"I'm fine." I stepped back quickly, putting distance between us. "I'm fine. Totally fine. Just—the door was—I didn't realize it had?—"
I was babbling. My face was on fire. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me.
Matteo was looking at me strangely, his head tilted slightly. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "Okay," he said slowly. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Completely sure. One hundred percent." I clasped my hands together to stop them from doing anything embarrassing. "So. Breakfast?"
His expression shifted to something like amusement. "Breakfast."
I followed him down the hallway, keeping a careful distance. My heart was beating too fast. Every time I looked at him, I remembered his shirt coming off. The tattoo spreading across his chest. The rain on his eyelashes.
This was ridiculous. I was a grown woman. A successful businesswoman who negotiated with suppliers and managed employees and dealt with demanding clients without blinking. I did not get flustered by attractive men.
Except, apparently, I did. When the attractive man in question had fed me dinner by candlelight and almost kissed me in a rainstorm, and made me feel more seen in twenty-four hours than I'd felt in months.
Breakfast was laid out on the terrace. The same terrace where we'd eaten last night, but transformed by daylight. The valley spread out below us, rows of vines glowing green-gold in the morning sun. A basket of pastries sat beside a pot of coffee. Fresh fruit. Yogurt in a ceramic bowl. A small jar of honey that caught the light like liquid amber.
I sat down and focused very intently on pouring myself coffee.
Matteo sat across from me. I could feel him watching, but I didn't look up.
"The pastries are from the bakery in town," he said. "They make them fresh every morning. The ones with the custard are my favorite."
"Mm." I selected a pastry at random. Bit into it. It was delicious, but I barely tasted it. Silence stretched between us. Uncomfortable. Heavy with everything we weren't saying.
"Bella."
I looked up. His eyes were warm, patient, a little amused. "You seem... tense this morning."
"I'm not tense. I'm just—there's a lot to do. With the boutique. It's a very important week."
"Of course." He nodded seriously, but I could see the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Very important. Many things to worry about."
"Exactly."
"Which is why you walked into a door."
I glared at him. He was fighting a smile. "I didn't see it," I said stiffly.
"It's a very large door."
"It's a normal-sized door."
"It's been there for two hundred years.” His eyes were dancing now. “Very sneaky, these old doors. Always jumping out at people when they're not looking."
I pressed my lips together. Trying not to smile. Failing. "I hate you," I said.
"No, you don't." He pushed the basket of pastries toward me. "Try the one with the chocolate. It will improve your mood."
I took the chocolate pastry. Bit into it. The filling was rich and dark, and despite everything, I felt my shoulders start to relax.
"See?" Matteo said. "Chocolate fixes everything."
"It doesn't fix the fact that I walked into a door in front of you."
"No. But it makes the memory more pleasant." He grinned. "For me, at least."
I threw a piece of pastry at him. He caught it easily and ate it, never breaking eye contact.