Once Burned (Morelli Family 3)

“It’s 7:30,” she points out.

“It’s been a really long day.”

“Want me to read some Brontë?”

“I would.”

“And then we could have sex,” she offers.

“This pot keeps getting sweeter,” I state, eyebrows rising in surprise.

Elise grins and pushes up off the floor. “Let me clean up the kitchen first and I’ll be right in.”

I stand, too, figuring this will be a good time to take a shower. Before I do, I approach her at the counter, lightly wrapping my arms around her and giving her a hug from behind. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asks, sounding surprised as she twists to look back at me.

I place a soft kiss on her lips. “For being happy with me.”

Her whole face seems to soften with tenderness and she turns in my arms, wrapping her arms around my neck and leaning in to press her forehead against mine. “Thank you for letting me.”

She’s so close I can’t resist giving her one more kiss, then I break away, otherwise I’m never getting to the shower. She gives me a playful little wink as she turns around to clean up the counter, and I sigh, thankful that I have her, ‘cause there’s no way in hell I ever did anything to deserve her.

Chapter Fifteen

After I drop Elise off at the mansion, I head to the bakery to see Mia.

Well, not really to see Mia, but since she’s there, that’s what ends up happening.

“Did you come to check up on me?” she asks as she refills the chocolate cannoli tray.

“Nope, I’m a customer,” I tell her.

“You want a cannolo? Did you know that’s the singular form of cannoli? I didn’t, and this old Italian lady yelled at me. A lot. It wasn’t pretty.”

I smirk. “I did know that.”

“Well… you could’ve told me,” she states. “She invited me over for spaghetti sometime when she realized she overreacted, but it was a pretty uncomfortable few minutes.”

The shaggy haired baker heads up front, a dopey smile on his face until he sees me. His smile droops, then falls off completely, and he sets another tray down for Mia with less enthusiasm.

Then before she can even thank him, he disappears to the back.

Mia glances after him, then shrugs to herself. “How about an apple turnover?”

“Actually I need a strawberry cassata cake,” I tell her.

She lights up, all pleased with herself. “I hooked you with the piece I made you take home, huh?”

I nod, even though the cake isn’t for me. “It’s weird seeing you here,” I remark.

She finishes the cannoli tray and places it on an empty counter behind her, then she grabs a cake box for me. “Yeah, I know. I’m so used to Francesca here. You guys still haven’t heard anything about her?”

I shake my head, glancing through the doorway to the back. “He ever say anything about it?”

“Mark?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. “No.”

“He’s been an awful good sport about coming back both times the place closed without warning. Does he make enough money to have a nest egg when he goes a couple weeks without a paycheck?”

Mia shrugs, like she’s never thought of it and can’t imagine why I would.

I’m gonna have to look into him. Just to be safe.

“How’s Elise like the new place?” she asks me.

“We’re actually going to be staying back at the mansion for a little while,” I tell her.

“Oh, cool,” she says, smiling. “Then I’m sure I’ll see you around a bit more.”

“Are you at the mansion more than Sundays now?”

“I like to pop over and check on Meg. She’s bored and all cooped up in the house. Plus she likes when I bring her treats.”

“And Mateo?”

Levelly, almost like she was expecting it, she says, “Doesn’t like treats.”

I wonder if he talked to her about my suspicions. I realize that’s an incredibly suspicious thought to have, but I don’t put it past him at this point. “In Francesca’s stead, I’d usually expect Mateo’s woman to run the bakery.”

She smiles thinly, dropping my cake in the box and closing the lid. “Yeah, well, I’m filling in until she can.”

“Right, right. Took a bullet for him and all.”

Her eyes narrow and she slides the cake box across the counter, leaning in. “Something you wanna say, Adrian?”

“Nope,” I say, grabbing the box. “What do I owe you?”

“On the house,” she states, straightening.

I give her a mock salute, putting the cake under my arm, and head out the door.

—

A cute redhead is sitting on the couch, watching television when I come through the door. She appears startled, which I guess makes sense, seeing as no one ever comes to visit.

I try to remember her name. I wanna say it was something Ukrainian? Damned if I can recall, it’s been years since I’ve actually looked at this person.

“You can take the rest of the day off,” I tell her, as she pushes off the couch and warily approaches me.