Last night was a whirlwind.

I was still reeling from the rush of it all when I finally made it back home last night around two in the morning. Thankfully, Mom was already in her bedroom with the lights off by then, instead of waiting up for me to come home like she often did. I wonder what time she gave up waiting for me, and the thought is almost enough to deflate my high spirits. In the back of my mind there’s a small voice telling me I should feel guilty for leaving her here all alone for so long when I know good and well that she’s prone to worrying about me. But then again, I do spend all my time working and doing everything in my power to look after Mom and the house. Don’t I deserve a break every now and then?

Besides, there’s no way in hell I could have resisted a reunion with Bruno, even if I wanted to.

He’s the one who got away, the knight in shining armor who has finally returned from a long, arduous eternity at war. From the very second it clicked in my brain who he was, it’s been totally clear to me that I have been waiting for him all this time, without even realizing it. Even though I thought I was over it, over all the awful stuff that went down several years ago between and around us, there’s always been a little part of me who kept looking for him everywhere I went.

And now he’s back. He’s back! It’s almost impossible to fathom, that we could find our way back to each other again after all this time. He’s changed, that’s for damn sure. No longer the scrappy, rebellious teenager who first captured my heart. No, he’s a man now.

Standing in the shower after waking up late — I somehow managed to sleep through my alarm again — I think about how much he’s changed. That face of his, always handsome, has gained a more serious, world-weary expression. Like he’s seen and done things that the teenage version of him could never imagine. It hurts my heart to think of him in pain.

And then there are the more physical changes: his height, his rippling muscles, the scruffy beard obscuring his strong jawline and making him look like some rugged mountain man in the very best way imaginable. I shiver involuntarily, feeling myself getting wet between my thighs just at the thought of him. If I thought I was subconsciously longing for him before, there was no hiding the fact that I very consciously wanted him now. Especially after last night, when I found myself wrapped up in the most explosively fantastic sex of my life.

Until the evening was cut short by that phone call.

I still have no idea what that was really about, but right now is not the right time to think about it, since staying up late last night made me oversleep, and now I’m late for opening the shop! I’ve never allowed a man or my emotions to override my intense desire to maintain my responsibilities. I’m a hard worker, and I know that the future of my little, broken family is in my hands.

So I hurry through my shower and the rest of my morning routine, get dressed and dash out the door. It’s not until I’m already driving to work that I realize I forgot to even say good morning to my mother. That familiar, heavy feeling of guilt settles down over me and when I pull into a gas station to fill up my tank, I take out my phone and send her a text message.

Good morning! Sorry I had to rush. Slept thru my alarm.

Barely ten seconds pass before I get a reply: You were very late coming home last night.

My heart sinks. So she was awake for that. I type out, I’m sorry, did I wake you up? Time got away from me. As I put the gas cap back on and slide into the driver’s seat to start my car, the phone buzzes again.

No, I was already awake. Just waiting for you to come home. I do worry when you’re out so late, Serena. You’re young and you should be enjoying life. I know how hard you work, dear. But things aren’t the way they were when I was your age. Not anymore. It’s dangerous out there.

I sigh, wondering how to respond. I decide that because I’m already late for work, I don’t have time to write out a long reply. I simply answer, I know, Mom. I’ll be more careful. I love you. Then I start the car and make my way downtown to work. Even my mother’s worrying can’t totally puncture my giddiness as I dreamily relive the events of last night, playing it over and over in my head.

However, when I walk up to the shop front, my good mood instantly melts away and my heart begins to race. Right there, on each of the two wide windows that I keep so spotlessly clean, is bright red graffiti. Both windows have a massive skull with three legs coming out of it. The symbol looks vaguely familiar, and then it hits me. In one of my introductory college history classes, I remember seeing a symbol similar to this one in a list of various national flags from around the world.

If I recall correctly, this particular one belongs to Sicily, only with a normal human face in the center instead of a gruesome skull. It dawns on me that this must be used as some kind of gang or mafia insignia around here. Probably the same guys who threatened me for protection money. I swallow hard, almost afraid to even go inside my own shop, the beloved store I call home for the majority of my waking hours. The one asset left of my father’s former dynasty.

Tears burn in my eyes as passersby cross the street to avoid having to walk close to my shop. I can feel them all whispering, averting their eyes, making mental notes to never set foot in Bathing Beauty, because it’s now tainted with mob activity. I can just hear them gossiping at the office water cooler with their stuffy, white-collar coworkers, talking about how my shop has been marked. Discussing the inevitable failure of my business. Hedging bets on how long it’ll be before Bathing Beauty shuts down forever. The thought makes me feel dizzy and weak in the knees.

