Is there anything worse than that slump that comes late in the afternoon when you still have a ton of work to do?

I’m lagging. My back hurts from sitting at my desk so long, and there’s an ever-present ache in my eyeballs from staring at my laptop for hours on end.

I stretch and walk a small circle around my office space, and then sit back down. Only . . . the aroma from downstairs wafting through my window is amazing, and my stomach growls an angry protest because it’s almost dinnertime and I’ve been so caught up in wedding pictures that I forgot to eat lunch. I need coffee. A quick glance at the time on my laptop tells me it’s 5:15 p.m. Crap. I only have fifteen minutes to get down there and have my hot barista fuel my obsession. For coffee.

I run into my room and change out of my sweats. Then I fix my ponytail, run a brush through the ends, and apply a slick of gloss for just a hint of color. I smack my lips together, tasting the sweet gloss, and nod at my reflection.

Wait. Pants. I need pants. While I’d love nothing more than to be semi-naked in a room with Elio, I’m not sure walking into his café sans pants is the way to go about it. That might be coming on just a little bit strong. Not to mention, he’d likely run screaming in the other direction after one glance at my thunder thighs.

I rifle through my closet, flinging skirts and jeans aside until I settle on a pair of harem pants and a long thick grandpa cardigan. I catch myself in the mirror as I’m grabbing my keys. I’m never going to get underneath my coffee hottie because no man will want to have sex with me after seeing this outfit.

With a sigh, I head back to my bedroom and pull out a pair of slimming jeans and a cute Modcloth top with a Peter Pan collar and little stegosauruses all over it. I pair it with a mint-green cardigan, and my favorite pair of mint patent leather Tieks.

Confident I no longer look like a cave troll, I grab my keys and wallet and rush downstairs. Elio is just turning the sign in the window when I virtually slam my body against it because I was running full-tilt down the stairs, and I can’t slow my velocity. He gives a startled laugh, and I flame bright red.

Elio abandons his Closed sign and opens the door. “Hey.”

“Hi. Sorry about that.”

“Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?” His eyes burn with mischief. Desire arcs through me, because really, it should be illegal for anyone to look that delicious in jeans and a T-shirt with a dish towel slung over his shoulder.

“Ha! Yeah.” I shake my head. “I mean no. I mean, coffee. I’m lagging. Please, I’m really sorry. I know you’re closed and you wanna get home, and why wouldn’t you? It’s not like you want to stay at the shop all day when there’s wine to drink and cheese to nibble and classic books to read.”

He frowns. “That’s your impression of me? That I nibble cheese while reading classic literature?”

“And the wine,” my mouth supplies unhelpfully.

He chuckles. “You may need a crash course in what men do after work. Here’s a hint: it’s not nibbling anything. Unless, of course, it comes to earlobes.”

Oh, wow. Okay. I would definitely prefer that to an expensive gouda.

He grins. “Come on. I’ll do you better than just a coffee.”

“Excuse me?” I squeak.

Now he laughs outright. “Relax, Romy. My nonna is here, my sister too, and a bossy four-year-old. I promise I won’t bite.”

Not even if I want you to? “I’m sorry. You have better things to do than make me a coffee when you’re closed.”

“No, come on in. Stay. We’re just about to sit down to family dinner.”

“Family dinner?”

“Yeah, we do it every Tuesday. That’s when Nonna comes to make our love knots. Most kitchens do a family dinner after hours. You gotta feed the help, and since B gives up her free time to help me run this place, and Nonna bakes, we all just kinda converge in the kitchen and feed like hungry hippos.”

I laugh at that reference. I had that game as a child, but without any siblings or parents who were interested enough to play, my hippos ate slowly. One at a time, and they were always courteous and polite.

I should work. I know I should, but that smell is amazing. And really, what's the point working for yourself if you can't push your hours back when you need to?

“Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?” I give him my best flirty smile and walk through the door as he steps aside. “I should warn you, though, I’m really hungry.”

