But the Morettis? The Morettis were everything family should be. The bustling mother. The mouthy grandma. The overbearing yet warm patriarch. The squabbling yet protective siblings. Granted, there’d been that tense moment when it had become rather abundantly clear that Tony Moretti wasn’t keen on the press. And Ava was almost positive the family was keeping something from Luc.
Still, by the time she’d left, stuffed with delicious tiramisu, Ava hadn’t been thinking of them as a reporter thinks of a story subject. Even Tony had hugged her. Insisted she come back.
It had been…nice.
“So,” Luc said, raising his voice just slightly to be heard over the roar of the ferry motor. They were at the back of the boat, Staten Island behind them, as they headed back to Manhattan.
Back to reality.
“So,” she repeated, shivering slightly. The day had been gorgeous and warm, but it wasn’t summer yet. Without the sun, there was a definite nip in the air.
Luc noticed. “I wish I had a coat.”
“I’m glad you don’t. I’d have to start thinking of you as a nice guy.”
He turned, leaning his side against the rail as he faced her. “Still not convinced, huh?”
“Jury’s still out. Half the time you’re buying me flowers and holding my hand, the other you’re jumping down my throat.”
His mouth quirked in the corner. “What can I say, Sims? You’ve got a way about you.”
“Meaning?”
He glanced out at the water. “Meaning I don’t know quite whether to kiss you or strangle you.”
The first one.
The thought popped unbidden into her mind, and she tried to shove it away. Kissing Luc would be a bad idea. A wonderful idea. But also, really, really bad.
The tension seemed to crackle between them in the night air, and Ava racked her brain for a way to diffuse whatever was between them.
Not that whatever between them even had a name. Or if it did have a name, it seemed to change every two minutes.
“So, your grandma’s a hoot,” she said, steering them toward safer territory.
Luc smiled. “She likes you. Be flattered, because the last girl that one of us brought around to dinner ended up getting an inquisition about her rather obvious boob job. Nonna wanted to know if the implants could double as a flotation device in the case of a water landing.”
Ava snorted. “I think I’m safe there. When I was helping her clear the dessert plates, she informed me that she knew some excellent push-up bra brands to recommend.”
Ava realized her mistake when Luc’s gaze dropped, and her nipples tightened in response. She didn’t think he could notice…she had her cardigan wrapped across her chest to block out the cold, but from the way his gaze heated, it was clear she wasn’t the only one affected.
“Sorry about Nonna,” he said. Was it her imagination, or was his voice a little more gruff than before? “Her sense of boundaries is nonexistent.”
“I liked her,” Ava said, meaning it. “I mean, she’s not exactly the warm, maternal figure I associate with Italian families. That’s more your mom’s thing, and I love her too. But Nonna beats to her own drum. I only hope I can be that spunky when I’m her age.”
Luc snorted. “Somehow I doubt that will be a problem. I can’t picture you as sweet and docile at any age.”
Ava gave a little smile as she rubbed her hands over her upper arms. “Sweet’s never really part of my job description, but luckily we journalist types tend to get a free pass.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “See, when journalists are pushy, we get labeled as tenacious. Which is a good thing. If non-journalists do the same thing, they’re merely obnoxious.”
“Oh, I dunno. I think the ‘obnoxious’ label fits just fine.”
Ava pressed her lips together and glanced down at her sandals.
It stung a little.
It shouldn’t; Luc Moretti had every reason to think that she was obnoxious.
It was just…she’d hoped—thought—maybe things were changing. The way he’d reached out his hand when she’d faltered there in the hallway at his parents’ home; it had been sweet.