Page 45 of Trick-or-Treated

All the air leaves my lungs. He’s right in my space now, big and solid, his heat radiating against my skin. His gaze drops to my mouth, and it stays there.

I tilt my chin up. Just a fraction. If he leaned down, it would be so easy. He’s so close I can already feel the warmth of him, waiting for the rough drag of his lips against mine.

He hovers there.

But then a muscle ticks in his jaw. He swallows hard and takes a deliberate step back.

I force a bright smile to hide my disappointment.

“Then Monday we’ll get started.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

GABE

Ican’t stop staring at Margo’s mouth.

“Are you hungry?”

She blinks at me. “Why? You gonna cook?”

I shrug. “I could.”

“Thought you were a winemaker, not a chef.”

“I’m both.”

I walk over to the pantry, checking the ingredients. Looks like I have everything I need.

I glance at her, taking in the sight of her white sweater dress, one that hugs every curve.

My eyes linger on the curve of her hips before I make myself look back into the pantry.

I start pulling out semolina flour, salt, and olive oil.

Margo walks up behind me.

“What are you making?”

“Pasta,” I answer simply, grabbing a bowl.

My heart’s pounding even having her this close.

“You’re not measuring anything.”

“Don’t have to. My grandmother in Sicily had me make this every Sunday.”

I add water and mix until the dough comes together, then turn it onto the counter and step behind her.

“You lived in Sicily?”

“Was born there. My parents moved here when I was a teenager.”

“Does that mean you speak Italian?”

“Certo,” I murmur, slowly taking hold of her wrists.

I guide her hands onto the dough.