“What am I doing just standing here?” I murmur to myself angrily. I shake myself out of my stunned, tragic state and go inside to grab some rags and window cleaner, then set to work trying to scrub away the graffiti. I’ll be damned if all my hard work gets undone by some arrogant hooligans. I may be just one young woman, but I’m also my Dad’s daughter, and he would be disappointed to see me fall apart so easily. I’m better than that.

However, the window cleaner doesn’t seem to be affecting the graffiti at all, and after about an hour of fruitless scrubbing, my arms are aching and I decide to just leave it for now. After all, there’s inventory to do and shelves to clean and stock. So I go inside and get to work, turning on some upbeat radio station and trying my best to pretend everything is okay.

A couple hours pass before there’s the jingle of the front door and I glance over eagerly, hoping that maybe some brave customer has decided to look past the graffiti and come in anyway. But it’s actually even better than that: Bruno is walking in!

Despite everything, my mouth immediately upturns into a smile as I take in his freshly-shaven face, the sexy button-up shirt he’s wearing rolled to his elbows, and the giant bouquet of exotic-looking red flowers in his hands. He grins at me and it’s almost like the beauty of his smile knocks me back a step. God, he’s handsome.

“Good morning, mia passerotta,” he says, his voice a delicious deep thrum.

“Bruno, I wasn’t expecting to see you,” I say, feeling as bashful as a preteen girl with a schoolyard crush. I nervously tuck my hair behind my ears as he steps up to the counter and offers me the bouquet. “What are these? They’re beautiful!” I ask.

“Nearly as beautiful as you,” Bruno adds. “In fact, you’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen since I last saw these flowers growing wild back home in Italy. It just so happened this morning that I noticed the neighborhood florist had some in the window and I had to get them for you. It’s fate.”

His words immediately warm my soul and help me relax a little. Bruno has always had a calming presence about him, and it’s intoxicating to be around. But then his expression darkens a little.

“I can’t help but notice the new artwork on your front windows there,” he points out, those green eyes locked with mine. There’s a deep sympathy there. I look away.

“Yeah, it was there when I got here this morning,” I answer, fiddling with the bouquet. “I tried washing it off but I couldn’t get it to even smudge.”

“It’s the special kind of paint they use. I’ll have to get you some heavy-duty industrial-grade cleaner to get rid of it,” Bruno tells me. “In fact, I’ll go get it now. I know just where to find it. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

He nods and turns to leave, clearing the space to the door with several long strides.

“Bruno, you don’t have to—”

He glances back and gives me a consoling smile. “I want to.”

Then he walks out and gets into his car to drive off, leaving me standing here slack-jawed and stunned, still holding the beautiful flowers. I quickly find a vase in the back room, fill it with water, and by the time I’m finished trimming and arranging the flowers into the vase, the door jingles again and in walks Bruno with a giant white bottle of cleaner in his hand. It can’t have even been fifteen minutes, much less twenty!

At my shocked expression, Bruno laughs and says, “I know a guy. Now, just give me a few minutes and I’ll have this shit come right off.”

I stand inside, watching through the window as Bruno easily scrubs away the red graffiti until the glass sparkles and shines again. It’s like magic. Bruno is like magic. When he comes back in, he goes to wash his hands and I follow, thanking him profusely.

“It’s no big deal,” he assures me. “I can’t have you trying to run a shop with that ugly shit on the windows. Problem solved. The nightmare’s behind you now, sweetheart. However,” he adds with a grin brightening his face, “you’re all shaken up. Too shaken up to try and keep the shop running today. You need a break.”

I blink a few times, confused. “No, no. I-I’m fine, really. I have a lot of work to do.”

Bruno glances around. “Looks spic-and-span in here, Serena. Not much to do.”

I shifted uncomfortably, biting my lip. “Well, it’s just…I can’t leave. What if I have a customer? I need to meet my daily sales quota or the profit margin gets totally skewed, and I’m already barely breaking even, as it is, and—”

“Hey,” Bruno interrupts, his hands landing gently on my shoulders as he peers into my face. I feel my body heating up just from this light touch. “If it’s a quota you’re after, just let me know how much it is and I’ll make it happen.”

I raise an eyebrow skeptically. “What, do you ‘know a guy’ who needs a few hundred dollars’ worth of bath bombs and soaps?”

Bruno chuckles. “Yeah. Me.”

I stare at him blankly. “You. You want three-hundred-dollars of bath goods.”

He shrugs and walks over to pick up a wicker shopping basket. “Sure. Load me up.”

