Page 30 of Bittersweet

“Sorryagain.”

“I shouldhave—”

We both speak at the same time, and I give a small smile. “You gofirst.”

“Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t important.” She shakes her head, and we drift into silence oncemore.

I offer her the paper bag B left with me before she ducked off for her mysterious work “emergency.” Romy mightn’t want to date me, but surely we can at least be friends. This weirdness between us is driving me crazy. “Muffin?”

“Oh. I shouldn’t.” Romy shakes herhead.

“Why not?” I frown. “It’s orange and poppy seed. It’sgood.”

“Orange is my favorite. But I guess you already knew that.” Romy’s voice sounds dreamy, as if she’s tasting the citrus tang while forming the words. For the first time since we got out of the car, her shoulders seem to relax. Her eyes lightup.

She’sbeautiful.

So fuckingbeautiful.

“What else do you love?” I ask, unable to stop myself. “Flavors, I mean. What flavors do youlove?”

“Well . . .” She pauses for a moment. “Rosewater is a flavor I find myself drawn to. I think it’s because my grandmother used to have these little rose soaps in her bathroom, so perfect you could just eatthem.”

I laugh. “I know the kind. I think every grandmother had them at somepoint.”

“Even yours?” Romyasks.

“Sure. You’ve met Nonna before. She’s definitely into those kitschy soaps. In fact, I think she has somestill.”

“Just one more reason I want her to adopt me.” Romy smiles, and I want to make her do it again. I want to make her smile more than Ishould.

“Anything else that makes your favorite ingredient hit list?” Iask.

“Hmm . . .”

“Pumpkins?” Itease.

“No. I wish I could say they made my list, but aside from the odd piece of pie, they’re just not my thing.” She pauses, then gives a short nod. “Champagne. That’s my final favoriteingredient.”

“Champagne?”

“Yes. I like the way it tastes like fruit, like crisp mornings and special celebrations all at once.” Her voice takes on that tone again, as if she’s feeling the bubbles pop on her tongue as she speaks. “There’s something special aboutchampagne.”

“There is.” I nod, since I’m not one of those guys who can’t appreciate a fine wine, sparkling or otherwise. “Champagne is one of my favoritestoo.”

“Really?” sheasks.

I add it to the list: books, baking, a drive to succeed in business, a love of Nonna’sRibollita. Now, champagne. Just one more thing we have in common. “Really.”

We keep walking, Coco’s giggles like music as she dances amongst the overgrownvegetables.

“She’s very cute,” Romy says, and I nod. “How long have you been picking pumpkinshere?”

“Since I was maybe three. Every Halloween without fail we’d come here and do it together, just me, my brother, and mysister.”

“I’ve never met him,” she says, her browfurrowed.

“No. We’re not very close.” I tense, thinking of the past—of how he betrayed me in the worst possible way. “But B and Nonna I see almost everyday.”