Page 60 of Chasing Hope

LAYLA

Emmy is comforting Bambi through the storm

my heart is melting

EVIE

that is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. poor Bambi!

the storm is INSANE, I don’t blame her for being anxious. I am too

Dust?

My heart is pounding furiously, my hands clammy as I stir the pasta. The sound of the water running upstairs does nothing to calm my racing mind. It knew exactly what he was leaning in for and now it can’t settle.

Matteo was going to…

Shaking my head, I slap the thoughts away. That’sridiculous, Matteo would never kiss me. Although he did suggest cooking my favorite pasta dish…but no. Niceties do not equate a man kissing you, especially not one you’ve grown up with. Perhaps the wind blew in dust and there really was a piece of lint in my hair.

Trying to distract myself, I begin looking for candles, searching high and low through all the cupboards but come up empty-handed. I try to think where they would store them, only for a laugh to burst from my chest.

What a stupid question. Why would my brother and Matteo have candles? In fact, the only candles I’ve seen in this apartment were the blue and white ones Matteo bought and placed in my room as decorations.

Darting my gaze to the simmering pot of pasta, I decide it’s safe enough to run upstairs to grab them. The last thing I want to do is try to search for them in the dark of the apartment if the power goes out.

Climbing the stairs, I turn right, rounding the hallway right as the bathroom door swings open and Matteo steps out in nothing but a towel.

My feet come to a screeching halt, and my eyes can’t leave the sight of his bare, bronze chest, water droplets making it glisten.

I’ve seen Matteo in various forms of undress over the years. It was hard not to. Men whip their shirts off all the time, not to mention he was over at my house more than he was at his growing up.

But this time…this time, it’s different.

Perhaps it was the supposed lint in my hair, or the way he wrapped his arm around me in the storm, or because of everything he’s done for me the past few weeks—the bedroom he made a safe space, the new running gear, the phone, cooking my favorite meals, making me coffee—but standing in the hallway, staring at Matteo, heat pools in my lower belly as a need for him fills my entire being that can’t be ignored.

“Are you trying to burn my place down?”

At the humor in his tone, I snap my eyes up and away from his naked body to find his forest-green eyes dancingwith mischief.

“Candles,” I blurt out, my brain suddenly not knowing how to string together a sentence.

He’s naked under the towel,my mind unhelpfully points out.

As if he heard my thoughts, his lip slowly tips into a crooked grin. Stepping to the side, he waves his arm toward my bedroom.

I force my legs to move through the jelly-like sensation. I snatch the candles from my room and hightail it down the stairs, Matteo’s deep laughter following me the whole way.

What the fuck is happening?

Ten minutes later, I’ve managed to get my mind and body under control, just in time for Matteo to step into the kitchen, his aftershave smelling so divine I can’t help but take two inhales in quick succession.

“I see my kitchen is still intact.”

“I told you I wasn’t that bad.” At his look, I grin before adding, “Anymore.”

Moving around the kitchen like it’s second nature, Matteo pulls out heavy cream, parmesan, chives, chili, and paprika. Patiently and gently, Matteo walks me through the steps. Which heat level to simmer the pan at, how much oil and butter to pour in, when to fry the onion, the dosage of tomato paste, and how to build the spices.

I’ve never had anyone besides my father speak to me with such patience and kindness while teaching me something. Caleb was more protective and would rather bubble wrap me than teach me.