Page 19 of Something Borrowed, Something You

He chuckled. It was deep and rumbly. “Anna wasn’t kidding.”

“What?”

“When we first met—she said we were opposites and might kill each other.”

Most days, I could barely remember what I’d eaten for breakfast. Yet I recalled the comment Hunter had made after Anna said that more than nine months ago. “We might kill each other, but fucking to death is the way I want to go.”

After maneuvering through the maze of LAX, Hunter pulled onto the highway. “So, Natalia Sbagliato-Numero, why did you give me the wrong number and refuse to let Anna give me the right one?”

I looked out the window. “Figured it was best that way.”

“Best for whom?”

“Both of us.”

“Both of us? So you know what’s best for me, do you?”

“Just trying to save you the trouble of a broken heart.”

Hunter glanced over at me. The side of his mouth twitched. “A broken heart, huh? You think I’d spend one night in your bed and pine over you for years?”

I turned to face him. “It’s been nine months, and here you are still chasing me after one night in my bed. And I didn’t even put out. Imagine the condition you’d be in if I did.”

Hunter shook his head. “Anna was wrong about one thing. She said we were complete opposites, but you’re as full of yourself and as big of a wiseass as I am.”

We merged onto the 405, only we were heading north instead of south where Anna’s sister Samantha lived. I was crashing at her place tonight so Anna wouldn’t see me before the shower tomorrow.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

“No, I’m not. Sam said you were running errands with her today.”

“I am. Sam lives south, not north.”

“Ah. I see your confusion. You think you’re spending the day running errands with Samantha.”

“That was the plan…”

“I agreed to do most of Sam’s errands, not just pick you up. So you’re spending the day running her errands with me.”

“Why would you agree to that?”

“Because you can’t run away from me when I have you captive in my truck.”

“God, these smell so incredible.” We were at our second stop on Sam’s errand list—Bold Blossoms, a flower store where we were to pick up eighteen lilac-filled centerpieces. The woman behind the counter went to box them up while I roamed the store, sniffing various arrangements and plants.

“What is it?”

“It’s a sweet pea.” I cupped my hand around the delicate purple flower. “Here, smell.”

Hunter leaned in and took a deep inhale. “That does smell good.”

“Doesn’t it? They remind me of my grandmother. When I was about ten, my mother took us to Italy to visit her. Nonna had them growing wild all over her property. She had a fence around her little house, and they were wrapped around it so heavily that you could barely see the white pickets. Sauce on Sundays and the smell of sweet peas—that’ll always be my Nonna Valentina. She died when I was a teenager. My mom kept up the sauce on Sunday tradition, but it’s too cold to grow sweet peas outdoors in Howard Beach where she lives.”

“You have a big Italian family?”

“Four girls. We get together every Sunday night for dinner at my mom’s. Two of my sisters have kids, two girls each. There’s not a lot of testosterone.”

The florist came out from the back. “We’re just finishing packing them all. I’ll ring you up, and you can drive around to the back. We’ll load them into your car.”

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