Page 58 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

LORENA

S ince we left Hummingbirds, Tino hasn’t let me go. He’s been carrying me in a newlywed hold, while I’ve had my head burrowed against his chest, with my eyes closed, as we walk to wherever he’s taking us.

“We’re here,” Tino announces as he stops walking.

Head still pressed against his firm, yet comforting chest, my words come out muffled. “Where are we?”

“Why don’t you open your eyes and see for yourself. I planned on coming here with you later on in the evening, once Salsa night was over, but this works out perfectly. Now we’ll get more alone time together.”

Curious as to what he’s talking about, since he’s clearly had something up his sleeve, I raise my head to see where he’s taken me to, and what’s staring back at me is not what I was expecting.

Not quite understanding how we’ve gone from the conversation we had on the dance floor to the restaurant, I have to ask him why we’re here. “Why are we at Cielo + Cibo’s?”

He lowers me to the ground to stand. “Because there’s something I need to show you.

” Tino reaches for the keys in his back pocket and walks over to the door to open it.

He holds the door open for me to go inside, and it registers that dinner should be wrapping up but the restaurant is most definitely closed.

There’s no one here but us, yet every table is set the same way it would be for dinner service with linens, cutlery, and menus filling each table.

Same way there’s a bouquet of fresh hibiscus flowers and the signature Cielo + Cibo candle next to the vase, all lit, adding to the ambiance and filling the air with the familiar scent.

“Why aren’t there any people here?”

He doesn’t answer right away, opting to reach for my hand as he leads the way past the empty hostess stand and through the dining room until we are in front of the kitchen doors.

“Isn’t it obvious, we’re closed.”

“I can see that but why? It’s not Monday, the restaurant should be open.”

“Because I own it, and I can do whatever I want. All thanks to you.”

Thanks to me? My opportunity to grill him on what he means is stolen from me as he breaks through the swinging doors that lead into the kitchen.

A vase filled with fuchsia hibiscus flowers and an envelope with my name written on it, both sit on the large countertop space Tino refers to as the pass, where the food is typically plated and then taken to each table.

Suddenly every word he spoke to me on the dance floor begins to play in my memory, transporting me back to how I felt when I heard him confess his feelings for me.

Trembling with the realization that my heart isn’t all my own after all.

It’s the object of someone else’s desire. A prize he’s come to collect. One that I am willing — and wanting — to give him, despite the litany of what-if’s that are trying to poke at this bubble being with Santino has thrust me into.

All of it is overwhelming.

All of it is incredibly vulnerable.

All of it I swore I’d never allow myself to feel. Though in this moment, remembering what was said, and preparing myself for what is about to be said, I finally feel ready. Tired of avoiding. Sick of missing out.

I’m still scared, but I know, deep down in my heart, if there’s one person who will take what I give him and cherish it, it’s Santino.

It’s always been Santino.

I need to remind myself of that.

I deserve him.

We deserve each other.

I notice as I move closer the surface of the pass-through station that unlike the ones in the main dining room, these are fake.

It doesn’t make them any less beautiful; if anything, their color is more vibrant.

Although hibiscus flowers are my favorite, I actually prefer artificial flowers and plants to real ones.

Partly due to my sad lack of having a green thumb like my mother does.

But real flowers remind me of death. I remember at my father’s funeral, being given bouquets of all sorts of flowers, their smell became synonymous with the funeral parlor.

And they all died shortly after his final burial.

Flowers are just another reminder that nothing lasts forever. And I’ve grown to resent them.

Tino walks behind me until I’m standing in front of the flowers. He reaches over to one, plucking it from the bunch and places it behind my ear, just as his lips plant a kiss on my cheek. “Your favorite flower. How you prefer it. Fake, with a zero percent chance of dying. Immortal, if you will.”

He remembered.

“They’re beautiful.”

“No, they’re nice. You’re beautiful.”

He keeps his lips hovering over my skin, as he leans over me to grab the envelope, handing it to me.

“What’s this?” I breathe. The nerves I feel transfer to Tino.

He moves to the island, leaning on it, he sighs as he tries to find the words to say.

“An envelope.”

I laugh. Nervously. But it’s enough that the tension becomes sliced a bit.

