Page 45 of Broken Pieces
She takes a huge bite out of hers and lets out an appreciative groan. “Damn you, Damian Romano. With your good looks and amazing cooking.” She closes her eyes as she takes another huge bite.
“Good looks, huh?” I taunt.
She puffs. “Sue me, Romano. You know you’re good looking. You’re literally cataloged as one of the top bachelors in Chicago.”
I thin my lips, trying to not laugh. Only if she knew that even though I’m considered one of the top in the windy city—in both business and looks—I have insecuritiesthat I’m afraid to admit out loud. Being a self-made billionaire is a blessing and a curse, all at the same time. Yes, I’m grateful I was able to make a name for myself and live the life everyone dreams of but very few get. On the other side of the coin, though… it's lonely. You can’t tell what’s real or fake. Which people genuinely want to get to know me and become a part of my life? And which people are simply following me for the name, fame, and money? I put on this tough exterior because I don’t want people to take advantage of me, but also, being an asshole has taken me to new levels. The line has blurred over the years, and I don’t know where I stand anymore.
“Well, it's your turn to try. Chop, chop.” She claps excitedly.
I shake my head with a laugh as I grab the fork, taking a generous bite. I try to contain my cough as I start chewing. I push through, though, because her eyes are brimming with excitement, waiting to hear my opinion.
Yup. This is way too fucking salty.
But the way she looks at me, grinning ear to ear, her eyes dancing around nervously and moving her hands excitedly, I will eat anything she makes. I’ll make anything look fucking edible if it means seeing her this happy.
As I finish chewing and swallowing my food, I drink some water, then say, “Definitely passed. It’s good.”
“Really?” she asks excitedly as she grabs her own fork and says, “Let me try!”
Before she can get to my plate, I move it quickly, taking a few huge bites back to back, not letting her.
She gasps. “That’s so rude! I wanted to try it!”
Just trying to be a gentleman and protect your health.
I shrug as I take the last bite. Man, this is salty as fuck. I need water. I cough, trying not to choke with all the food I have in my mouth.
“Next time,” I say with a full mouth, trying not to twitch my eye with how salty it is.
Yeah, next time I have to make sure she doesn’t use half the bag of salt. I’ll die of hypertension if all her foods are this salty.
At least you’d die as a happy man.
She gets up and hits me in the shoulder as she grabs the plates. I plaster a grin on my face, noticing that she didn’t complain about the next time, and fuck if that doesn’t give me just a tiny bit of hope. I don’t care if I’m reading too much into it, but it’s at least something. I can work with this. She walks to the sink and turns on the water, putting gloves on to do the dishes.
I take the gloves from her and put them on. “I’ll wash, you dry, okay?”
“Do you even know how to wash dishes?” she jokes, raising an eyebrow.
I flick her forehead softly. “You think you’re so funny? Headsup, you’re not.”
“I’m a hoot, don’t you forget it.” She flips her hair dramatically.
I shake my head, doing my best to contain my laugh. Our dynamic is, well… weird, but it works. The constant bickering is what we know best, and it’s how we get along.
But something has shifted between us, and call me crazy, but I can tell she feels it too. Yeah, we still joke, but it’s charged with something different. Lighter.Flirtier.
As we work in silence, our hands touch a couple of times as I hand her the new dishes to dry. And even though I have gloves on, that doesn’t stop the zing of electricity that runs from the top of my fingers all the way to my toes every time we touch.
And fuck, is it addicting.
“Hey, can I ask you for a favor?” she asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Sure, what’s up?”
She fidgets her fingers, trying to come up with the question. “Can you like, not mention anything to Isabella about the panic attack I had during the work trip?”
I look at those beautiful hazel eyes that right now are filled with worry. The sting in my chest hurts at the sight of her. She looks terrified, and I hate that. I want nothing but to make her feel safe around me.
