matter?”
“Because if you’re late, Freddy is going to eat your mac and cheese.”
“Freddy made me mac and cheese?”
“Yes, now go.”
I may not have trusted her, but the mention of mac and cheese was enough to put some fire in my steps as I rushed downstairs.
When I turned into the dining room, all that fire moved somewhere much different, and I came to a halt.
Maximo.
Sitting at the head of the table in a black suit and white dress shirt with the top button undone, he looked like an ambitious businessman about to take over the world.
And all that arrogant authority was focused on one thing.
Me.
Standing, he came over and put his palm to my lower back before kissing my cheek. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I forced out.
He put some gentle pressure on my back, guiding me to the table and pulling out the chair to the right of his.
Why is he here?
There’s no way I can eat with him.
I can’t even look at him without thinking of… everything.
Seriously, why is he here?
“Relax,” he said, easily reading my freak out. “This is just dinner. Nothing more.”
I still didn’t think I’d be able to stomach any food, but my shoulders lowered slightly as I exhaled. “Okay.”
Freddy came out from the kitchen carrying two shallow bowls. His accent was exaggeratedly thick as he announced, “Two salads,” before disappearing.
Silently, I picked at my salad, mostly eating the blueberries and feta. I should’ve said something—anything—but my brain was blank as blank could be.
“Tell me what you’re making.”
My gaze shot to Maximo’s. “Pardon?”
“Your sewing. You finished the shirt for Vera. What’s your new project?”
My brows shot up that he knew about the top, but I hurried to answer since I got the feeling he was a man who didn’t like to repeat himself. “I’m trying the sleep shorts again. Last time I messed up the elastic and the leg holes were different sizes.”
“Are you having better luck this time?”
“So far. I learned a new measuring trick that’s more accurate.”
“What other plans are on your list?”
Before I could answer, Freddy came in with two plates. As he set them down, he did his accented spiel. “Lobster mac and cheese with buttered French breadcrumbs, lemon goat cheese, and a sherry reduction. Plus, roasted green beans that no one is going to eat but that needed to be included for color. Enjoy.” He looked at me and added, “But save room for dessert.”
Usually that wouldn’t be an issue, but as I drooled down at my plate, I wasn’t sure I could stop myself from eating my serving and Maximo’s.
Picking up my fork, I speared a few cavatappi noodles when what I really wanted to do was shovel all of it directly into my mouth.
“Your list?” Maximo prompted.
“Ms. Vera brought me some really soft fabric that I want to make pillowcases with. I also have a dress pattern, but I think I want to try making it as a skirt and top. It should be easy so long as I don’t mess up the elastic again. I have this really pretty color in mind.”
You’re rambling. He doesn’t care about this.
“And it should be nice,” I finished lamely.
“That’s it?”
“What?”
“You’ve been working in that room from the time you get up until dinner, and you’ve only got two things on your list?”
“Well, no, but—”
“If I ask you a question, Juliet, it’s because I want an answer. And I expect to get one.” He picked up his water and drank, his throat working in a way that was distracting and weirdly sexy. “Now what else do you have planned?” At my hesitation, his tone was filled with warning. “Juliet.”
“I’m just trying to get my thoughts in order. Sheesh.”
His dark eyes narrowed as he muttered, “Brat.”
The way he said it made me squeeze my thighs.
I took another drink before answering. “I’ve only been sewing with patterns, but once I get better, I want to try designing my own items. It’ll probably be a while before I get to that stage, but it would be fun.”
As we ate, Maximo asked more questions, encouraging me to go into details about things I knew he didn’t give a damn about. Even still, I talked and talked and talked, happily sharing the ideas that constantly floated through my head. I didn’t know what it said about my life that someone taking an interest in me was so unusual, but it was.
Once I was dangerously close to being too full for whatever majestic dessert Freddy had whipped up, I pushed