by Aven Ellis
And there was.
Luca.
As he lowers his mouth to mine for a gentle kiss, I vow to show this amazing man what he means to me. In small ways and in big ways, I promise I will make him feel just as special and loved as I do.
And I think I know how I’ll do just that.
Chapter 23
Recognize what the client needs before they do . . .
Mmm. Coffee.
I groggily pop one eye open as the magical perfume of fresh-brewed coffee fills the air. Sunlight streams through the blinds as I wrap myself in Luca’s fluffy, white, down comforter.
I hear the sound of clanking pans coming from the kitchen and smile. Luca must be preparing some high-calorie breakfast for us. We could both use the extra fuel after last night.
I take a moment to myself and roll over to where Luca was sleeping next to me. I place my hand on his pillow and draw it to me, inhaling the scent of sandalwood soap and his crisp, masculine cologne. Oh, my, it’s so sexy to breathe in, knowing that is the scent of him.
The scent of the man I love.
I scoop up the T-shirt I was wearing last night and tug it over my head. I blush, remembering how it was discarded after Luca had his second dinner and we made love again. I head down the hall to the small kitchen, where Luca is standing in front of the stove, cooking eggs and bacon in a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants.
He hears me and looks over his shoulder, a bright smile lighting up his handsome face and making my heart skip a beat.
“Good morning, Cinderella,” he says. “Are you hungry?”
I move behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, snuggling into his back.
“Yes,” I say. “I am.”
“What would you like?”
I move next to him. “What are you having?”
Luca flips bacon in a pan and moves around a few links of sausage.
“Bacon, sausage, eggs, fruit, and a bowl of oatmeal,” Luca says.
“I’ll have the same,” I tease.
I move over to the coffee pot. “No instant cup machine for you?”
“Nah, my mom gave me that Mr. Coffee machine when I moved to Milwaukee. It works,” Luca says, waving a spatula to emphasize his point.
“Do you realize how sexy your practicality is?” I tease. “Where can I find a mug?”
“Cabinet above the machine. Huh, I thought it was my skills in bed that you found sexy,” Luca teases.
I laugh as I retrieve a coffee mug and fill it with coffee. “I find everything about you sexy.”
“Liar,” he responds as he flips open a carton of eggs and begins cracking them into a bowl.
“I don’t lie,” I declare. “You are insanely hot, Luca. There’s a reason you have so many female followers on your public Connectivity page. If I were to post a pic of you making eggs and bacon, it would get a stupid high number of likes and comments from women.”
“Whatever.”
I open the fridge and find four bottles of pumpkin spice Coffee-mate waiting for me.
I love him.
I open a bottle and pour some into my coffee. “It’s true. Women would be saying you could scramble their eggs and fry their bacon anytime.”
“That’s not true. Stop it,” Luca says, tossing an eggshell into the trash.
I notice an embarrassed expression sweep across his face, and it’s all I can do not to kiss him, he’s so cute.
“I’ll post a picture and see what happens,” I tease.
“You will not.”
“What’s to stop me?”
“I’ll never have sex with you again if you do,” Luca retorts.
I fake gasp. “Ooh, bringing out the big guns now.”
Luca gives me a sideways glance. “Not all of them. I believe one is still in my arsenal, and you will never see it again if you post my picture on Connectivity.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me, and I feel my face turn bright red as I realize what he’s referring to.
“Okay, you win,” I say as Luca bursts out laughing.
“Back to breakfast,” Luca says. “I know how much you like bread, so I ran out this morning to get you something more to your liking.”
“You did?” I ask, loving that he went to all this effort.
“Yeah. Over there, next to your purse.”
A box from a neighborhood bagel shop sits on the counter.
“Ooh,” I say, lifting up the lid and finding an assortment of delicious bagels. “Luca, you are the best boyfriend ever. I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“I’m not bad for a rookie, eh?” he asks.
I turn around. “You, sir, are no rookie.”
A slight blush sweeps across his cheekbones, and once again, my heart melts. This supremely confident man has a bit of insecurity when it comes to being good enough for me.
“Thank you,” he says.
“I speak the truth,” I say softly.
And I speak from my heart, I add to myself.
Then I clear my throat and turn back to the bagels. “What flavors did you get?”
“They are all Collins-inspired,” Luca explains. “Pumpkin spice. Cranberry. Apple. I even got french toast because you love bread and I figured you’d love a bagel with extra bread flavor. There’s pumpkin and plain cream cheese in the fridge, too.”
“Best Saturday morning ever,” I declare, selecting a pumpkin bagel. I rummage around and find a knife and plate.
“I have a toaster in the lower cabinet on the right,” Luca says. “I don’t eat a lot of bread, so I don’t keep it out. That might have to change,” he says, turning and smiling at me.
Oh!
“I think it will, definitely,” I say, cutting my bagel and then opening the cabinet where the toaster is hidden.
Luca dumps his eggs into a pan.
“What do you have going on today?” he asks.
“The baby shower from hell.”
