Page 12 of Do It For Me

I scan the crowd for someone with red hair like mine. It doesn’t take long to spot her. Finn likely couldn’t see her—at his height, all he’d be able to see are legs.

I lead the little boy until I reach his mother. She’s arguing with a vendor, her voice rising above the surrounding noise.

“I understand you don’t want to work, but it’s my son’s birthday, and I need—”

“Ma!” Finn yells

The woman whirls around, her sharp gaze landing on me. “What are you doing with my son?” she snaps, narrowing her eyes.

You can do this. Stay calm. You’re just helping.

“He saw me at the vending machine and thought I was you,” I explain, steadying my voice. I won’t stutter—I didn’t do anything wrong. “He thought he was lost.”

“Well, you found me. Now, go.” She dismisses me with a wave and turns back to her argument.

Finn holds out the water bottle to me with a shy smile. I take it from his small hand, returning his smile even though I’m about to freak out.

“Thank you,” he says with a lisp and runs to join his mother.

When I turn around, Dante is standing a few feet away from me. As I approach, I steel myself, half expecting him to snatch the bottle from me or comment on the scene… But he doesn’t. He simply smiles, standing a respectful distance from me.

I don’t understand this man.

Without a word about what just happened—something I’m immensely grateful for—he gestures for me to follow him to one of the bowling lanes. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the seat before I speak.

“Have you played before?” I ask, watching how he rolls up his sleeves.

I envy the way he moves, so sure of himself, as if he owns the whole place. And I’m so…

Ugh.

“A couple of times,” he replies casually, picking up a ball. It slips from his hand and drops back onto the rack with a thud. “Do you want to go first?”

“I’m fine.”

He sighs, retrieves the ball again, and walks confidently to the lane. With a sharp motion, he throws it. Seconds later, the ball smashes into all the pins, making them fall.

Of course, he had to be perfect at this too.

Resigned, I grab one of the heavier balls and hold it tightly against my chest.

“I think it would be better if—”

“I can do it.”

He raises both hands, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

I slot my fingers into the holes of the ball, gripping it tightly with both hands. Taking a deep breath, I prepare to throw it. When I release, the ball veers off course, knocks against the side of the lane.

A frustrated growl escapes me as I cover my face with my hands. Dante stifles a laugh.

“That’s normal,amore. Try the lighter ones,” he says with a soft chuckle.

Reluctantly, I return to his side. He picks up another ball and demonstrates his grip.

“Just two fingers. You don’t need to use the thumb like that.”

“But then what do I do with it?”