Page 242 of The Havenport Collection

Eliza

I hated first dates. I detested the small talk and resented having to shave my legs. And I had experienced my fair share of first dates, especially when I lived in the city. Most were completely forgettable and blended together, but the bad ones…the bad ones were hard to shake.

“Remember that guy who took out dental floss at the table?” Gina said, holding the curling iron at the perfect angle to give me beachy waves.

“Don’t remind me!”

“Or the guy who asked you to drive and then made you go through the Taco Bell drive-through and buy him, like, twenty tacos that he ate by himself in the front seat of your car?”

Despite living in California, Gina had always been willing to listen to my disaster stories and cheer me up. One thing I had forgotten was just how incredible her memory was.

“Thanks, Gina.”

“I’m just trying to distract you from your nerves, kid.”

I looked up at her. “You’re a good friend.”

“I am. Even if you are dating my cousin.”

“It’s one date.”

“Yeah, yeah…” she grumbled, going back to perfecting my hair.

I had no idea what a date with Matteo would entail, other than a ride on his bike, so I had dressed casually in skinny jeans, knee-high leather boots, and a slouchy sweater.

Underneath I had on my best undies, but I didn’t want to tell Gina that.

She had just come around to the idea of me dating her cousin.

“Are you sure I’m dressed okay?” I asked, toying with my necklace. “What if he picks me up in a suit?”

Gina laughed. “A suit? Matteo? You’re more likely to get him to wear a clown costume.”

I shuddered. “Jesus. Gina. You know I hate clowns.”

“It’s all going to be fine,” she said, fluffing my hair. “You are going to have a great time. And as much as I gag thinking about it, I won’t wait up.”

“Hey. I’m not that kind of girl.” I attempted to feign outrage, and we both burst into laughter. Gina was gasping for breath she was laughing so hard. I wasn’t exactly known for my ladylike restraint.

“Fuck it.” I threw my arms up in the air in surrender. “You know me too well. I am exactly that kind of girl.”

I could hear the roar of Matteo’s bike before he even pulled up in front of the store. I ran down the back stairs to meet him, completely unable to hide my excitement.

I stood on the sidewalk staring as he took off his helmet. I don’t think he did it in slow motion, but it certainly felt that way.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

I squeaked out a hi, unable to form proper words. He looked extra sexy—wearing a leather jacket over a white T-shirt—and it was hard to stop staring, especially with his hair down.

My eyes wandered down to his denim-clad thighs. They were sturdy and strong. Soccer player thighs, which in my mind were the gold standard of man legs. I had a vague sense that he was talking.

He looked at me quizzically. “Did you hear anything I just said? Or were you too busy eye fucking me?”

I shrugged. “Was I that obvious?”

“You were licking your lips while looking at my legs.”

“So sue me! They’re great legs.” He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Shit, that was hot too. “Sorry? One more time?” I asked.

He scowled at me. “As I was saying, I figured we would want to lie low, not go anywhere downtown.”

I nodded. Was he saying he didn’t want to be seen with me?

“Unless you want to go someplace nice?”

I shook my head, trying to let go of some of the self-doubt that was creeping in. “I don’t care one bit. I just want to hang out with you. Besides, I’m not a fancy girl. I’m more of a drink beer and eat greasy food while yelling at a baseball game kind of girl.”

He smiled and held out the spare helmet to me. “Then I have the perfect place. Wanna climb on?”

My legs shook as I climbed on behind him, feeling his masculine warmth against my chest.

“First time?”

I nodded as I wrapped my arms around him.

“Hold on tight.”

Riding on the back of Matteo’s bike, feeling the rumble between my thighs, was the stuff of my girly fantasies.

I felt so cool and badass, clinging to his muscular back while we drove through Havenport.

And as we rode, my smile grew wider and wider.

Because while I knew I lusted after Matteo, I was becoming more and more certain of just how much I liked him.

We headed toward the beach, finally stopping at In a Pinch, a tiny lobster shack that faced the ocean.

It was a walk-up storefront with a giant cast iron pot out front where they boiled lobsters to order.

The walls were covered with newspaper articles and photos of famous people who had stopped there.

It was old and pretty shabby, but the beer was cold and the views were unbeatable.

During the summer, the line was so long there were hour marker intervals and they hired high school kids to give out water to the waiting tourists. It was exactly my kind of place.

We parked and I got off the bike, feeling a bit out of sorts.

Matteo took my helmet and offered me his arm, leading me toward the front.

“Actually, can you wait a second?” I asked.

He nodded and I pulled him to the side of the parking lot, behind someone’s massive truck.

“Come here.” I crooked a finger at him and he walked toward me slowly.

I reached up on my tiptoes and kissed him. Gently. It felt so good and so right.

I felt his arm snake around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. He deepened the kiss, making my heart race and my toes tingle.

I gently pushed him away, afraid of how much further I was willing to take this in public.

“What was that for?” His expression was serious but his tone was light. Typical Matteo.

“I was feeling nervous. And after riding on your bike, I was just…worked up, I guess. So I wanted to kiss you. And I did it.”

He stepped closer, possessively grabbing my ass. “You can do it again.”

