Page 42 of Love, Untangled

He scowled. “So, no former schooling, no proper nutrition. Your mom sounds like a real winner.”

“She’s not that bad,” Pen said, unsure why she would defend the woman because her mother was, indeed, that bad. Worse. Carlo continued to hold her gaze and Pen sighed. “She was probably worse than you’re imagining. That’s why I was always so glad to return here—to Cinnamon Bay. My nana taught me math and how to knit. She taught me how to preserve fruit.”

“But not how to take care of yourself,” Carlo said, deep voice full of censure.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“The truth.” His expression softened. “Always the truth, Pen.”

She nodded, balling up the many bits of shredded napkin. “Well, I just wanted you to know I liked the stew. Maybe…maybe sometime you could show me how to make it?”

She held her breath, the outcome, his answer more than she could bear.

“That could probably be arranged.” Carlo tucked a thick piece of her hair behind her ear.

He’d touched her earlier today too and seemed to need to keep doing so as if to assure himself that she was there with him.

She swallowed, heavy and thick, his scent muddling her ability to think. Whenever he touched her, she seemed to come alive. Warmth blossomed in her belly and she forced her breathing to remain slow, even. Carlo was a nice man helping a neighbor. He didn’t expect—or want—more with her, which meant Pen needed to keep her growing attraction to Carlo under wraps. More importantly, she needed to get back to her place and away from the temptation he exuded.

Like right now, he’d risen from the table and turned his back toward her so that she had an eye-level view of his backside, clad in worn jeans. It was a mighty fine behind, one she enjoyed perusing. After a long moment of breathless ogling, she raised her gaze, sliding it up his well-muscled back to his shoulders.

Clearly, farming kept Carlo fit. Very fit. His T-shirt wasn’t tight like many of the college boys tended to wear, but the soft cotton still pulled across his broad shoulders, showing off the firm laterals and heavy deltoids, but loosened at his ribs. Thanks to his jeans, she could tell his waist was trim, his hips narrower than his broad back.

He was, in a word, delicious.

And Pen wanted more.

Chapter 18

Carlo

Pen asked Carlo if he minded if she sat outside on the swing.

“Of course not. Make yourself at home.”

The way she hesitated told him more than her words would have. Pen wasn’t guarded per se, but she didn’t open up about her life before moving to Cinnamon Bay. He hadn’t either, so he couldn’t be overly upset with her, but Carlo remained ravenous for more information about his lovely neighbor.

He brought her out a glass of freshly pressed apple cider—the nonalcoholic kind—and settled next to her on the swing as it was the only available choice. That was what he told himself.

He also made a mental note to do better for her the next time he cooked. His mother’s Sicilian recipes nourished the belly but also the soul. Pen, he thought, could do with both.

The sun sank lower and a breeze fluttered the grass, lifting Pen’s short hair and setting the strands to dancing over her cheeks and neck. He rubbed the silky, tangled mix of honey and sunshine between his fingers, yearning for the right to touch her, to love her as she deserved. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Not until he dealt with his past. Sue had been right to push him a bit—he needed a kick in the butt, not just a nudge.

Pen lifted her gaze and stared up at him, her eyes searching. “Wh…” She licked her lips. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m learning more about you. How your hair feels. How you smell. What foods you like.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. He rubbed his large palm up and down the back of his neck, the laugh he emitted rusty and dark. “I…want to know you better, Sunshine.”

She scrunched her nose. “Sunshine? You called me that before. Why?”

“That’s what you remind me of. A bright spot in my life.”

She scoffed. “You’re confused. I’ve done nothing but annoy you since I moved in. I’ve turned your orderly world all around—”

“I don’t mind.”

“Come on, Carlo,” Pen said. “You thrive on order.”

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