart


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“Well?”

He holds the fork to me, and I take it. But not before our fingers brush. How many times over the past week have I closed my eyes, almost feeling my hand cupped in his as we danced?

“It’s good,” I admit.

“What’s with the disguise?” He nods to my hat.

“It’s not a disguise,” I counter, moving another step off the sidewalk, where traffic is picking up. I really should be getting back.

“You weren’t trying to hide?”

“Pfft.” I totally was trying to hide. But I don’t make it a habit of lying. Skirting the truth, on the other hand . . .

“How did you even see me? Looked like you were having a problem with one of your burners?”

“You noticed?”

I am not slick. But this Italian god looms over me, all sexy and smelling like bottled manliness, and I’m supposed to, what? Answer coherently?

“Possibly.”

Definitely. Yes. And maybe that’s why I came for the raviolis myself. Wishing he was there, hoping he wasn’t.

“You should have told me who you were.”

Sure enough, doesn’t the accordion stop playing and a new song blasts through the speakers on every corner.

Sinatra.

“I know,” I admit. And what else am I supposed to say? That I was too enamored to get out the words? That I wanted to, but there was no chance in hell I was going to risk the dance ending too soon. And then, I just . . . wanted to keep talking.

So I guess that will have to suffice. But clearly, it doesn’t.

“Tristano—”

“Tris,” he interrupts me.

That’s a good sign, maybe?

“Tris,” I correct myself. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

His square jaw ticks, as if he’s clenching his teeth together.

“And I swear, I wasn’t fishing for info or anything.”

His intense gaze never wavers. “I would hope not.”

Since we’re airing grievances . . .

“You disappeared.”

If he’s not pleased, then I’m becoming less and less so by the second. Stoicism makes me nervous.

“I was angry,” he admits. “And surprised.”

Fair enough.

“Well.” I suppose there isn’t much more to say. “I’m sorry. And about the ravioli . . .” I lift up the container. “A friend of mine made me try them, and I wanted more. They’re delicious.”

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