Page 203 of This Life of Mine

The man lifts a hand, cutting him off gently.

“No need,” he says, still smiling. His accent is faint but unmistakable—Italian. “Please.”

His gaze returns to me, warm on the surface, cold underneath.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” he continues. “About your bakery.”

He inclines his head. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Something in his final declaration makes my pulse spike. The reason for Alex’s tension clicks into place.

This isn’t a chance meeting. This is history walking into my shop.

Chapter sixty-two

Alex

The second I see Lina step away from the kitchen, my heart slams into my ribs.

Not now.Please. Not now.

I give her the signal. A subtle shake of my head. A silentwalk away. She catches it—of course she does—but it’s already too late. My father has followed my line of sight, and once he sees her, he does what he’s always done best. He takes control of the room.

He rises smoothly, commanding attention without ever raising his voice. The shop quiets in that instinctive way people do around men like him—men who don’t ask to be noticed, who simplyare. Turning away now would be rude. Suspicious. Impossible.

Lina does what she’s always done. She adapts.

My father greets her with respect, genuine enough that if you didn’t know him, you’d believe every word. He praises the bakery. The atmosphere. The discipline it takes to buildsomething from nothing. He’s always respected hard work—people who earn their keep instead of inheriting it.

I watch Lina closely.

I see the shift in her posture. The polite smile. The professional warmth. She plays the game flawlessly, thanking him, crediting Val, talking about community and customers and long days that make it all worth it. She’s gracious. Grounded and calm. God, she’s good.

She even tries to extract herself cleanly. “Well,” she says lightly, gesturing toward the kitchen, “I should get back—“

And then my father says it.

“Oh, Lina,” he adds, as if it’s an afterthought, his voice smooth and deliberate. “If you could spare me a few more minutes, I would very much like to get to know the woman who’s seeing mysona little more.”

The air leaves the room. A truth spoken aloud that can’t be taken back. I can tell without peeking at her that she sensed it too. But I do.

Her hand goes instinctively to her stomach, fingers pressing there like she’s steadying herself—as if something inside her dropped.

That moment—the realization—lands between us like a weight.

She knows who he is now.

He didn’t come for focaccia. He came for me. And now—whether I want it or not—he’s pulled Lina directly into my past.

My father gestures lightly, as if he’s asking for coffee instead of privacy. “Perhaps we could speak somewhere quieter.”

Lina doesn’t hesitate. She points to the empty classroom near the back—the one she uses for events and book clubs—and leads the way.

The door closes behind us with a soft click that feels far too final.

The room is too small for the history standing in it. I don’t bother easing into anything.

“What are you really doing here?” I ask flatly.