The bell above the shop door jingles and I glance up just in time to see my oldest friend, Nico, enter the building. Ah shit. I surreptitiously glance at Romy, who’s been huddled in the corner by the fire so long she looks as though she’s almost asleep, and then back at him.

“There’s my boy,” Nico booms from the doorway in an overly exaggerated Italian accent—the way our fathers do when they greet one another. Several patrons turn to glare at him. I can’t help but smile, because no matter how many years have passed since we were kids, Nico Beneventi has been my one constant friend. He’s sharp-witted and he can stir shit from two counties away without a stick. He’s a cocky asshole and a bad influence, and that’s exactly why I keep him around.

I may be reliable, the kind of guy who’s good at getting shit done and stepping up to the plate, but sometimes, I need reminding that I’m only twenty-eight and not fifty. I guess that comes from being a single dad.

“Oh joy, Nasty Nico is here,” B says with an eye roll as she wipes down the pastry display cabinet.

I laugh, because my sister has never been a fan of my best friend. It probably has something to do with the fact that he kissed her and copped a feel at the winter formal in junior high and then pretended like it didn’t happen immediately afterward. I lost my shit when I found out, but to be fair, we had consumed a bottle of his dad’s scotch and scoffed a whole bunch of mushrooms from his backyard in the hopes they were hallucinogenic. They weren’t.

I beat his ass for kissing my sister, and then the two of us proceeded in puking up our guts in the guy’s locker room. Good times.

I come around the counter and greet him with a bro hug. “What are you doing here, man? You’re not usually up before twelve.”

Nico’s parents are filthy rich, and the man’s never worked a day in his life. Instead, he flunked business school, found a money manager, invested all his trust fund into some revolutionary dating app, and now he sleeps till noon, drinks all night, and does absolutely nothing. I’d go crazy with that kind of freedom.

“Yeah well, my sleepover turned into an actual sleepover, and I needed an excuse to get rid of her.” He shrugs and gives a lax grin. “So I pretended I had a job to go to.”

“Jesus. Not an actual job?” I shake my head. “That must have hurt. Can I get you an ice pack?”

“Shut up. Not all of us can be as blue-collar as you are. Doesn’t it get boring, waking up every morning to do the same shit over and over again?”

“Not when you love what you do.”

He screws up his face and rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, yeah. I’m bored now. Make me a damn coffee.”

I chuckle and step back behind the counter, and Nico, never having the wherewithal to know when he’s not welcome, follows. “Where’s my favorite girl?”

B gives him the kind of smile that used to terrify me as a kid. “Right here, dumbass, and she’s still not interested.”

“Aww, B, is that you? I didn’t recognize you without the pointy tail and horns growing from out of your forehead.” He makes kissy faces at her. B’s knuckles whiten around the tongs as they snap together. Nico shoves his hand inside the display case—without a glove, of course—and helps himself to several small Danish pastries, and a cupcake. “I was talking about Coco.”

“She’s at preschool. Where you should be,” B fires back. My sister is ruthless.

Nico shoves one of the pastries into his mouth and chews. That’s when he finally glances around the shop.

I see the moment his eyes land on Romy because he stills. He stops chewing and his mouth tips up in the corner, just a fraction of an inch. Once he’s done masticating his food, he turns to me, his grin still firmly in place. Somehow, since Romy moved into the building above my shop, I’ve avoided the two of them crossing paths, but I know now all bets are off.

“Who’s the h—"

“No,” I say automatically, hitting the switch to grind the beans. I pull the lever a little too hard when filling my group handle and tamp it longer than necessary. I may have imagined my best friend’s face beneath it.

“What?”

“No. I know what you’re thinking and she’s off limits.” I shove the handle up into the machine and slide a cup beneath it, jabbing at the start button.

“You’re sticking it to her?”

I don’t know whether to be more offended by the idea of him talking shit about Romy or the fact that he sounds surprised. I take the metal jug and begin frothing the milk.

“No, and neither are you. She’s a regular, and I want to keep it that way.”

He laughs. “So, me fucking her would, what? Ensure she never comes back?”

“Probably.”

Nico studies me as I bang the creamer jug on the counter to dispel any unwanted air bubbles. He chuckles. Too loud. It grates on my nerves, and I don’t realize I’m clenching my jaw until he says, “Jesus Christ. You have that look.”