I placed a hand on his chest. “Not so fast. Feed me first.”

He ran his hands through his hair, and I squeezed my thighs together. “I didn’t even ask you. Do you like lobster?”

“I’d be kicked out of the state if I didn’t,” I replied. “Let’s do this.”

We got in line behind a few locals who were out before the tourist season picked up.

He put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. “I’m sorry. I should have planned something nicer—taken you to Boston or something.”

“It’s great. Just prepare yourself; I take my lobster very seriously.”

“I can’t believe you talked me into the bib,” he grumbled. We were seated side by side at the weathered picnic table, facing the ocean.

“It’s adorable.”

He glowered at me, a look I suspect he thought was intimidating but was really just foreplay. “I don’t wear bibs.”

“Oh, I know,” I said, sucking the last of the meat out of a claw. I put on a deep, silly voice. “I’m Matteo Rossi. I’m super serious and wear all black. And I would rather have lobster guts on my shirt than wear a plastic bib.”

“Very funny,” he grumbled.

“It’s part of the experience, Matteo. You gotta crack it with your hands and slurp out the salty juice and wear the bib and be ridiculous.”

He studied me for a moment. “You really live, don’t you?”

I wasn’t sure how to interpret that statement. “I think what you mean is that I’m just not capable of taking myself too seriously.”

He waved a claw at me. “Don’t do that. Take the compliment. Your excitement is contagious, you got me to put on a plastic bib—which you are never, ever allowed to tell anyone about—and you’re making eating lobster on a splintered picnic table the most fun date I’ve ever had.”

I shrug, blushing slightly. “I’m not good with compliments.”

“I mean it, Eliza.” He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear, an intimate gesture that sent my pulse racing. “You are mesmerizing.”

I stared at him for a beat, feeling my face flush, before grabbing my beer and taking a big sip.

Too big, as it went down the wrong pipe and I started violently coughing.

Matteo patted my back while my lady boner shriveled up and died in the face of my embarrassment.

Of course I ruined the beautiful romantic moment by attempting to waterboard myself with beer. That was so on brand for me.

“Thanks,” I coughed out. I cleaned my hands with a wet wipe. “I’m sorry I’m such a hot mess.”

“Don’t say that. You are far from a hot mess.”

“Good point. I prefer spicy disaster actually. I saw it on Instagram recently, and it spoke to me.”

He gave me a wary look. “Social media is evil.”

“How am I not surprised you say that.”

“Because it is.”

“That explains why it was so hard to stalk you.” I covered my mouth. That was not supposed to come out. Goddamn my impulsive brain.

“You stalked me?”

“Unsuccessfully. You have no digital footprint.”

“Good.”

“And don’t be flattered. That’s what you have to do now, to make sure the guy you’re dating is not a serial killer.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the guys.”

“Nope. Just the old weirdos who don’t have social media.”

“Ouch.” He pretended to be hurt.

I nudged him. “If it helps, you’re a hot old weirdo.”

He glowered at me and I clenched my legs. “It helps,” he muttered.

We continued to eat, watching the surf and drinking beer. I didn’t feel self-conscious or stupid. Matteo listened to me babble and laughed at my jokes, all while staring at me like I was the prettiest women he had ever seen. I was soaring.

I inspected an onion ring. “I know that these are probably far below your talents in the kitchen. But hot damn, they are delicious.”

“Actually”—he holds one up—“it’s more challenging than you think. First, you need a great onion—firm, crisp and not mushy. Something with a mild flavor, but not cardboard either.” He offered me a bite, and I took it.

“Then the breading. Do you go seasoned flour? Breadcrumbs? Or a multistep process?” He ate the rest of it and gave me a wink. “Oil type, temp—there are several elements to doing this right. A lot of things can go wrong.”

“Yes. Like when all the delicious breading slides off and you just have a sad strip of onion.”

“Exactly. You don’t want sad onion strings, and you don’t want mushy ones either. So it’s actually a culinary art. The perfect onion ring. Worthy of respect.”

“I love it when you talk foodie to me.” I leaned over and gave his beard a greasy kiss.

“Sadly, I don’t eat them much anymore. I generally try to eat healthily—you know, yogurts, salad, chicken.

This may sound strange, but it helps with my ADHD.

Nutrition, exercise, sleep, vitamins. It’s painfully boring, but it does help a lot. ”

“Doesn’t sound strange at all. I can’t eat or drink like I used to. It catches up eventually. And I need a lot of energy to run my business and take care of Val and my family and everything else. So I can’t have eggplant parmigiana every day, as much as I might want to.”

“Oh, I want to. It’s heavenly. My friends were fighting over it the other night.”

“Did you try the cannoli I made you?”

“You made them for me?”

“Of course. I only make cannoli once in a while. I’m not a pastry chef, and I never have the time, but I had you on the brain and needed to do something. So I made them and forced Gina to take them to you.”

“You made labor intensive Italian cream-filled pastry for me?” I fanned myself dramatically. “You really know how to please a girl.”

He shot me one of his looks—the kind intended to incinerate my panties. “You have no idea, Eliza.”