Page 63 of The Roman Holiday Rule

I nod. “He passed away when I was little. I watched the movies obsessively like any kid who wanted to know her father and had no way to do it besides soak up her mom’s stories about him and love what he loved.”

He searches my face for a moment, then points a trigger finger at me. “Okay, you can’t walk around misquoting the most epic space opera ever without consequence. Clearly you need to spend more time with me so I can correct you. When are you free?”

A tiny piece of me melts that he’s made myStar Warsknowledge a thing of importance, but I shove that piece back into my metaphorical freezer. No melting. No softening. “We already have a plan for tomorrow. You’re on my schedule for ten minutes at noon.”

“That’s not enough time to set up the post on social media and get the bet results. You’ll have to move something around. It’ll take at least two hours. Probably more like four.” He spreads helpless hands. “Gotta give the people time to vote, so we might as well have fun while we wait. You would make three or four movie references I can correct in one afternoon. It’ll be productive.”

“Won’t that bother Katie?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not going to tell her.” The horrified expression on his face would be comic if he wasn’t talking about his fiancée not finding out about him hanging out with me. “Talk about gasoline on a fire.”

I back away from him. “I’m not doing that with you, Mark. If it’s going to be a problem with Katie—”

“Oh, believe me, it isn’t a problem.” His expression still looks like the idea spooks him. “She’d be thrilled.”

I stare, mouth gaping, at Mark. “How is she okay with that?”

“Why would my sister—”

“Wait. Katie isn’t your fiancée?”

An amused whoop bursts from his mouth. “Where did you get that idea?”

“On the phone. I heard you talking about dates and ideas for the honeymoon. And you sounded so tender.”

“I was teasing her, Lexington.”

I’m struggling to get a full breath. “I need a minute to process this.”

He tosses the rest of his cone into the trash can near the gelateriadoor and takes one small step toward me. His voice rasps, “All this time, you thought I was engaged?” His stare is so intense, I think my hair is going to spontaneously catch fire.

All I can do is nod.

“I haven’t dated for years. Katie’s always pushing me to ask women out and fishing for any potential girlfriends.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and dips his chin. “Crowds and strangers don’t show me in the best light. I clam up and come off as rude.”

He’s ... shy? I swallow and angle myself to see right into his irises, like that could help me reframe everything I’ve seen about Mark. A dark rim surrounds the deep blue of his eyes the same way his crusty exterior shields his deep capacity for affection.

I never in a million years would have guessed such an attractive guy, and as mischievous and funny as he is, could be socially hesitant.Single.“But when we met at the airport, you were—”

He glances away, flushing. “It’s different with you. It was always easy with you, from the first moment.”

Mom’s idea for a redo worked. And this time around, if my heart wants to race or melt or catch fire, I’m not holding it back.

I stretch out my hand. “I didn’t get your name.”

As we shake hands, he gives me that corner-of-the-mouth lift I’m starting to realize hides blindingly bright enjoyment. Which is fine, because I don’t think I could handle the whole blast right now. “It’s Mark.”

And still, like last time, he says his name without enthusiasm, but instead of annoyance, I now know it’s a verbal blush. His hand still in mine, though, warm and soft, tugs me toward him an inch.

My phone rings, and he lets go.

It’s Julie. If I answer her and she finds out Mark is standing right here, she’ll insist on meeting him. Now that I know he’s single, there’s no need for that.

Not that I don’t want her to meet Mark, eventually. But this Whatchamacallit between Mark and me is brand new. Bringing Julie into it will shine a spotlight on questions I don’t want to answeryet. And, God love her, Julie changes the vibe of every situation she enters. I’m not sure Mark and I are ready for any kind of shifting ground.

So I take a step back. “I have to go.” I turn to leave, but give him a saucy look over my shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Mark.”

Thirty-Six