“The waffle truck one?” he asks.
“Ugh, yes. I know Larissa was a wreck leading up to it, but hopefully she’ll be fine once she’s distracted with cake and presents. I got the waffle truck along with a photo booth, a ‘mom-tail’ station, and a cupcake tree. There will also be a harpist playing during brunch service. Oh, and flower crowns for all the guests. Not to mention all of the rustic autumn table décor I sourced for her displays. I have successfully brought all of her dreams to fruition. Well, except for the polka-dotted sugar cookies she requested at four-thirty yesterday.”
Luca stares at me with a furrowed brow. “I have no idea what you just said.”
I laugh. “Let’s just say I have planned an autumnal baby shower brunch to celebrate the arrival of Elsinore Violet James.”
Luca grins at me, that wonderful smile lighting up his handsome face. “Okay, so your client’s dreams will come to fruition. Next, we have to work on yours.”
I search his eyes, and I see nothing but determination in them. Somehow this man will figure out a way for me to work with horses for the rest of my life.
When I stare back at him, I find myself believing that maybe, just maybe, my dreams will come true, too.
I nod. “Okay.”
“I’m already thinking on it,” he says, stirring his eggs with a spoon. “There has to be a way for you to reduce your hours with Suzanne so you can start learning how to train, even if it’s a day a week.”
I bite my lip. “If I reduce my hours with Aunt Suzanne, I’ll lose income. I can’t afford that. I just moved out, and my parents are still paying for Major’s boarding. That won’t last forever, either.”
As I say the truth aloud, my career dream fades again in my heart.
“Hey,” Luca says, “you have my word. I will help you. I’
m not easily deterred when I want something, and I want to help make this dream come true for you.”
My breath catches in my throat. Luca has no idea he has already made one dream come true for me. Luca is the man I held out hope for. The one I didn’t know was out there, but believed in my heart could exist for me. My dream, after I ended my relationship with Gabe, was to find him.
And now I have.
“Thank you,” I say, for more than Luca knows.
“No, thank you. I’d do anything for you.” Luca says simply.
I love him so much.
“What do you have going on today?” I ask.
“Practice this morning, then a nap, followed by watching game videos,” Luca says, stirring his eggs again. “Are you free tonight?”
I drop my bagel in the toaster and push the lever down. “I can be on one condition,” I say, moving toward my purse and retrieving my phone.
I glance at it and see I have a ton of texts and social media messages. “Luca, I never checked my phone last night after we left the arena. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve done that.”
Luca grins at me. “You were kind of busy.”
“The best kind of busy,” I say.
I decide to catch up on reading my messages later and bring up Google instead.
“What is your condition?” Luca asks.
“Hold on,” I say, tapping on a link to take me to a webpage. “I need to confirm something first.”
“Should I be alarmed?” he asks.
“No,” I say, taking a moment to read. I lift my head and smile at him. “In fact, you’re going to love it.”
“Love what?”
“The secret date I’m planning for tonight,” I say. “Ah, I’m so excited! Can you be ready to go at five this evening? I want to take you somewhere before dinner.”
Luca plates his food and studies me. “You’re planning a surprise for me?”
“Yes. I plan for a living. You’re in good hands.”
Luca walks over to me and sets his plate down. He slides his hands around my waist, drawing me into his massive body, and kisses me gently.
“I know I am,” he says, his voice low. “I’m lucky to have a woman like you planning something for me.”
No, I’m the lucky one, I think as I gaze up at him.
And I can’t wait to give you my surprise tonight to show you how special I think you are.
Chapter 24
Creativity is very important . . .
“Are you the waffle trash lady?”
My ever-present smile is plastered on my face. “Yes, let me take that for you.”
I’m standing on the curb next to the waffle food truck. It’s parked in front of an elegant white mansion in one of Chicago’s most exclusive lakeshore suburbs. It’s Saturday morning, and Larissa’s autumn bounty harvest baby shower is in full swing.
The statuesque brunette in front of me shoves her sticky plate in my hand before readjusting a complimentary wool throw around her shoulders. All of Larissa’s friends are exactly the same: mid-twenties with matching perfectly highlighted hair and dressed in outfits that cost more than my weekly paycheck.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting her trash. She says nothing. The girl turns and saunters back up the lawn, where guests are enjoying spiced cider and waffles before heading inside to play the party games Larissa insisted on.
I keep my smile frozen in place and drop the uneaten waffle into a trash bag, resisting the urge to flee. I told Larissa she would need to have someone onsite to supervise trash curbside. She agreed, but I had no idea she had assigned me the task. Aunt Suzanne would be livid if she knew I was the ‘waffle trash lady,’ but it is easier than dealing with Larissa bursting into tears over me being the most unhelpful, worst, mean, insert-disparaging-term-here event coordinator ever.
I spy a napkin blowing across the sweeping emerald lawn. I take off for it as it blows further up the sloping grass. I struggle to run in my heels, which are now sinking into the soft earth below. What is it with me running across lawns at parties? This needs to stop.
