Page 14 of Sweet Rucking Temptation
We stand to leave, our hands still intertwined. Whatever challenges lie ahead, they'll be worth it. After all, I've never been one to back down from a challenge, especially one as sweet as this.
5
LIV
The scent of cinnamon and warm butter envelops me as I slide a tray of freshly baked cornetti into the display case. "There!" I announce triumphantly, my fingers dancing over the flaky crescents. "Still warm from Nonna's recipe."
Mrs. Fitzgerald, a regular with silver curls and kind eyes, leans in conspiratorially. "You spoil us, Liv. I swear these pastries are what keep my Arthur young at heart."
I wink, about to share a cheeky comment about other secrets to keeping husbands on their toes, when the familiar jingle of the door chime cuts through the cozy chatter. My hands freeze mid-gesture as I look up, time seeming to slow.
No. It can't be.
But it is. Again. Ricky. My ex-fiancé saunters into my cafe like he owns the place. Which, let's be clear, he absolutely does not.
I plaster on my best "the customer is always right" smile, even as my stomach does an unwelcome backflip. "Keep it together, Livia," I mutter under my breath, channeling the strength of my inner Nonna.
Ricky's presence seems to suck the warmth right out of the room. His perfectly coiffed hair and crisp designer shirt are so out of place among the cafe's rustic charm that I half expect him to burst into flames upon contact with anything remotely homey.
"Buongiorno, Liv," he purrs, voice dripping with false sweetness. "Good to see you again."
I grip the edge of the counter, willing my voice to stay steady. "Ricky. What an unexpected surprise." And not the good kind, like finding an extra cannoli in your box. More like biting into what you thought was a chocolate chip cookie only to discover it's soggy and past its sell-by-date.
He leans against the counter, invading my carefully cultivated space with his expensive cologne. "Can't an old friend stop by for a cappuccino?"
Friend. Ha! That's rich, coming from the man who-- No. I won't let him get to me. This is my turf, my dream. I've faced down health inspectors and entitled influencers. I can handle one smug ex.
I square my shoulders, summoning all the fierce independence that led me to open this cafe in the first place. "Of course," I reply, voice sugary sweet. "One cappuccino coming right up. Unless you'd prefer something a little more... familiar?"
Let him chew on that double meaning. I turn to the espresso machine, my safe haven of steam and perfectly pulled shots. Whatever Ricky's game is, I refuse to let him spoil the life I've built here in Ponsonby. This cafe, with its mismatched mugs and loyal customers, is my home now.
And I'll be damned if I let him waltz in and shake that foundation.
As I froth the milk, Ricky's gaze wanders around the cafe, his lips curling into a smirk that sets my teeth on edge.
"Quaint little place you've got here, Liv," he says, his tone dripping with condescension. "Very... rustic. Charming, really."
I inhale deeply, the rich aroma of espresso grounding me. "Thanks, I'm quite proud of what I've created."
Ricky chuckles, and it grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. "Oh, I'm sure you are,cara. But don't you ever wonder if you're... settling?"
I place his cappuccino on the counter with more force than necessary, a small splash of foam marring the perfect latte art I'd crafted. "Settling?" My voice is steady despite the indignation bubbling up inside me. "I'd say I'm thriving, actually."
He takes a sip, his eyebrows rising in mock surprise. "Not bad," he concedes, as if his approval means anything to me anymore. "But come on, Liv. We both know you're capable of so much more. Remember our plans? The firm we were going to create? A union of our illustrious families."
Ourplans? More likehisplans. I was nothing but a pretty sidekick. I bite back the retort dancing on my tongue, opting instead for a polite but firm response. "I'm happy with my choices, Ricky. This cafe is exactly where I want to be."
He laughs dismissively, and I picture dumping his precious cappuccino over his perfectly coiffed head. "Still so stubborn," he muses, his eyes glinting with something that looks suspiciously like a challenge. "But then, that's always been part of your charm, hasn't it?"
I feel my cheeks flush, memories of our past threatening to surface. No. I won't let him drag me back there. This is my present, my future. And it's so much brighter without his shadow looming over me.
Ricky's gaze shifts, a predatory glint in his eyes as he leans in closer. "Speaking of choices, I hear you're dating that rugby player now. Elliott Snow, right? The 'Iceman'?" He emphasizes the nickname with air quotes, his tone dripping with disdain.
I clench my jaw and tighten my grip on the edge of the counter. "Elliott is a wonderful person." I struggle to keep my voice even. "Not that it's any of your business."
"Oh, come on, Liv," Ricky chuckles. "A rugby player? Really? You know how unstable that lifestyle is. One bad tackle and poof”—he snaps his fingers—“career over. Is that the kind of future you want?"
My patience, already stretched thin, finally snaps. "The kind of future I want is one where I'm happy and surrounded by people who support me. Elliott does that. He respects my dreams, unlikesome people."
