Page 180 of The Havenport Collection

Wyatt

“ I ’m so happy to see you,” Sylvie squeaked, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. As if I hadn’t spent every waking moment of the last few days thinking about her. When she texted me this morning to plan an “official first date” my heart rate sped up and still hadn’t slowed down.

“Where are we headed?” I asked.

“It’s going to be a bit of a scavenger hunt actually,” she said, shifting from one foot to the other in her furry boots. “The first stop is right here.” She pulled me toward a storefront and through the door.

The sign read “Nonna’s Kitchen,” and on one side were tables covered with checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles. The other side was a small store with refrigerator cases where people could buy things to go.

It smelled fantastic, like garlic and red sauce and lots of deliciousness.

“Should we grab a table?” I asked, unsure of what the plan was.

Sylvie shook her head and walked up to the counter.

“Miss Sylvie,” I heard a voice shout. I looked around and saw a small girl of maybe seven or eight sitting at a corner table doing homework. She bounded over and wrapped her in her arms.

“Valentina. How are you, sweetheart?”

The girl beamed at Sylvie. “I did it. I finally got ‘Let It Go.’” She was dancing around on the black-and-white checkerboard-tile floor. “Dad,” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

A man emerged from the kitchen wearing a white chef’s coat. “You need me, Val?”

“Get your phone. I want to show Sylvie the video of me playing ‘Let It Go’ wicked good.”

“Great to see you, Sylvie,” he said, smiling at her. He was probably in his late thirties with dark hair and a few grays around the temples.

He handed his phone to the girl and held out his hand. “Matteo Rossi,” he said by way of introduction, firmly shaking my hand.

“Wyatt Ford,” I replied, smiling.

“So you’re Sylvie’s mystery man. My Nonna has been talking about you two nonstop,” he said, pointing his fingers at us. “I’m grateful—keeps her from screaming at me for making her famous eggplant parm the wrong way.”

“Guys. Watch,” Valentina ordered, stomping her foot. She held up the phone, and the three adults watched with rapt attention as she played the piano on the tiny screen.

“I am so proud of you,” Sylvie said, wiping tears from her eyes. “You crushed it.”

“Are you sure you can’t give me lessons anymore?” Valentina asked.

“Sorry, kiddo. But I am working on finding you a new teacher—a better teacher.”

Valentina threw her arms around Sylvie’s waist. “There is no better teacher.”

Matteo gave us a sympathetic look and peeled his daughter away. He handed Sylvie a to-go bag with a wink. “Enjoy your date,” he said. “And it was nice meeting you, Wyatt.”

I had no idea what was in the bag, but I was intrigued enough to keep going. Sylvie pulled me back out into the cold and down toward the pier.

“What’s down here?” I asked.

“Just keep walking, or we’ll be eating dinner at midnight,” she replied over her shoulder.

She led me down a set of wooden steps toward a fishing dock. A giant, pissed-off looking man was standing there with his arms crossed.

“Sylvie,” he said sternly, “you’re late.”

Sylvie flashed him a dazzling smile, and I saw his face soften. “So sorry, Declan. Valentina Rossi cornered me.”

“She is a very pushy child,” he grunted.

“And adorable. Anyway. This is Wyatt.”

Close up, he was as tall as I am and built like an athlete. A wool cap was pulled down over his long hair which cascaded down his shoulders.

“Declan Quinn.”

“Declan here is the fishing kingpin of Havenport,” Sylvie said.

“Am not,” he rumbled. “Here.” He held out a brown paper bag. “Caught a couple of hours ago. Can’t get any fresher.”

Sylvie hugged Declan. “Thanks so much. Tell Astrid I say hi.”

His face softened, and he smiled. “You two have fun on your date.”

We headed back toward town and where I had parked my truck.

I was still confused but had given up any hope of understanding our quest and was enjoying running around town with Sylvie.

She looked so cute in her red scarf and hat.

I wanted to pull her into an alley between the brick buildings and kiss the hell out of her.

But she was so determined that I didn’t dare.

“One last stop,” Sylvie said, snuggling up to me while we waited for the crossing signal. “Then I get you all to myself.”

It was dark and cold, and we were standing on an icy street corner, but there was no place on earth I would rather be.

Running around with Sylvie was thrilling.

Watching her interact with everyone, seeing her kindness and her warmth, did nothing to diminish my crush.

I kept telling myself to keep things casual, to just have fun and live in the moment, but I couldn’t help thinking that she was leaving soon.

That she was going to go start a new life away from this place that seemed to perfectly fit her—and most likely, a life without me.

“Here we are,” she said, stopping in front of the diner.

She looked around to make sure no one was watching and then executed a complicated knock on the locked door. A closed sign was hung, and it was dark inside.

I raised an eyebrow. It was clearly closed.

“Just wait,” she said, rubbing her arms for warmth.

Before I could question why she was knocking on the window of a closed diner, Joe appeared, still wearing his apron and holding a box.

“Here you are, sweetheart. It’s still warm.”

Sylvie took the box and gave Joe a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much.”

Joe pinned me with a glare. “You should marry this one,” he said, gesturing to Sylvie. “She is one in a million.”

I froze, not sure what to say.

“I understand, sir,” I said, giving him a curt nod and trying to recover from the shock of what he said.

But my brain danced around the possibility.

What if there was a future where Sylvie and I could be together?

Get married, start a family here? I wished I was one of those guys who hated thinking about the future.

But I wasn’t. I wanted it. And hearing Joe say it only made me realize it more and more.

If I were a more careful man, I would avoid getting in too deep with her.

Sylvie was leaving in a couple of weeks.

But I wasn’t a careful man. And I knew, standing there on the sidewalk, that I was falling head over heels for this woman.