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I nodded, then shrugged, regretting it immediately as pain flared in my shoulder.

His expression darkened. “You should’ve called for me.”

“And ruin the moment? You, being nice? That’s rarer than Norris’s banana-shaped cookie jar.”

He exhaled a sharp laugh and looked away, his jaw tense. But he didn’t retreat. He stayed rooted on that step, as if something in him didn’t want to let me pass just yet. “I don’t think it’s banana-shaped, but he’d probably love that.” His voice dropped as he stepped closer. “I meant what I said, Theo,” he murmured. “About you being interesting. About liking that.”

I sucked in a breath. This was dangerous ground. The kind with no footing and too many sharp drops. “I don’t need compliments, Angelo.”

He moved closer, just enough to eliminate the distance between us. “That wasn’t a compliment. That was a fact.”

Something flared between us then, silent and hot and old as sin. I could see it in the hard line of his jaw, the way his eyes flickedto my mouth and then back again like he was fighting himself. Like he wasn’t sure if kissing me would fix things or make them worse. I should’ve said something. I should’ve told him I wasn’t ready, or that I didn’t know what this was, or that my heart was still too bruised to be touched like that. Instead, I whispered, “Show me.”

He blinked. “What?”

“The cookie jar,” I said, chickening out, breezing past him and down the stairs before I lost my nerve. “I want to see this cookie jar in all its flamingo glory.”

Behind me, I heard his chuckle—quiet, surprised, warm.

The brownstone’s kitchen resembled something out of a mafia housewife’s dream—warm lighting, old-world tiles, and cast-iron pans hanging in a neat row. It always made me wish I could cook, which, to be clear, I couldn’t. While I could whip up a mean tutu, lion costume, or jumpsuit, baking bread or making pasta sent shivers down my spine. No part of me was interested in learning either.

The scent of garlic, basil, and whatever else Norris had been cooking clung to the airlike perfume. It smelled pure Italian and 100% delicious. I was already drooling.

And in the center of this dream was Angelo, sleeves rolled up, looking like sin and Sunday dinner.

Norris perked up from the sink like a startled meerkat. “Miss Theodosia! You’re awake.”

I smiled at him, sliding onto one of the barstools at the island. “Barely. But I heard there was a flamingo cookie jar, and I couldn’t resist.”

Norris beamed. I mean,beamed. He looked like he’d just gotten front row tickets to the Antiques Roadshow. “Oh, you’re going to love her. Her name’s Loretta.”

Angelo moved to the counter behind me, his presence a low hum I could feel even without turning. He was always like that—more gravity than man.

“Did you give her that name, or did she come with it?” I asked, watching Norris pull a bubble-wrapped monstrosity from the cabinet.

“Shetoldme her name,” he said, deadly serious. “Look at her eyelashes. That’s a Loretta if I’ve ever seen one.”

He unwrapped the jar and placed it like arare jewel on the counter. It was… glorious. Bright pink, with one leg in the air, sparkly gold eyeshadow, a little hat with a bow, absolutely unhinged. I wasn’t sure how many actual cookies it could hold, but it was amazing.

“Iloveher,” I whispered.

Angelo leaned in close to my ear, pressing against me so I felt him unmistakably hard right up against me. His cock fit right between my ass cheeks making me want to rock back into him. “Told you she’d like it.”

His breath tickled my neck, and I pretended my entire body didn’t light up like a cheap neon sign. I focused on Loretta. Loretta was safe. Loretta didn’t make me feel like my stomach was turning inside out.

“She looks like she moonlights in Vegas,” I said, grinning. “Like she’s been married six times and only regrets the fourth one.”

“Fourth was Gary,” Norris said solemnly. “We don’t talk about Gary.”

Angelo actually laughed. A low, rough sound that rumbled through his chest. My eyes darted to him before I could stop myself.

God, he was stupidly handsome. Dark shadows were beneath his eyes, and the creasebetween his brows looked deeper than a few days ago. His body was here, but his mind was still out there, hunting ghosts.

“Have you eaten?” he asked me suddenly, and I blinked.

“Do three Tic Tacs count?”

Norris gasped in horror. “Blasphemy. Sir, I made her a sandwich. She ate lunch.” He glared at me.