Page 54 of Humility

“Isabella?” Enzo’s muffled voice came through, and I quickly sat the bowl down, panic racing through my body. I glanced down at my flour-covered shirt and groaned. Why did I always look a mess when he showed up?

Dusting myself off as I walked the plank to the door, I opened it just as Enzo had reached the bottom step.

“Hey,” I said, my cheeks flooding with heat as he smiled.

Please, dear God, I didn’t want the fact that I had an erotic dream about him to show on my face. I had enough issues.

“Hey, yourself. Is this a bad time?” Enzo glanced at my sweater, and I wiped at it a little more as my embarrassment ratcheted up to the likes of which I didn’t know possible.

“I was baking. If you’re brave, you can be my first victim,” I said, forcing my hands to stop fidgeting.

“Do you have coffee?”

A smile spread across my face. “Colombian or Peruvian?”

“Oh fancy, I like it.” He stepped up to the top step, and I quickly looked away from his eyes as I pictured them between my legs. Holy hell, what was in the water at this place? “Did you need me to help you?”

My mouth fell open as the words, Let me help you feel good, beautiful, drifted through my mind.

Enzo pointed toward the kitchen. “I think I smell a pan burning.”

“Oh shit, the eggs.” I bolted for the open doorway and stupidly grabbed the metal handle of the smoking pan and hissed, dropping it as it burned my palm. “Ouch!” I shook out my burnt hand.

“Shit, are you okay?” Enzo flicked off the stove and guided me to the sink.

I turned on the cold water, but he grabbed my arm before I could stick my hand under the tap. “Never use cold, only lukewarm.” His face was calm as he adjusted the temperature and helped ease my hand under the spray.

I bit my lip hard as I beat back the pain throbbing up my arm. “Why am I such a mess lately? I went from being a boss lady and in control to this.”

“You’re still a boss lady. You’re incredible.”

I turned my head to look up at Enzo. His eyes seemed so sincere, the silvery depths filled with compassion. My gaze dropped to his lips, inches away from mine. The heat from his body spread and reminded me why I was so flustered. Luckily, the buzzer on the oven went off, breaking the building tension.

“I’ll get that. You keep your hand under the water.” I heard the squeak of the old hinges behind me as I closed my eyes to steady myself. The pain in my hand was not the worst I’d ever experienced. That pain wasn’t visual and wasn’t something that ever went away. The loss of my mother to cancer had been crushing and almost destroyed my papa.

I stared at the swirling water and understood his need to try and protect me. Maybe he was right. Perhaps I couldn’t be out here alone and make it. Tears stung the back of my eyes. I wouldn’t cry in front of Enzo again.

“Here, let me look at your hand.” I blinked back the tears and faced Enzo as he turned off the water. “I found this in the first aid kit in the greenhouse.” I looked down. Between the strange dream last night and another embarrassing display, I just couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“My Nonna used to call me Birichino. I was always doing something crazy and reckless,” Enzo said as he dabbed disinfectant onto my hand.

“You think I’m reckless for coming here when I so obviously don’t have a clue about anything?”

He stopped dabbing on the cool liquid. “No, of course not. I think just the opposite. As I got older, I stopped taking big chances, but you are striking out on your own and doing something new. I think it’s brave.”

“How do you know I’ve never lived on my own?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Oh…I…just the way you talked, I just assumed that…shit. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” He sat the liquid down and picked up the cotton wrap.

“You’re not wrong. I’m just pissed that I seem that pampered, is all.”

“You don’t seem pampered,” he said, and I gave him a don’t be ridiculous look. “Okay, fine, maybe a little pampered.” As our eyes met, we both started to laugh. It felt good to laugh again.

“Oh my god, I’m pathetic. I can’t even cook eggs without hurting myself. I mean, who does that?” I pointed at the stove, caught sight of my biscuits, and groaned. They looked terrible.

Enzo followed my line of sight. “They look worse than they taste. I mean, they taste good,” he quickly added. He finished tying the bandage on my hand and smiled. “How about I take you out for breakfast, and I can give you that tour I promised?”

“Fine, but only if I can pay for something this time. You were way too generous last time, and those caneles de bordeaux you left at the hotel were amazing. How did you know they are my favorite?” I smiled as he blushed.