a little, but it wasn’t the pastry alone that had whetted his appetite. “Were you planning to share with someone?”
“No. I bought them for me.” She laughed and some of her nervousness leaked away. “I guess that’s why I seemed so guilty. I can’t believe I bought one cannolo, much less two and just for myself.”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
“I planned to eat them both. In one sitting.” The last part was confessed in a near whisper with her gaze glued to the tips of her shoes.
“Is that a crime?”
“Yes.” She shook her head then and her gaze reconnected with his. “No. Of course not. Unless you’re Darnell.”
“Darnell?”
“My sadistic personal trainer. Since I’ve been away from Los Angeles he’s text-messaged me nearly every day to ask if I’ve been working out and sticking to my diet.”
Though he knew he’d regret it, Angelo allowed his gaze to slip south. The woman had a killer body. It was perfectly proportioned, even if parts of it were a little less full these days. “I don’t think you need to worry about a diet right now.”
“I’ve lost a little weight,” she admitted. “I call it the stress diet.” She touched a finger to her chin, the pose intentionally thoughtful. “You know, maybe I should patent it and start hawking it to young starlets as a backup plan in case my career never recovers.”
“That would be a waste of your talent. Besides, I like women with some curves.”
“Some curves.” She nodded. “But there’s a fine line, which is why Zeke wouldn’t let me…”
She flushed and didn’t finish, but Angelo figured he could fill in the blanks easily enough. It sounded as if the guy had done a real number on her. Let it go, he told himself. Leave it alone. He had enough problems of his own to concentrate on without taking on Atlanta’s, especially since she’d made it abundantly plain she was not interested in sharing a cannolo or anything else with him.
He hitched one thumb over his shoulder and took a step backward. “I should be going.”
“Yes. I should, too.”
“You wouldn’t want those cannoli to get stale.” He motioned toward the bag as he backed up another step.
“No.” She forced out a laugh. “It was nice seeing you, Angelo.”
He stopped. “Was it?”
His point-blank question caused her to blink. “I…I feel bad about yesterday. About…about how things ended between us.”
“Well, as you said, it was time for them to end. The game was over and all,” he drawled.
Atlanta winced. “That came out…”
“Wrong?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Actually, I appreciate your honesty.”
She blinked again, this time looking more piqued than perplexed. “I doubt that. You were clearly mad.” Royally ticked was more like it. But he smiled now. “Whatever. Water under the bridge.”
“Then why bring it up?”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Damn. She had him there. He glanced past her up the block. A coffee shop caught his attention. He told himself it was only the promise of his first cup of java that caused him to say, “I want a cannolo.”
“What?”
“A cannolo. I’ll buy the espresso if you’ll share your cannoli. It doesn’t even have to be a whole one. I’ll settle for a bite or two.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You want a cannolo?”
“That’s what I said.” He held his breath, half expecting her to state the obvious and tell him to go buy his own.
Instead, to his surprise, she said slowly, “I guess that’s a reasonable trade.”
The coffee shop was small with limited seating inside and only half a dozen wrought-iron tables and chairs on its speck of a cobblestone patio. Most of the tables indoors were unoccupied, but it was too nice a day to sit inside. Outdoors, only two were empty. They took a seat at one of them and waited for the server to come for their order. Angelo went with espresso, the stronger the better in his opinion, especially given the rough start to his day. Atlanta opted for a cappuccino.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” she announced when their beverages arrived.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked.
She pointed to the rich froth that topped her cup. “This is steamed whole milk and the espresso isn’t decaffeinated. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I allowed myself to have either?” She didn’t wait for Angelo to answer. “And a cannolo!” She pulled one of the pastries in question from the paper bag. “I would be eating two if you hadn’t talked me into being nice and sharing.”
She tried to hand him one of the tempting pastries, but he refused to take it. “I’ve changed my mind. I want you to eat them both. And I want to watch.”
“God, no! Please, Angelo. Save me from myself.” Though the drama of her words was definitely for effect, he sensed a nugget of truth—and perhaps of fear—in them.
He leaned back in his chair. “What’s to save, sweetheart? Everyone’s entitled to a little indulgence from time to time.”
Still eyeing the cannolo, she nodded. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Some habits are hard to break,” she said softly.
“Zeke?”
She set the cannolo on a napkin and glanced away. “You think it’s stupid that I let a man run my life to such a degree for so long.”
“Is that what I think? Or is that what you think?” he asked, reneging on his earlier promise to himself to stay out of her business. He’d also vowed to steer clear of her. As the woman said, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“It’s what I think.”
“So, how’d it happen?”
Her brow furrowed. “It wasn’t all at once. I thought I was free…”
“Free?”
She cleared her throat. “You know. Footloose and fancy free. God knows, I was all attitude when I first arrived in Hollywood. I didn’t look in the rearview mirror when I left rural Louisiana. I was happy to kiss my hick roots and…and everything else goodbye.”
The way she hesitated made him think there was more to it than that, but he commented on the obvious. “I thought you were born in Georgia?”
One
