Sexting My Ex’s Dad (Forbidden Silver Foxes)

30. Stella

30

STELLA

T he first thing I realize the next morning is that Elio isn’t beside me.

The sheets are still warm where he’d been earlier, his scent lingering on my pillow. At least, I don’t have to worry about last night being some kind of a dream.

I wonder what he had going on that was so important that he had to leave early - especially when he said we would talk.

I throw off the covers and quickly get dressed, pulling on a pair of jeans and a simple blouse. As I pass by the mirror, I catch a glimpse of my tousled hair and flushed cheeks - and decide to pull my hair into a messy bun.

No sooner am I fully clothed than the acrid smell of something burning invades my senses. My heart races with panic as I fear I’ve left the stove on, and I rush to the kitchen. As forgetful as I am, not to mention the fact that I’d done that before, it wouldn’t surprise me if that were the case.

“Please don’t let it be a fire,” I mutter under my breath as my bare feet slap against the cold tile floor. I hadn’t had the chance to get a fire extinguisher yet…nor renter’s insurance.

I burst into the kitchen, my heart pounding in my chest, only to stop dead in my tracks. To my immense relief and surprise, there’s Elio, standing by the stove. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips, accentuating the lines of his sculpted physique.

“Good morning,” he says with a grin, flipping something that resembles a pancake in the air. It lands back in the pan with a sizzle, slightly charred around the edges.

“Morning,” I reply, still processing his presence in my kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make breakfast,” he chuckles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. “I may have slightly overestimated my cooking abilities.”

I lean against the countertop, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. “Slightly? That poor pancake didn’t stand a chance.”

Elio rolls his eyes playfully. “Hey, I’m trying my best here. Besides, I thought it would be a nice surprise for you.”

“Surprise” is an understatement. The image of Elio Lombardi, business mongrel and master of mystery, making pancakes in my modest kitchen is one I never thought I’d see. But there’s an undeniable charm in his attempt.

I wonder how many other women he’s done this for. Maybe I’m the first? I need to stop with the wistful thinking.

“Okay, Master Chef,” I say, my lips curling into a smirk, “you’ve got my attention. But if we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.”

“Are you offering your expertise?” he asks, feigning offense. “Or do you just want to save the rest of the pancakes from my culinary skills?”

“Maybe a little bit of both,” I admit, joining him at the stove. As I take the spatula from his hand, our fingers briefly brush against each other, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Show me, then,” he says, his voice low and inviting.

“Alright,” I reply, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from his body as I stand beside him. “First, let’s turn down the heat a bit. We don’t want to incinerate them.”

“Fair point,” he concedes, watching intently as I adjust the temperature.

“Next, let’s make sure the batter is mixed well.” I stir the concoction in the bowl, adding a little more milk to achieve the right consistency. Elio observes every move, his piercing blue eyes never leaving my hands.

“See?” I tease, pouring a ladleful of batter onto the pan. “Not so hard, is it?”

“Maybe not for you,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on me as I expertly flip the pancake.

The warmth of Elio’s body envelopes me as his arms encircle my waist, and I can’t help but lean back into him. He lowers his head, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re right,” he whispers, “you make it look so easy.”

“Maybe you just need the right teacher,” I tease, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Or maybe,” he says, turning me around to face him, “I just need a better incentive.” His lips crash onto mine, stealing my breath away. The world around us fades into oblivion as I lose myself in the intensity of his kiss, all thoughts of pancakes forgotten.

When we finally break apart, I’m left gasping for air and struggling to regain my bearings. “Elio,” I breathe, my fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatpants.

“I should spend the night more often.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“No.” He knits his eyebrows together, lost in thought. “This is the first time I’ve slept over at a woman’s house.” He looks a bit shocked by the revelation - as if he’s just noticing himself.

So, I’m special? “You’re kidding?”

“I like my home.”

I scrape the pancakes off of the skillet…they look worse than his. “These are inedible, and I don’t have much else. How about I just treat you to breakfast?”

His brow quirks as he studies my face. “And by ‘treat,’ I assume you’re using your newfound wealth?”

“Yeah, some billionaire bully gave it to me and wouldn’t take it back. I figured I may as well use it.”

“I bet that billionaire bully is hot as hell.”

I shrug. “He likes to think so.”

“Have you ever tried that new French bistro on Belmont?” Elio inquires, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the sunlight, as we walk side by side, trying to figure out where to catch breakfast.

Who would have known gray hair could be so sexy?

