Page 147 of Claimed At First Sight

“It seems excessive.”

“It isn’t.” Offering my arm, I gesture toward the street. “Shall we?”

Again she hesitates before she slips her arm through the crook of my elbow.

“Chicago has several Italian neighborhoods,” I tell her as we begin walking. “But this is where much of the city’s Italian community first put down roots.”

Her gaze moves from storefront to storefront. An older couple exits a bakery carrying paper bags filled with fresh bread. Two men stand outside a café arguing loudly in Sicilian dialect.

Seeing her light up like this is worth every minute I spent keeping my distance yesterday. It had been surprisingly difficult. Mia occupied far more of my thoughts than was reasonable.

“You understood that?” I ask.

She looks at me as though I’ve asked whether she knows how to breathe.

“Of course.”

“I only caught half,” I admit.

“You need a better Sicilian teacher.”

I’ll be remedying that particular deficiency soon enough. The thought makes me chuckle. The sound earns me an instant suspicious glance.

“There you go again.”

“What?”

“Smiling.”

The accusation in her voice makes me want to smile even more.

“Should I stop?”

“Probably.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m enjoying myself.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

It’s a blatant lie. She’s already slowing near shop windows, looking around with open curiosity.

Ahead, a specialty grocer has stacked imported products outside its entrance. Among them sit crates of blood oranges.

She stops in front of the display and studies them with an intensity that makes me suspect she’s not seeing fruit at all. She’s seeing her home island.

“This place is owned by Sicilians,” I tell her, glancing toward the storefront. “They emigrated from Palermo. Though his wife is from Catania.”

I made sure I knew that before bringing her here.

Mia picks up one of the blood oranges, turning it in her gloved hand. Her lips curve before she returns it, her hand still resting on the crate of fruit.

“I didn’t expect this.”

Something in her expression softens. As though Chicago feels a little less foreign now. Without thinking, I place my hand over hers.

“See?” I say quietly.

Her eyes turn to mine.