Page 43 of Free to Run
But Keene hasn’t been watching Georgio. His focus has been on me.
“Tell me another reason this place is so special, Alison.”
Taking a deep breath, I let it out and tell him. “This was where we celebrated after we became Freemans legally. After our name changes came through.”
His hand slides from my elbow, and the loss I feel is almost immediate. Gone is the easy camaraderie.
“Why did you bring me here?” His voice is neutral.
It was stupid…so stupid why I brought him here.
“Why, Alison?”
I should have known better.
“Alison, tell me why,” he bites out.
“Because every good beginning in my life has been celebrated here. From my acceptance to law school to graduation. From proposals to jobs. And I wanted ours to start the same way.” My words end softly.
His breath comes out in sharp bursts. He abruptly turns to me and grabs my arms so I’m facing him, our knees bumping in the small space.
Keene’s nostrils are flared as he pulls me closer so that I’m nose-to-nose with him when he says, “Great answer,” before crushing his mouth to mine.
I raise my hand, brushing it against his jaw when I hear Georgio say, “I’ll come back.”
Ripping my mouth free from Keene’s, the laughter falls effortlessly from me.
What’s better is when Keene lowers his forehead to mine and does the same.
* * *
Between bites of magnificent food,Keene asks me more about the times we celebrated here at the trattoria. I truly don’t think I’ve talked so much in one sitting since I sat for the bar. Every memory I bring up leads to a new one. Big or small, Keene wants to hear my thoughts. Like the first night we met, he is attentive and asks questions about all of my stories. What surprises me is that he isn’t focused on my memories with Cassidy, but he is genuinely interested to learn about the cake that won an award for Corinna, or how we felt when we were named Connecticut’s Vendor of the Year.
While the pieces of my heart had been shattered the day before, blood still flows through those pieces. Some of them are fitting back together, trying to remind me to ask myself if I’m letting my guard down too soon.
When our entrées are delivered, we stop speaking, and after the first bite, I let out a soft moan.
Keene’s fork clatters to his dish. “Alison,” he utters hoarsely.
I find his hands are clenched into fists. His jaw is tight, his cheeks flushed. Heat hits my own cheeks as I fork another bite. “It really is terrific,” I murmur.
“Are you willing to give me a taste?” he rasps out. And somehow, I know we’re not talking about ravioli.
I scoop a forkful of my ravioli and offer it to him. My pulse is leaping when he reaches for my hand to guide my fork into his mouth. Chewing slowly, he nods his approval. “You’re right. Delicious. One of the best things I’ve ever tasted, but the best was a lot…sweeter. The best thing I’ve ever tasted has a certain flavor I can’t quite describe.” He reaches for his napkin to wipe his mouth, his implication clear.
I feel the flood between my legs, my panties soaking from the charge of his words.
He cuts a piece of his chicken piccata and offers it to me, and I lean forward to accept it. The flavors of lemon and capers explodes on my tongue, melding together with the sweetness of the chicken. “Hmm. Delicious.”
“You like the flavor?” he asks mildly.
Two can play his game.
“It reminds me of one of my favorite things. Salty, briny. While I’m not sure I could ingest more than a few shots of it at a time, it truly has a magnificent taste.” I lift my napkin to my lips to dab.
Keene shakes his head, a small smile playing about his lips.
After a few more bites, Keene asks me out of the blue, “What do you have planned for the rest of the week?”