I pause and lift my foot and see the heel of my taupe pump is coated in mud. Damn it.
“Collins!”
I turn and see Emily Van Der Steen waving at me from the sidewalk. She’s the hostess for today’s party and the one who hired Suzanne’s Soirées for this event.
“One moment,” I say, hurrying after the renegade napkin. I’m plodding through the grass with my huge trash bag filled with sticky waffle plates. Just as I’m about to snatch it, a wind gust comes up and sweeps it out of my grasp. I lose my balance and fall forward, landing on my knees while the trash bag goes rolling down the hill, leaving a trail of napkins, plastic cutlery, waffles, and plates as it heads toward the curb.
Shit, shit, shit! I scramble up, my tweed, navy and camel dress stained with splotches of grass and mud, and begin a game of chasing trash in a zigzag pattern across the lawn. Syrup drips from my hands, and I have waffle crumbs stuck to my blazer sleeve. My hair is whipping all over my face and sticking in my lipstick. I flick it away and it sticks to my cheek, leaving a smear across my skin.
I scurry to chase the trash, and not one hostess comes to help me. I glance up and notice people are watching me flail about, and I swear they look amused.
As I pick up the last piece of waffle, I hear Emily call my name.
“Collins! Come here!” She snaps her fingers for emphasis.
Did she just call me over there like a dog?
Emily snaps again. “Now!”
With as much dignity as a waffle-coated, mud-encrusted, messy-haired woman can have, I approach her with a smile on my face.
“Yes?” I ask calmly.
Emily flashes me a fake smile. “We need to eat brunch now.”
What? I glance at my watch. It’s eleven. The waffles weren’t the only appetizer, and the catering staff wasn’t planning on setting up for sit-down service until eleven-thirty.
“Well, brunch is scheduled to start in thirty minutes. Guests are meant to be enjoying drinks and appetizers now,” I say, reaffirming the schedule Emily agreed to earlier this week.
Emily sighs. “Larissa is starving. She’s going to pass out. Are you listening to me?”
I continue to smile back at her. “I understand she’s pregnant and hungry. Did she have a chance to enjoy a waffle yet? I know the guest of honor can be very busy greeting guests and food sometimes isn’t made a priority.”
Emily makes movements with her hands to represent ‘talk-talk-talk’ and rolls her eyes. “I don’t want to hear it, Collins,” she says, moving her fingers together. “I want you to serve the food. Make it happen. Now. Oh, and when Larissa woke up this morning, she didn’t want waffles, she wanted eggs, so make sure the caterer can whip some up for her.”
Then Emily turns to the crowd gathered outside. “Everyone! Let’s go take a seat and have a yummy brunch!”
She leaves me on the sidewalk to “make it happen.”
Eggs? What eggs? They ordered an autumn lunch of pumpkin soup, harvest salad with apples, balsamic roasted chicken, walnuts, dried cranberries, and white cheddar cheese, rustic breads, fresh figs, and grapes.
No eggs.
I bite my lip in anger. While I’m happy to say most of my clients are nice, the few who aren’t get to me. My stomach is in knots. I have to tell the caterer to bump everything up, which will throw them off schedule and piss them off. Having to whip up an egg dish on the fly will make them doubly pissed.
I realize Mom probably did me a favor by teaching me to be happy all the time and hold my emotions in check. If not, I’d be curled up in a fetal position on the lawn mumbling nonsense to myself.
I walk over to a trash can I dragged out front this morning and d
rop the plastic bag into it. I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the waffle truck window and nearly cry.
What am I doing here?
I am disheveled. All my repressed feelings about my career surge forward. I should be in riding breeches. I should be showing people how wonderful horses are and how riding can be one of the greatest joys on earth. I should be in my boots walking the barn and taking care of the horses I use for teaching my students.
For the first time in my life, I realize this isn’t me. It doesn’t matter if I’m good at event planning. I’ve compartmentalized so much, forced so much down, that I can’t even face how much of a mistake I’ve made by not following my heart.
I remember a conversation I had with Nana last spring about finding my truth after I had the courage to break up with Gabe. Nana told me he was not my truth for love.
This is not my truth for my career.
I head up to the estate, my brain spinning. I cut over to the driveway and discreetly enter the house through the kitchen so guests won’t see me in my current state of hot mess. I have to find a way to get out of this and make a living doing something I love, like Luca does.
Luca.
I met Luca a week ago today. How can that be? Luca has already had such a huge impact on me and it’s only been seven days? From my perception of what being with a man could be to facing the truth about my career choice, he has opened my eyes to so many new possibilities.
With Luca, I have hope. Hope that I can, with his help, find a way to work with horses. He can see something I can’t. He can help me approach things in a new way.
I also have hope for love.
Luca is the kind of man you find and never let go of.
And I can’t wait to see him later tonight.
~ ~ ~
“Still no clues?” Luca asks as we walk down a street in Lincoln Park early Saturday evening.