I don’t ask what the hell he’s talking about because I already know. Instead, I give him a glare that says “do not fucking start.”

“Ah hell, you got that same look you had when that Park Avenue bitch walked into the bar and decided that fucking a commoner would piss her parents off just the right amount.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Like what? The heartless bitch she is? She left you, man, with a fucking infant.”

I glance at Romy, relieved when I see she isn’t paying attention but is instead focused on her laptop. “Keep your voice down.”

“Why?”

“Because this is a place of business.”

I don’t miss the way my sister glares at me. I know. She wants me to hurry the hell up and make a move. I look over at Romy again. Fuck, she's beautiful. Ever since she walked through the doors to my café, I've wanted her beneath me.

I wipe my hands on my jeans and move away from the counter. I need to talk to Romy. I can’t say everything I need to with B and Nico here, but I can’t stay away from her either.

“Where the hell are you going?” Nico asks.

“Shut up, idiot,” B says.

“Ow, ow! What the fuck, B? Let go of my balls.”

“If you ruin this for them,” my sister whispers in an angry hush, “I will personally castrate you. With a spatula. Leave Romy and Elio alone.”

I leave the two of them to their games. One day they’ll figure out that they’re attracted to one another, and God help all of humanity when my sister learns that the reason she hates him so much is because she really likes him. She’s always been a little on the mean side when it comes to men.

Romy watches me with a sweet smile as I walk toward her and stop by the couch. I sit and lean forward with my elbows on my knees. She yawns and sits upright, setting her laptop to the side. It’s pretty unusual for her to occupy this area. She’s normally all business from the second she gets her coffee until the time she leaves.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.” She smiles.

Fuck. It’s brutal. Beautiful and bittersweet, all at once.

“You okay over here? Want me to bring you a pillow?” I don’t mean for that to come out as flirtatious as it sounds.

Romy laughs. “Would you? And a blanket, too. That would be great.”

“What’s going on with you? You have a hot date last night?” I grin because we both know she was with me, but as soon as the words are out, I regret them. What if she hooked up with someone else afterward? I don’t want to know if some other guy is keeping her up late. Then again, I don’t have the balls to ask her out so why shouldn’t some other guy be the lucky one to take her?

“Ha! You’re funny. I didn't have a date, hot or otherwise.”

“Why is that funny?”

“Because,” she says breathlessly, as if she meant to laugh but caught sight of my expression and it gave her pause. There’s nothing funny about her dating anyone. Romy clears her throat. “I . . . no. I didn’t have a hot date. In order to date, you have to have someone to go out with.”

Me. I’ll go wherever you want. Do whatever you want. God damn it. I can’t even do that because asking her out means I have to be 100 percent honest about what dating a single dad means. I have to be vulnerable and open to the idea that this stunning woman, who I’ve wanted to fuck since the first day she walked into my shop, might not be ready to take on motherhood so suddenly. Yeah, that would go over really well: “So, hey, thanks for a great first date. You wanna come home with me, do my laundry, and tell my kid to eat her vegetables?”

“Right. Well, you’ll forgive me for having trouble believing all those potential suitors aren’t forming a line somewhere.”

“Oh, they are. They’re usually hanging around outside welfare.”

“Come on. A hot piece of ass like you?”

She gives me a coy smile, and her dimples pop out. Shit. Not the fucking dimples. They slay me every time.

“Hot piece of ass?” Her tone is incredulous, and a little amused.

“You’re right, that was a shitty thing to say—”

“No. I mean, it was . . . that is . . . most women would likely slap you for that remark, but the sentiment was nice.”

“Nice doesn’t have any place in my thoughts right now, Romy,” I say before I can stop myself.

We share a long look, one where her eyes are wide and searching, and her mouth is open, just a fraction. She’s shocked, but I’m sure she can see the desire I’m feeling written all over my face. Her throat works as if she’s preparing to speak, but I stand before she can, and before I can say anything to further incriminate myself. It isn’t fair of me to tease either one of us like this. We’ve gotta have a talk first, one where I tell her how dating me can’t just be some casual thing, because Coco’s too perfect to risk everything for. “So, can I get you anything else?”

“Er . . . no. I should go.”

“Right, well, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Always,” she whispers. My brow quirks at her weird choice of words, and she shoots to her feet, nearly tripping over the coffee table and her oversized purse in the process. I rush toward her and reach out to keep her from falling. I crush her body against mine. She stares up at me, her cheeks flushed the perfect shade of pink, and I wonder how much more I could make her blush without our clothes in the way.

