at that. She didn’t want to appear rude, but was only marginally successful. “Right. Well . . . she’s right, I’m considering it. The bookstore building, I mean. I came over to talk to Lani about . . . everything. Alva also invited me to come meet the group; she said you all were baking for charity.” She winced. “Is that also something I should be skeptical about?”
“Oh, not at all, mon amie. You’re totally welcome at Cupcake Club. We could use some new blood. Do you bake?”
“Is it a prerequisite?”
“No, not at all. Do you want to learn?”
She smiled. “Is that a prerequisite?”
He grinned. “Do you like to eat cupcakes?”
“That I can do.”
“Bienvenue en Cupcake Club!” he said, moving in as if to wrap her up in a big bear hug.
Honey about tripped over the long cement block that fronted the nearest parking spot to avoid the contact. “Nothing personal,” she hurried to add as he immediately froze, mid-arm reach. “I’m really sorry.”
Begin as you mean to go on, she reminded herself. “Um . . . how well did you know my aunt?”
Franco straightened, and to his credit, didn’t look offended or like he thought she was completely nuts. “I’ve only been in the area for the past few years. I moved down the same time Charlotte did. Lani’s best friend,” he explained. “We all worked together back in New York. I’m mostly in Savannah—I work with Char and her fiancé Carlo in their catering business, and as a sous chef on Baxter’s television show—but I’m over here all the time. So, I didn’t know your aunt as well as most everyone who lives here, but we spent some quality time together.”
He flashed her that million dollar grin again. “You know, we have some of the best tailors in the world back in my neighborhood at home, but she was a magician with a needle and thread. I’ve never had clothes fit me as well. Woman could tailor a tuxedo for the Hulk if he asked.” He gestured to himself and chuckled. “And I’m a close second. Do you sew?”
“No, I’m sorry. I carve. And sculpt. Did you know about Bea’s . . . other talents?”
“Oh, you mean the—” He broke off and made a feathery motion around his forehead with his hands. “Not until after I’d known her a bit. A shame, too. Lord knows she could have saved me all kinds of heartache with that—well, we don’t need to go into that. Water under the bridge. Bloody, hateful, cheating bastard water, but . . . I’m not bitter.”
“No, not at all. I can see that.” Franco was possibly the oddest hot guy she’d ever met. Not that her personal hot guy—or any guy—list was long, but, still. She liked him already. Maybe it was his very uniqueness that called to the outcast in her. Where she might have been uncomfortable with being different, Franco had clearly long since embraced it. Owned it with flair, one might say. “Can I ask you something? Why the French accent? I mean, are you part French, part—”
“I’m second generation Italian-American from the Bronx.” He said it with an enunciation that would have made the entire cast of Jersey Shore weep with envy. (She knew about the show, so what? It was lonely, living in a barn.)
“And the French?”
He leaned slightly closer, but with clear respect for her personal space. “You ever try picking up cute guys with a Bronx accent? Trust me, French works much better.” He kissed his fingertips with enthusiasm. “Es magnifique!”
She grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He grinned, completely unabashed. “You do that,” he said in a dead-on Rocky Balboa.
She laughed out loud. “I bet Bea gave you a steep discount. She had to love you.”
“She used to tailor clothes for Vegas showgirls and girl had an eye for sequins. It was love at first sparkle.” He sighed. “I really miss her.” He gave Honey a considering look. “But, I’m thinking we’re going to get along just fabulously.”
Honey smiled. She hoped so. “Why is that?”
“Because you have no bullshit in you. And I’m nothing but.” He gave a dramatic sigh, then a wink that could only be described as saucy. “It’s so nice to drop the façade every once in a while.” He gave her a warning look. “Which I’ll deny to my grave if you tell.”
She made a cross sign over her heart. “Your inner Bronx boy is safe with me.”
“Well, then, ma chérie, allow me to