I take an extra moment to gather my composure before my trembling voice scares the kids and get me fired. When I finally look up, prepared to start the craft, the breath I gathered rushes out of me. My knees weaken because . . .
Damn. That grin.
Luca is sharing a bench with two red-headed girls who must be sisters. Neither are older than ten years old. I would say he looks ridiculous seated beside them if it wasn’t so cute.
In a short amount of time, he has won over his pig-tailed partners. The oldest whispers something in his ear. His eyes glide to me and he nods. Then they fist bump. Both girls giggle.
My ovaries do a little jig.
I have no idea how I manage to force words out of my mouth. Somehow, I tell the campers what craft they will be doing, and show them the supplies they will be using. I tell them to come get their ready-to-paint ceramics from the plastic bin like the trained and experienced Hilderness employee I am, and I do not check out Luca’s butt when he passes to get one for himself.
I help the kids without a guardian squeeze paint out of their tubes and show the artistically-challenged how to make clean strokes with the brushes. I don’t glance in Luca’s direction a dozen times in the span of twenty minutes, and I don’t make eye contact with him half of those times.
I don’t notice my pulse pounding as more and more campers finish, put away their supplies, and leave the pavilion with their freshly-painted ceramics. I don’t notice that Luca is waiting them out, and it most certainly doesn’t occur to me that we will soon be alone.
He doesn’t wait. A few campers linger when he gets out of his seat and parts from his underage fans with two high fives. His gaze locks on me as he saunters across the pavilion.
I shove tubes of paint and brushes into their respective boxes. I don’t look up when I hear the gravel crunch under his feet.
“That was fun,” he says.
“The kids really seem to enjoy it.” I give him a pointed look.
He grins. “I’m a kid at heart.”
I glance toward the little girls he sat beside as they gather their things. The oldest is watching us intently, her curious gaze darting between us before finally settling on Luca. If this were an animated movie, her eyes would turn into hearts.
“You know how to make an impression,” I tell him quietly.
The girls walk toward us with sheepish expressions that turn into big grins the instant Luca looks their way.
“That’s Abby.” Luca nods at the youngest, then tugs on the oldest girl’s pigtail. “And this is Bella. We have an understanding. Don’t we, Bella?”
She hands me her supplies. “Luca’s nice,” she tells me.
I look at Luca, who shrugs innocently.
“You should definitely go out with him,” Bella adds.
My mouth drops open and stays there. Luca gathers their supplies and puts them in the box since I’m momentarily paralyzed. They say their goodbyes, and the little girls giggle as they run off. They are long gone—everyone is now—and my mouth is dry. I snap it shut and swing my gaze toward Luca. He’s waiting with a dimply smile.
“We had a nice chat while we painted,” he starts. “They gave me an idea.”
“I’m afraid to ask.” I groan.
“I went about this the wrong way,” he says. “Granted, you got curious and forced the issue prematurely, but I should have waited. I wanted you to trust me first. I set out to earn your trust, and I haven’t done that. Not yet.”
“I don’t understand,” I manage.
“I know that everything I’ve told you is the truth, but you have no reason to believe me. You don’t know me. That’s what I need to amend,” he finishes.
“By taking me on a date?” Skepticism laces my tone.
“In a sense, yes.” Luca smiles. “Are you free tonight?”
My head fills with fog. Concentration is impossible as panic rolls in. Not for the obvious reasons—that Luca claims he is a wolf shifter and the many, many other alarming things he told me—but because I don’t know what to say.
I am torn. The little voice in my head is screaming yes, while the rest of me worries that I don’t know what I will be getting myself into. My dating resume lists one guy, and Luca is in an entirely different league from Steve.
“I . . . can’t,” I stammer.
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“I’m busy,” I add.
“Sav, we both know you’ve read your copy of Wuthering Heights so many times you can quote it by now.” Luca flashes a grin that makes it really hard to say no to if he asks again. “Have dinner with me. Let me show you that I’m not as bad as you think I am.”
I’m tempted. In spite of everything he has told me, I still want to go out with him. Maybe that makes me just as crazy as he is, but I don’t care at the moment. Teenage hormones make people do dumb things, and mine are going ballistic right now.
“I’m having pizza with my dad,” I explain in a rush, equally disappointed and relieved that I have a legitimate excuse.
“Oh, right.” He nods. “Of course. I can’t interfere with the Friday night routine.”
I briefly worry that he’s making fun of me until I see the smile in his eyes. It’s almost nostalgic.
Before I can question him about it, he asks, “How about tomorrow night?”
“Saturday? Um . . .”
“Heathcliff can wait,” he presses.
“I’m not reading Wuthering Heights,” I snap.
He shrugs. “This week.”
“You know what?” My eyes narrow. “I’m pretty sure I’m busy that night, too. In fact, I’m booked solid for . . . how long are you in town?”
He grins. “Indefinitely.”
“Sorry.” I shrug. “I’m busy that entire time.”
I leave him there, alone in the pavilion and grinning like he thinks I’m joking. Little does he realize how serious I am. No one—and I mean no one—gets away with making fun of my favorite books.
I convince myself that is the reason I am running, but the truth nips at my heels with every step I take away from him.
I have to walk away now because I don’t have it in me to say no to him again.
Chapter 11
When I get home, there is a twenty-dollar bill and a note from Dad waiting for me on the counter. He won’t be joining me for pizza tonight. Rhonda is stuck in Spokane again, and Dad has gone to see her. He will be back on Sunday afternoon. His assistant is in charge of the shop while he is gone, and I am to be on my best behavior. He knows I will be responsible and follow the house rules—the ones Jill breaks all the time and manages to get away with.
At least she’s not here. She doesn’t know Dad is gone, and I plan to keep it that way for as long as possible. I tear up the note and toss it in the trash. Pocket the twenty. Dad or no Dad, I’m still spending it on a pizza.
This trip to the restaurant is nothing like the last one. The dining area is nearly empty when I enter, and Dom doesn’t greet me at the counter like he usually does. I catch a glimpse of him in the kitchen, a dusting of flour covering his uniform, and feel a tug in my gut.
It’s nothing like the overwhelming sensations Luca induces. I recognize this one as regret. I wish I could feel something for Dom the way I do for Luca. He is a good guy, but the chemistry isn’t there. The fireworks are missing. Luca has monopolized all of them.