Beautiful Mistake

Chapter 13 - Dinner

Elena's POV

Slowly making my way down the steps, I could hear Angelo on the phone. He was frustratingly shouting at the person in Italian. When I got to the bottom of the stairs I waited patiently for his back to be turned in my direction before quickly walking across the foyer to his kitchen.

Opening the refrigerator, I noticed how empty it was. At least there's milk so coffee is looking very promising. I began heating the water in the kettle and patiently waited for it to indicate its readiness.

"Elena?" I jumped slightly, turning around to came face to face with those deep brown orbs. I completely forgot about him as my mind wandered off with the sounds of the kettle.

"I didn't see or hear you come down." He mentioned.

"Um... Yeah, I didn't want to disrupt you on your phone call." I meekly stated while looking down at the coffee mugs.

"Coffee?" I offered, trying to get away from the cumbersome encounter and closeness.

"Sure." He mumbled but was quick to continue as to not allow me to walk away.

"Elena, about last night -" He gently began.

"Don't worry about it. Like I said, all is forgiven and already forgotten." I shook my head, a few strands of my hair falling forward.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I'm sorry." He tilted his head, trying to make eye contact with me. When our gazes did meet, I could see the sincerity within them. I could see the genuine guilt. I took a deep breath before finally speaking again.

"Angelo, it's ok. I understand it's a sensitive situation and I should have never probed. So, I am the one that's sorry."

I watched him as he remained silent and benevolently observed me. His eyes scanned my face slowly as his hand lifted to place the fallen strands behind my ear. The second the tip of his finger made contact with my skin, bolts of that electrifying impression bore through me causing me to swallow hard.

"You don't, uh, have much to eat here." I began making small talk to deter from whatever was happening. He sighed deeply in reply, his hand falling to his side.

"I'm aware. I don't usually make use of this room." He rubbed the back of his neck, taking a step away from me.

"You don't make use of the kitchen?" I quirked my brow while glancing up at him. "Then, what do you eat?"

"Usually, I'm too busy to stop and make myself something. I have the restaurant downstairs prepare me something to take on my way out and something to bring back up on my way in." He shrugged his shoulders.

"You eat restaurant food every day?" I was so surprised by this. My life revolved around home-cooked meals, making this a strange way of life for me.

"Pretty much."

"No home-cooked meals?" My brows knitted together as I leaned back into the kitchen counter.

"No. Not since my mother..." His eyes narrowed in on me as he trailed off before abruptly turning away.

"Not since your mother?" I examined further out of pure habit.

I watched his shoulders rise high before falling with a deep exhalation. My eyes narrowed in an attempt to fully analyze his posture. His hand had gripped the kitchen counter tightly, the knuckles turning white. His other was fisted into a ball, those knuckles mimicking the others. I could see the discomfort being displayed by his body causing me to drop this conversation.