“You good?”

“Bad, I’m a bad girl,” she mumbles, her eyes glazed and wanting.

I can’t help it. I chuckle. “Okay, bad girl. You think you can stand on your own?”

“Huh. There goes my mouth, running away before my mind catches up.” She laughs, but her cheeks turn an even brighter shade of red. Oh yeah, I could invent a new shade of crimson on this woman’s bare skin. Fuck. And now I’m hard. “I meant . . . I’m a bad girl at walking, adulting, and you know . . . just generally existing.”

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Romy. I watch you walk out of here every day,” I whisper in a low, gravelly tone, thick with longing. “I don’t think you’re a bad girl at all. I think you’re sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“So fucking sweet.” I lick my lips, unable to take my eyes off the pouty swell of her cupid’s bow. I want to taste her and see just how true that statement is. I want to lay her back on the couch and pin her beneath me, kissing every inch of her fucking stunning body, but I can’t.

Instead, I release her and walk back to the counter. She’s still standing there a beat later, looking lost, but she gathers her things and pushes through the door, the bell ringing out a final cry as the door sighs closed and my gut twists.

Nico and Bianca’s eyes are on me, and then I’m whacked in the bicep by an angry gnat. “What the hell, Elio?”

“Ow. What was that for?”

“When a woman wants you to kiss her, you kiss her, dumbass.”

“Yeah, what the fuck, dude? She was practically begging you to tongue fuck her.”

“Don’t start,” I mutter, turning away from them both and heading toward the kitchen.

“I don’t get it. Why didn’t he just kiss her?”

“Because he’s an idiot.”

“Hey,” I say, turning to face them. “I’m right here.”

“Good, then there’s no chance you won’t hear me when I spell it out for you.” B places her hands on her hips and leans forward. “ROMY. LIKES. YOU. DUMBASS. KISS. HER.”

I rake a hand through my hair in frustration. “B, it’s complicated.”

“It’s really not.”

“How is it complicated? She’s hot and she wants you to fuck her.”

Bianca turns to Nico. “He thinks it’s complicated because he has a kid. I know you dropped out of high school, but could you try to keep up?”

“I didn’t flunk out of high school, just college.”

“Whatever,” she says, waving him away with a wild hand gesture before turning her ire back on me. “Ask her out, Elio. You’re never going to know how she’ll react until you tell her.”

“I said leave it.”

“You’re so fucking stubborn. She’s not going to be single forever, you know?”

She’s right. It’s a damn miracle Romy is single at all, but even though my little sister is right, there’s no way in hell I will ever tell her that.

“You don’t have to keep punishing yourself because that bitch-who-shall-not-be-named left you high and dry. It would never have worked out with her.”

“I’m not punishing myself.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m protecting my daughter,” I snap, and clear my throat when several customers jerk their heads around to see what the commotion is.

“From Romy?” B looks incredulous.

“From having her heart broken when another woman she loves walks out of her life.”

My sister’s tone is sharp as she says, “Her heart, or yours?”

I swallow hard and scrub my hands over my beard. “Both.”

B’s shoulders fall. “Oh, Elio.”

She steps forward, but I put my hand up to stop her from coming any closer. “I told you to leave it alone. Stop pushing.”

“You have met her, right?” Nico says, helping himself to yet another pastry.

I shake my head. “Yeah, and while we’re on the subject of ignoring our feelings, I gotta say, my sister is perfect for you.”

“Oh, eww,” B says, screwing up her nose.

Nico’s mouth drops open midchew and he makes a disgruntled face. Finally, he sets the pastry on the counter and brushes the flaky crumbs from his hands. “Come on, man, what the hell was that? You put me off my food.”

“Forget your food, Beneventi,” my sister says. “The idea of having sex with you is enough to turn me off men for life.”

“Gah! Get the hell out of my café. Don’t forget to tip your waiter.” I toss my hands in the air and push into the kitchen where the doors swing closed behind me. The idea of my sister having sex at all is not a welcome image in my head. Not while my dick’s still semihard from holding Romy close. Not when all I can think about is her skin under my hands, her body under mine, her ass on my counter, and her moans filling my kitchen.

Jesus, I need to grow a pair, and I need a fucking freezing cold shower. Outside. In December.