“Mmm . . . me too. Starved in fact,” he mutters.

Was I meant to hear that?

When I glance back at him, the man’s eyes are on my butt. If I thought I was blushing before, now I’m on fire.

I walk farther into the café and almost collide with Coco. She has milkmaid braids in her hair and wears a red bandana wrapped around her head. A pair of overalls adorn her small frame, and she reminds me of a tiny Rosie the Riveter. “Escwuse me, miss, but this cafwe is cwosed.” Coco carries a large plate piled with cutlery in rolled linen napkins.

“Oh, I’m sorry. This fine gentleman here let me in.” I crouch down to her level and point to Elio, who stands to the side with his arms folded across his chest.

She glances at Elio and then at me, and rolls her huge doe eyes. I would kill for those lashes. “Twpical. Aways twying to make a buck.”

I laugh, and Elio bends down alongside me. I’m assaulted by his scent: soap, rich dark roast, and baked goods. I wonder if any man has ever smelled this good. “Actually, I thought Romy could eat with us tonight. What do you say, Miss Coco?”

“Hmm.” She frowns and gives me a once-over. “Fwine, she can stay, but onwy because she has dinosaurs on her top and she’s weally pwetty.”

“Thank you. I love your outfit too.”

“Compwaments are extwa.”

Oh my God, this kid slays me.

“I’ll be sure to leave a big tip,” I say seriously. Bianca is so lucky. Coco is just the right amount of sugar and badass.

If I’m ever lucky enough to have a daughter, I hope she’s just like this little girl here: sweet, and full of sass. Uncle Elio is going to have his work cut out for him if he wants to help Bianca keep the boys away from his precious little niece.

Bianca exits the kitchen with her back to us, carrying two large dishes in her arms. She’s wearing the exact same outfit as Coco, only hers is adult-sized and covered in paint. “Thanks for the help, jackass.”

“Sorry, sis. We have a visitor.”

Bianca turns once she’s cleared the doors. Her mouth drops open, but she covers it quickly with a huge smile. “Romy.”

“Hi.” I give a pathetic little wave, suddenly feeling like I’m intruding. “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind me crashing your family dinner.”

“No, of course not.” She glances between me, her brother, and Coco. “The more the merrier, right, Elio?”

“Of course.”

“What are you two standing around chiacchierare about—” Elio’s grandmother comes through the doors from the kitchen and stops, staring at me as if she isn’t certain I’m real. “E chi è questa dolce ragazza?”

“This is Romy, Nonna.” Elio looks nervous. Should I not be here? “She’s one of our best customers.”

“Solo una cliente? Dovresti sposarla. Veloce. Una donna come questa non resta singola per lungo.”

“She doesn’t speak Italian, Nonna,” Bianca chides.

“Thank God,” Elio mutters, and I’m lost, but he looks relieved. Oh crap. His grandmother hates me.

“Sposala comunque. Lei l’imparerà.”

“Will you behave, please?” Elio asks his Nonna. She chuckles and pats his cheek before giving him a hearty slap. Then she passes him the dish in her hand and stops in front of me. I’m not sure whether to brace for a slap too, and my whole body tenses as I wince. Everyone laughs. To my surprise, Nonna kisses both of my cheeks and pulls me in for a warm embrace. She’s tiny like Bianca, but the woman gives good hug.

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. . . .” I trail off, hoping someone will fill in the blanks.

Elio’s grandmother makes a wild hand gesture as if to say forget about it. “Nonna, call me Nonna.”

I smile and nod, and I could swear Bianca is laughing at me. I’m glad everyone finds me so amusing.

“Come. Sit.” Nonna leads me to the table already set with bowls, plates, linen, cutlery, and three wine glasses. She pulls out a chair and demands that I sit in it. Coco is on one side and Elio is ushered into the other seat beside me by both Bianca and his grandmother, who brings another bowl and wine glass across, too. “Eat, eat.”

I smile, genuinely loving her insistence and that adorable thick accent. It makes me miss my own grandmother.

