Reaching Hearts (Hearts Series) by Sabrina Lacey Read Free Book Online Page B

cook for me?” I manage, nervously.
    He
nods and we walk out into the sunlight. I blink it away until I get used to it.
Again we walk in silence, but my nervousness isn’t going anywhere. I don’t know
this guy. What am I doing?
    “Um…Where
are we going?” I’m hoping he says a restaurant where there are lot of
people…and safety.
    “We
are going to my kitchen. In my home.” He puts his hands in the pockets of his
tan slacks, looking ahead of us. “It is just out of town. We’ll drive. Come.”
    There’s
that word again.
    Coming
to a halt, I stare at him like he’s nuts. “I’m not going to just drive off with
a complete stranger! I know I look young, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
    He
turns on his heel, the sound loud thanks to my nerves being on end. Saying no
can be scary, like you don’t want to hurt a person’s feelings, but come on! I’m
not a fucking idiot. So, I stare at him, firmly holding my ground, my lips a
thin line.
    He
thinks for a moment, and then realizes what’s going on. “You are worried I will
hurt you.” The words said out loud are a little hard to hear. It’s a fucked up
world that I even have to think of such a thing, but I do.
    “Well,
yeah. Can you blame me?”
    He
stares at me. I’m expecting him to say forget
it, nice meeting you. Goodbye. But he laughs instead. He belly laughs and
it’s big and free and infectious. It makes me want to join in, but I have no
idea why he’s laughing. I hold back, in case the joke is on me.
    “Come
back.” He waves his hand in the direction we just came from and starts walking.
Curious, I follow him. At the first little shop, he walks in, beckoning me to
follow. “Come!”
    I
look in the window and see pretty dresses, mostly summer style and all high
quality. I am particularly drawn to the green floor-length sundress on the
right. The pink in the middle reminds me of Corinne. And the white one on the
left is so unlike anything I’ve ever worn, with lace and mini-cut that I look
away and step inside. My eyes take a second to adjust to the quaint lighting to
see we’re in a dress shop, old school style. I walk in further to see him
talking to a beautiful Italian woman who’s hemming a red knee-length dress.
    “Who
am I?”
    She
looks at him like he’s crazy. With a thick accent, she asks him, also in
English, “Christiano, what is this about?”
    “Who
am I, Sophia?” he asks again.
    She
pushes her long curly hair back and stands. She is everything I am not –
beautiful, exotic, owning every bit of it and adding more. Italian woman work
it. They wear the jewelry. They have the hair. They jut the hips. They know how
to do it. I stare at her, openly envious and taking notes.
    She
laughs, “You’re annoying, that’s what you are,” hitting his shoulder lightly,
her hand lingering there.
    “You
see? Would a woman like this be teasing me this way, if I were dangerous?” he
asks me.
    She
swings her attention my way for the first time. With one look, her chocolate,
sultry brown eyes rake over me and she turns to him with a question in her
eyes. I know I’m a mess, but it’s degrading nonetheless. Dammit.
    He’s
still waiting for my answer.
    Feeling
inferior more than appeased, I answer, “No. She wouldn’t.”
    He
leaves her side and stops to stand directly in front of me. With dresses on
either side of us, and me wearing a witch’s wardrobe in the middle, he
unbelievably says, “Good. Let’s eat.”
    I
wave to her, but she just stares. So I say nothing, turn on my heel and follow
him. Why does she have to be like that? She’s obviously the contest winner.
    In
Christiano’s kitchen, there’s a middle island where he hums, slicing tomatoes,
basil, and garlic cloves into separate piles. There’s a large round table off
to the side that seats six, with a vase of red and orange wild flowers from his
garden in its center. The window that leads to that garden is right behind me,
and I can’t stop turning around to look,