Jill patted Vin’s arm. “I’m guessing maybe it’s the decapitation talk your brother’s objecting to.”
He shrugged, and Marco quickly steered the conversation toward safer topics. The family. The latest movies. Mandy and Marc’s renovation project.
Even with Mandy’s slightly inane contributions to the conversation, it was, in some ways, the perfect evening.
The weather was ideal—they’d opted to sit on the heated patio, and there was just the slightest breeze coming off the water. The wine was amazing. The food some of the best she’d ever had.
But mostly, she was happy because Vincent was happy and relaxed.
She knew that he was probably frustrated about their lack of progress in the case, as she was, but for once, he seemed to be able to put it aside. To enjoy himself.
His posture was easy, his smiles more frequent than usual.
As though sensing her thoughts on him, he glanced at her as Mandy lectured Marc on the differences in tile they’d been selecting for their bathroom remodel and lifted his eyebrows.
“Okay?” he asked quietly.
She smiled. “Yeah.”
“Then you won’t mind if I do this…”
He reached over and helped himself to a generous portion of her lasagna. Jill watched as he chewed, then glared at her plate. “That is not lasagna.”
She patted his arm. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your mother that you liked it.”
“In that case…”
He took another bite, which Jill then countered by taking a bite of his braised short ribs, which was decadent and meaty and absolutely amazing.
“Oh my God,” she muttered, taking another bite, this time washing it down with a sip of his red wine, which as the server had promised was the perfect match for the heavenly dish.
She caught him watching her and she gave a sheepish smile as she took another sip of his wine. “Sorry, not sorry?”
His smile was slow and warm, which in turn made her warm, which made her realize…
She hadn’t thought about Tom. Not once, all day.
Jill had been perfectly, utterly unaware of her former fiancé.
Vincent purposefully held her gaze—as though knowing exactly what she was thinking and daring her to look away.
His smile had faded, but the warmth in his eyes hadn’t. If anything, his gaze heated, and then it dropped to her mouth.
Before Jill realized what was happening, Vincent’s hand lifted, and with his napkin he wiped gently just below her lip.
She reared back and he gave a rueful smile. “Red wine.”
Jill licked at the spot he’d just touched—regretting that it had been with his napkin instead of his finger.
Her eyes closed in dismay at the realization.
Because she knew then.
She wanted Vincent Moretti.
She’d always wanted him.
She sucked in a shuddering breath and looked away from him, staring down at her plate.
Jill started to take another bite of her lasagna, only to realize her appetite had fled, and worse… her hand was shaking.
She dropped her hands to her lap, and because she couldn’t look at Vin, she lifted her attention to Marc and Mandy, whose argument had finally subsided.
Marc was watching her, his expression both thoughtful and sympathetic, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.
And Jill resisted the urge to howl, because this Moretti—the one who knew her least—seemed to realize in moments what Jill had taken years to acknowledge.
That Vincent Moretti was more than her partner.
So much more.
What Vincent was to her, she didn’t know how to name. Or wasn’t ready to.
But it didn’t change the fact that she’d been out of a relationship for all of a week.
No. Out of an engagement.
She shouldn’t be having these feelings, much less acting on them.
Jill barely remembered the rest of the meal. She remembered ordering dessert, although that had been more to provoke the small salad, no dressing Mandy than it had been about actual hunger.
And she only managed a tiny portion. Her stomach was too wound up in knots to manage more than a couple bites of the amazing bananas foster.
Outside the restaurant, Jill hugged Mandy good-bye with a promise to check out some sitcom where Mandy had six lines as a “prominent guest star.”
Marco gave Jill a warm hug and kissed her cheek, lingering just long enough to whisper, “You’re good for him.”
She pulled back and gave him a long look.
Both of them knew who “him” was, and Jill wasn’t at all sure she and Vincent were good together. They couldn’t even seem to have a straight conversation unless it dealt with a grisly murder.
Vincent had refused to do valet, which meant that the walk back to their car was long… and quiet.
Unfortunately for Jill, she hadn’t bothered to check the nighttime temperatures in LA when she’d been packing, and she was learning firsthand that California in late winter wasn’t quite as warm during the evening hours as her short-sleeve shirt would have wished for.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Yes.”