I shake my head. “No, but I’ve heard it’s quite fancy.”

“Would you like to give it a try? They have excellent croissants,” he suggests.

I hesitate, feeling a familiar discomfort rise within me. Fancy restaurants always make me feel out of place, like I’m intruding on a world where I don’t belong, probably because until now, I’ve never actually been able to afford them. “I think those places charge more money than they’re worth.”

He raises an eyebrow at me in amusement. “You think so, huh? What do you want then?”

It doesn’t take me long to think about it. “There’s this little diner around the corner that I’ve been wanting to try. It’s nothing extravagant, but I’ve heard they serve a mean omelet.”

“I’m not a huge ‘egg’ person, but I’m sure I can figure something else out.”

For some reason, the fact that he’s agreeing has me giddy.

It doesn’t take us long to get to the little diner, and ‘hole in the wall’ is right. There’s nothing special about it – the bricks are worn down, and one of the windows has an unfixed crack in it. It’s probably a far cry from what Elio is used to.

“This is where you want to eat?” He frowns, looking over it. “I’m not sure it’s even a restaurant - it looks more like a dump.”

“Trust me, Elio, it’s going to be worth it,” I assure him.

“If you say so.”

As we push open the door, we’re hit with tantalizing smells - bacon, muffins, omelettes. It’s honestly mouthwatering. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to try it.

“This place certainly has character,” Elio comments, a bit of an uneasy look on his face.

“If you want to leave –”

“Don’t talk for me.” He gestures me in front of him. “Find us a table.”

His bossiness should get on my nerves, but all it does is excite me.

I move us over towards a cozy corner booth with red vinyl seats. We slide in across from one another, and I take a moment to look around. The diner looks a bit better on the inside than it does the outside but just barely.

“Coffee?” A blonde waitress with a slim waist offers a pot in her hand.

“Yes,” Elio answers, and the waitress fills both of our mugs up - but not without sending a flirtatious look towards Elio and walking away with red cheeks.

I should be upset with her, but how can I be when I’m just as starstruck? I’m just lucky to have him for however long that lasts.

“Not even a glance, huh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

He frowns. “At what?”

“The waitress?”

“Why would I when you’re right in front of me?”

His words leave me shocked, and I have to drink my coffee to hide the expression on my face.

Elio takes a sip of his coffee and lets out a satisfied sigh. “This reminds me of when I was a kid.”

“So you do like it here?”

“No.” He sets the mug down. “I’m used to it though, this diner coffee. It’s all my mom used to be able to afford when I was a kid.”

Elio wasn’t always rich?

“What happened to your mom?”

He looks me dead in the eye. “She’s dead.”

And the finality of his words make me drop the subject.

“Stella, have you thought about looking for a new place?” Elio asks casually, his blue eyes gazing at me intently.

I glance over at him, surprised by his question and the implication behind it. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. “Well, with your newfound financial security, you could consider upgrading your living situation. Maybe something more spacious or in a better neighborhood.”

“I just moved into my apartment.” A small frown forms on my face. “Besides, I don’t think it’s any of your business where I live anyways.”

“I felt like I was going to get shot going into your condo.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re just dramatic. I’m fine. Just because you like throwing money around doesn’t mean I have to.”

He shrugs. “I’d sleep over more.”

“Who says I want you to?”

A smirk appears on his lips. “If I reached into your panties, I’m sure they would.”

He’s right. “Billionaire bully.”

Elio just laughs. “Tell me more about your family,” he says, leaning forward with genuine interest.

“Didn’t you do some kind of background check on me?”

“I’d like to hear it from you.”

This man is exasperating, and, for a split second, I wonder what the point is. Why does he want to learn so much about me? It’s not like he plans on sticking around, right? But, I guess I’m not doing anything better anyways.

“Leo is my younger brother, and he’s honestly the sweetest person you’ll ever meet,” I say. “He has a cognitive disability, so I’ve always been protective of him. I’m the one who takes care of him.”

“Where’s your mom?”

“Out of the picture.”

“Dead?”

“No.”

Elio nods, his expression thoughtful. “And what about your relationship with your mother? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“Um,” I hesitate, stirring my coffee as I consider how much to share. But there’s something about Elio’s attentive gaze that makes me want to open up. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated relationships are nothing new to me,” Elio says softly, and I sense an undercurrent of pain in his voice.

His words make me want to ask about ours, but somehow I manage to keep my mouth shut and just enjoy breakfast with him.