“Bruno, that’s ridiculous, you can’t just—”

“Why not? You’re really going to turn away a paying customer?” he asks earnestly, with a mischievous glint in his gorgeous eyes. Against my better judgement, I have to laugh.

“Okay. Fine. If you’re totally sure.”

“Oh, I definitely am. Now, do you have any manly-scented stuff or am I just gonna go full floral with this deal?” he asks, picking up and peering quizzically at a lavender-scented bubble bath gel.

I giggle and direct him toward the corner of the shop dedicated to slightly more masculine scents like sandalwood, cedar, and evergreen. I realize I’m not quite sure how to proceed. Usually I have to make some kind of eloquent sales pitch, going through the motions of giving free samples, gingerly soaping and rinsing a customer’s hands while describing the various benefits and quirks of our homemade products.

“So, do you want to just kind of take some of everything or…?” I question.

“No, no. I want the full spiel. I want some testers and samples. Let’s do this,” Bruno says brightly. I can’t help but grin. He seems like such a serious guy, it’s amazing to see how relaxed and whimsical he can actually be.

So we spend the next forty-five minutes testing out a ton of different scents and products in the sink while I explain how, every month, I spend a whole weekend in the back kitchen creating all these soaps, bath bombs, and everything else. It’s a long, back-breaking process, but it’s also really fun and relaxing in some ways. I get to zone out and listen to my favorite music while I play mad scientist, mixing essential oils and playing with new combinations. My mom taught me everything, which she learned from a summer of soap-making classes over a decade ago, back when life was easy and she was just a bored housewife looking for a new hobby. Long before this became the one business endeavor keeping us afloat. Barely.

And it’s fun today, too, washing Bruno’s strong, scarred hands in the sink, the two of us leaning close together, so close I can feel the masculine heat coming from his powerful body. We flirt shamelessly throughout the whole process, and by the time we’re done, we’ve moved from the men’s section and outward, so that his basket is also filled with rose- and lavender-scented products, too.

“So, you’re really gonna use this stuff? You’re gonna squeeze your massive body into a little bathtub and take a sugar-cookie-scented bubble bath?” I ask him, giggling.

He gives me a wink. “Maybe I will. Or maybe I’ll just save all that stuff so that you can use it when you stay over at my place. Gotta make my bathroom more lady-friendly, of course.”

I can feel myself blushing, and I look away. But Bruno takes me gently by the chin and turns me back to face him before leaning down and kissing me softly. A tingling warmth shoots all the way down my body and I melt into the kiss. Bruno sets all three of his heaping-full shopping baskets down on the counter and pulls me in close, deepening the kiss. I lose myself in the moment, our tongues gently pushing against each other while his hands stroke the hair back from my face.

When we break apart, he says, “Well, I guess I’m ready to check out.”

As I ring him up, the total reaches well over the daily sales quota and my stomach flip-flops.

“Bruno, are you sure? This is...really expensive. You don’t have to buy all this stuff.”

He shakes his head. “Nope. You can’t talk me out of it. Your sales pitch was just too convincing, and yes, I do need three baskets of bath products. It’s final.”

After he pays— in cash— I help him load all his purchases into the trunk of his car, and then he turns to me and says, “Well, now that that’s over, I think it’s time you take the rest of the day off. After all, you have officially met your daily quota. What else could there be for you to do?”

At first I open my mouth to protest, to tell him that it would be irresponsible for me to abandon my duties even now. What would my mother think? What would my father think? But instead, I realize that I have no way of resisting Bruno’s offer, and even if I did...well, I really do want to go with him and see whatever he has in store for me.

So I give in easily and decide to lock up the shop for the day. It’s thrilling, like the feeling of ditching class for the first time as a teenager, that delicious, forbidden sense of freedom and danger. I have no idea what to expect from a day out with Bruno. It’s been so long since we last spent time together this way, and even though I know him, he’s definitely changed since then. But I am so willing and excited to find out.

“So, where are we headed on this day of rebellious truancy?” I pipe up as I slide into the passenger seat of his sleek car. Bruno revs the engine into gear and glances over at me with a smile.

“Have you ever been to the aquarium?” he asks.

“The aquarium?” I repeat incredulously. “Really? No, I-I haven’t been there, actually.”

“Well, today’s the day then,” Bruno declares, reaching over to gently squeeze my thigh through the thin fabric of my dress. That telltale heatwave vibrates through me again.

But after a few minutes of driving, I realize we’re not going in the direction of the New York Aquarium. In fact, I have no idea where we’re actually headed.