To avoid getting yelled at again, I take the serving spoon placed inside one of the dishes, scoop up the hearty soup, and pour it into my bowl. From the looks of it, the dish is thick with bread, vegetables, and cannellini beans. This is without a doubt what I smelled from upstairs. Elio passes me the salad, and I pass it right on to Coco. He grins and sets upon his own plate. I do too. Only I’m far more vocal about the experience because instead of bowing my head and quietly chewing like everyone else, I let out a very unladylike moan. “Oh my God, what is this?”

“Ribollita. It’s Nonna’s specialty.”

“How do you feel about adoption, Nonna?” I ask in all seriousness. Everyone laughs, but I would really like to know.

“Romy, you crack me up,” Bianca says.

Coco frowns in consternation. “What’s adwoption?”

“It’s when you bring a child into your home and make them a part of your forever family,” Elio says, smiling at his little niece.

“But Womy isn’t a child.”

Bianca pinches her daughter’s cheek. “That’s what makes it funny, piccola.” She spears her brother with a look. “Though there are other ways to make someone family.”

I purse my lips together to hide my smile.

“B,” Elio warns, glaring at his sister.

“What? I’m just saying.”

“Are you married, Romy?” Nonna’s gaze narrows on me. “Surely a beautiful, charming woman like you is not still single?”

“Actually, I am single.” I stir my soup with my spoon. “I always thought I’d be well on my way by now, but it hasn’t happened yet. If you’re asking though, I prefer Tiffany, princess cut, at least a carat, and I want a June wedding, though my offer for adoption is still on the table.”

Nonna gives a hearty laugh and glances pointedly at her grandson. “You hear that, Elio? Your friend Romy is single.”

“My ears work just fine, Nonna.” Elio shovels another spoonful of food into his mouth and chews. I blush about fifty new shades of crimson and decide I’m going to pick up papers for the adoption tomorrow.

After dinner, I stand and try to clear the dishes, but Nonna isn't having any of it. I'm ushered toward the door, along with Elio. He sweeps out a hand and gestures for me to go first.

I step into the cold Colorado Springs air and wonder if it will start snowing soon. It’s unusually cold for the beginning of October.

I turn, because I’m not expecting him to walk me out, but he shoves his hands in his pockets and seems impervious to the cold in his short-sleeved T-shirt. “You should go inside. It's freezing out here.”

“No, I’ll walk you home.”

I laugh and point to the staircase. “You know it’s only ten feet that way, right?”

“I know. But it’s late. I want to make sure you get home safe.”

“Okay then.”

“Do you have your keys?” Elio holds out a hand, and I place them in his upturned palm. I’m almost giddy when my skin touches his. He opens the metal security gate and allows me to enter.

“So, thanks for having dinner with us.”

“Thanks for inviting me. It was the best meal I’ve ever eaten.”

Elio slides my key in the lock. Of course, this means he brushes my shoulder as he does it, and when he leans in to turn on my foyer light, I think he might kiss me, so I tilt my head up. He glances down but moves just a fraction of an inch back.

My heart plummets. Oh my God. Did I just read this interaction all wrong? Why won’t he kiss me?

“I’ll ask you kindly not to say that around my muffins.” A mischievous smile plays on his lips.

“Your muffins are jealous?”

“Only where your taste buds are concerned.”

“Well, you can tell your muffin that I will gladly be back in the morning to eat him.” My eyes widen when I realize how suggestive that sounds and Elio laughs. It’s warm and deep, throaty, and it makes me wish I could just burrow in against his body. But that would be weird since he won't even kiss me. Really weird.

When he recovers, Elio cups my face and presses a kiss to my forehead before turning and heading down the stairs. I stand there like an idiot blinking after him.

A forehead kiss. A freaking forehead kiss? What’s a girl gotta do to get a man to lay one on her these days—or lay on her? I sigh and head inside, and even though it was only a forehead kiss, I close the door and float for the whole rest of the evening.