Page 71 of Sugar Baby Mine

“Whatever. What did he say? What did you say?”

“Nosey little thing,” he tuts as he guides us to a bench to sit and I hand him a napkin that I don’t remember picking up. “He said we were a beautiful couple. I said thank you and have a nice day.”

That’s crazy.

Isn’t it?

I imagine us standing next to each other, sitting on this bench, walking down the street—and fuck, maybe we do look good together. My heart flutters in time with my stomach, flipping over itself. I like the idea ofusa little too much. I gotta stop thinking about something that isn’t in the realm of possibilities.

Peering over my light brown gelato, my gaze lands on what Ben has in his waffle bowl—green with a red compote, reminding me of Christmas in a bowl.

“It’s pistachio and cherry,” he offers, holding it out to me.

Leaning forward, I circle his wrist to lick a swipe up the side ofthe gelato, and the sour cherry flavor bursts across my tongue.

“Oh shit, that’s good.”

And when I take a bite of mine, it’s caramel heaven. The crunchy bits on top taste like butterscotch. Or maybe toffee.

“This was such a good choice, regular food can fuck off.”

Ben lays an arm on the bench behind me and the breeze blows my bangs around, but I’m glad my hair isn’t in my face or sticking to my gelato right now. Though I’m thankful for my cardigan as I pull it around me, because this is already making me cold.

“You warm enough?” Ben asks, reading my mind.

His arm drops around my shoulders to tug me close, and even though I would love nothing more, I shake my head at him, glancing around.

“I’m okay—good. All good.”

He gives me a tilt of his head before putting his arm back up along the bench, and I lean into him slightly.

“Just not the biggest fan of affection in public, but I’ll maul you when we get back to the hotel, promise,” I say, casting my gaze down and taking a big bite of the gelato until my front teeth hurt.

“Mmmm, I picked that up when we went ice skating, but I was more focused on your hands and what you were telling me to address it then.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No. I just want you to be comfortable. So tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“I’ll try—”

“No. Youwill.”

I glare at him in between stealing another bite of his gelato. “I’lltry, but it’s less aboutyoumaking me uncomfortable and more aboutother peoplearound me making me uncomfortable by existing in my space. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. I’d like to fade into the background more often than not.”

“No, that makes sense. Just make sure to communicate with me, okay?”

“Okay,” I say in between bites of the waffle cup and gelato. “I promise.”

“Good. Now don’t tell me you’re going to be too full for us to go to lunch.”

“Never.” I make a face at him. “I actually like to eat. And I love snacking. Food is my best friend.”

Ben laughs, holding out the last of his waffle cup as I lean over and take a bite.

Even though Iamgetting kind of full, I’ll enjoy whatever we eat all the same. Dessert is just superior.

So when we get to the Bistrot de Venise, it’s an easy choice for us to share a tasting menu that consists of several courses—prawns in “saor” with spiced onions, lasagnette gratin, and of course, tiramisù to add to my ever-growing love of all things dessert.

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