“I see that Tino, I mean, what’s inside?”

“Something that I’ve wanted to show you for a really long time.”

“Is it a recipe?” I coo, but he only stares at me with a stone expression that sends a chill down my spine.

I drop the envelope, grabbing his hand instead.

It’s clammy and cold.

Closing the space between us, I cradle his cheek in my other hand, squeezing the hand I’m holding. “What’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

Tears line his eyes. Tears that he refuses to let fall.

“I know you’ve noticed that the candles I have in this place smell familiar, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I breathe, caressing his cheek as he continues.

“Same way, you’ve probably noticed that’s what I’ve been calling you, mi cielo, is on those candle labels, same way that it is half of the restaurant’s name.”

I nod my head. Not sure what he’s getting at. But in an absolute chokehold to find out.

“ Damn .” He sucks in a breath, flattening his tongue to his teeth, and the barbell audibly taps on the enamel.

A few deep breaths in, and he continues, this time with his leg bouncing up and down while he stands.

Like it always does when he’s nervous. “This is harder than I thought.” His head hangs, and his demeanor shifts, crossing his arms to create a barrier between us.

Not against me, but to protect himself from the vulnerability he’s about to show.

I look back to the envelope. “Would it help if I read this first?”

“Yes,” he quickly says. “I mean, maybe. Ah, what’s wrong with me? I thought I was ready. I thought…”

I silence his spiral with a kiss. One, long, passion-filled, I’m never letting you go, kiss. A kiss that eases his worries…and mine, preparing me for whatever he needs me to know in this envelope.

Not wanting to let my lips leave his, I murmur against his mouth, “It’s okay.”

“Now it is,” he replies. Our lips separate, but the seal it created on my heart, truly letting me know that it is okay, giving me the strength to see what’s inside the envelope.

I open it. Staring back at me is a lined piece of yellow legal pad paper that looks like it’s gone through the wringer with how crumpled it is.

Unfolding it, I immediately recognize Tino’s handwriting. Chicken scratch as I used to poke fun at him for. Barely legible, but right now, every word stands out to me, cluttering my vision.

I know where to start. At the beginning.

Where all letters, and stories — fiction and real — all begin, though, for some reason, my brain won’t allow me to.

Not yet. My eyes continually scan the paper, taking in bits and pieces of what appears to be an odd concoction of a letter mixed with a recipe.

Tino walks over to me, wrapping his arms around me from behind, and slouches, cradling me as he towers over me.

“Remember what we just said. It’s okay. You aren’t the only one who is scared.

To love. To lose. To be crushed by the freight train that is this life.

But if nothing else, I hope this proves to you not only how I feel about you and the impact you’ve had on me, but how I’ll never give up.

Never again.” His face settles in the crook of my neck, allowing him to pepper kisses onto my skin.

I take a second to process what he just said before I speak. “How do you want me to read it? Out loud? To myself?”

His kisses stop for a second, and in exchange his teeth bare at my skin, sinking in with the slightest of pressure, as he sucks in a breath. “However, you prefer. It’s yours to read how you want.”

I can tell he’s the one that feels vulnerable right now. So in my head it is.

And as I read the first line, I’m thankful that’s the route I chose. I don’t think I could ever utter out loud those first five words that hit me like a freight train, making it so difficult not to throw the paper down and hug him so tight while sobbing.

Taking a deep breath, letting his trembling lips that haven’t stopped planting soft kisses on my neck give me the strength I need to get through this, I begin reading again. Fighting tears as the first sentence breaks my heart into a million pieces.

I almost ended it today.

I woke up this morning feeling what I have been every day for the past I don’t even know how long…nothing.

And I was tired of it.

I was tired of feeling like I’m going through the motions.

Damn sick of how much life has changed.

Tired of losing people.

Fed up with looking in the mirror and physically seeing myself but not recognizing who I am anymore.

I used to be happy…hopeful. But now everything feels so heavy and dark.

I’m starting to feel like my life has no purpose.

That I’m here physically, but it doesn’t actually mean anything.

I’m just taking up space. All I do is work, day in and day out, to only have the needle move an inch, without making a difference in my own life or others.

I want to have purpose.

I want all the pain I’ve gone through to mean something.