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Updated: May 14, 2025
Her jacket was open. Oliver's eyes lingered on her solid breasts and tight red sweater. She looked at him. He cleared his throat. "Not much choice," he said. "I found a good sauce at Micucci's the one with a great picture of the owner's grandmother when she was young. It wasn't that expensive, either." He was babbling, starting to blush.
Her eyes narrowed and a small smile pushed at the corners of her mouth. "Yes," she said. "Micucci's." "Great place," he said, rolling by, pretending to be in a hurry. God, the woman was some kind of menace. But she knew about Francesca . . . And those breasts. He clung to the cart and let his vision blur as the red sweater came back into focus. He blinked and joined a checkout line.
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