Page 25 of Men or Paws

Rocco’s commercial-use Nuova Simonelli espresso machine was the exact model we had at Santo Domingo Grill, maybe overkill for home use, although I must say that was the best cup of coffee I’d had in a long time.

“Yes, your kitchen is amazing,” I said, glancing at the four-door refrigerator with the built-in flat screen television in one of the doors. “But let’s get back to the topic at hand, your bed, and how I am not going to be sleeping in it.”

“I really don’t get you,” Rocco said.

“Likewise.”

“It’s just a bed.”

“It’s not just a bed.”

“You like to contradict everything I say.”

“No, I don’t.” I plucked the coffee cup out of his hands, pushed past him, and stuck it in the sink, running some water in it.

Rocco pointed to the cup. “I was going to do that.”

“And I told you I can clean up after myself,” I insisted as I dried my hands on the kitchen towel.

He studied me, an amused look on his face. “Were you a troublemaker in school, or was it something you perfected as an adult?”

“And were you a spoiled brat as a kid or did you—” I threw my hand over my mouth, horrified that I brought up his childhood since he’d spent time in foster care. Who knew if it had been a positive experience for him? I wasn’t a fan of Rocco Romano, but I wasn’t a cruel person either. The last thing I wanted to do was bring up any bad memories for him.

“Sorry,” I said. “That was a personal question.”

“I wasn’t spoiled, but I’m making up for it now.” He grinned, a way of letting me know that the question didn’t bother him at all, thank God. “Let me ask you something, have you ever stayed in a hotel?”

“Of course,” I said, wondering where that random question came from. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Rocco leaned against the quartz kitchen counter and crossed his arms. “So then, you have no problem sleeping in a bed that has been occupied by thousands of strangers from all over the world, but you are turned off by the thought of sleeping in the private bed of one person? What gives?”

“I didn’t say that I was turned off. It’s just that . . . I . . . oh, never mind.”

I felt disappointed that I didn’t have a better comeback than that.

It just felt wrong and especially weird to sleep in his bed, and I didn’t want to have a one-hour discussion about it!

“Gwen will throw on some fresh bed linens, of course, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Rocco said.

I shook my head. “That’s not it. And why do you want me to sleep in your bed, anyway? If you go out of town, Houdini can sleep with me in the guesthouse.”

“It’s not that simple.” Rocco gestured to Houdini, who was leaning against his leg. “He’ll be a little anxious since I won’t be here with him, so changing his favorite place to sleep on the edge of my bed would only make it worse.”

It made sense, but I still didn’t want to sleep in his bed.

“I’ll schedule my return flight for later in the day, so there’s no chance you are in my bedroom when I get back,” Rocco added. “And if I can’t make that happen, I’ll call you from the airport after I land, to give you time to change out of yourRatatouillepajamas or whatever you chefs wear to bed.”

I was about to tell him how ridiculous he was, again, but I didn’t have a chance to get a word out before he interrupted me.

“Take me out of the equation,” Rocco pleaded. “Do it for Houdini. Please.”

For a moment there, he almost seemed sincere.

And it was the second or third time he’d saidpleaseto me, which was a surprise, considering the way he behaved at the restaurant when he insisted on being a big baby and defiling my signature dish. Why wasn’t he being his usual rude-jerk self?

The man was confusing me, which was uncalled for.

I glanced at Houdini and sighed. “Fine.”