Chapter One (Libby)

A month after the bookstore incident I’m starting my morning the way I do most of the time: late. I drop my little sister, Emma, at the bus stop with a hug, a reminder not to climb anything taller than herself, and an “I love you, please don’t get suspended again.” Then I sprint back to my battered Honda that wheezes a little too dramatically when I turn the key.

My shoes are dying. Literally peeling apart at the toe like they’re trying to speak to me.

I’m also dying. Figuratively. Hopefully.

Life was fine a year ago. It wasn't glamorous or easy but at least it was balanced. I had been in my junior year of college, had a boyfriend, and was working part time. Then everything happened with Dad and the world split open.

Now I’m twenty-four with an eight-year-old to raise, two jobs, and a sleep schedule held together with prayer and caffeine. Some mornings I can almost pretend I’m adjusting. This is not one of them.

The diner comes into view, glowing with its flickering neon sign: MILLIE’S.

I park in my usual spot, grab my apron and notebook, and try to pull myself together in the rear-view mirror. My hair is doing its own thing. My mascara is yesterday’s mascara. I ignore both and clock in.

***

The lunch rush is worse than usual. The new cook keeps burning grilled cheeses, and table seven complained that their ice water was “too wet.”

I’m halfway through wiping down a booth when the door swings open, and three men stride in like they’re shooting an ad for luxury watches.

The first one is tall, broad, and quiet. Black hair shaved at the sides, long on top. Tattoos running down both arms like artwork he doesn’t show off on purpose. Stoic, intense, unreadable.

The second one looks like a golden boy literally. Wavy dark brown hair, sun-catching honey undertones, calm posture, and green eyes. It's the kind of handsome that looks accidental and unfair.

Then there’s the third. My soul tries to exit my body. I see black curly hair, a cocky smirk, chaos twinkling behind his eyes, and the capacity to melt my panties off with one look of he really tried hard enough.

“Table for three?” I ask.

Curly-hair guy leans his elbow on the podium like he’s posing for a magazine cover.

“Libby.”

I blink. “…What?”

His grin widens. “Libby, right?”

“…How do you know my name?”

His eyes sparkle with mischief. “Your sister introduced us. Very loudly. After knocking over an entire fantasy section.”

“Oh.” Oh. Oh NO. It’s chaos bookstore guy.

Fantastic. Perfect. Love this for me.

“You’re also wearing a name tag.” he points out.

I feel heat crawl up my neck. “Right. That. Sorry again about—”

“Don’t be,” he says as he slides into the booth I had led them to. “It was the highlight of my month.”

I lead him and his friends to a table. His friends sit across from him. Tattoo guy sighs and mutters, “God help us,” while Golden-brown hair guy gives me a nod that somehow feels like a full FBI background check.

I hand out menus.

“So,” Matteo says innocently, “how’s your sister?”

I say nothing. I stare at him stoned face.

His grin widens. “You know the adorable small hurricane?”

I glare. “She’s not a hurricane she’s eight.”

“Not a hurricane? No, yeah, totally. She’s… uh… a brisk breeze. A brisk breeze that knocks over entire shelves.”

The stoic tattooed one covers a laugh with his fist. The golden one smirks. My face heats in embarrassment.

I pretend none of them exist.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

Stoic Tattoos: “Coffee. Black.”

Sunshine Golden Boy: “Same.”

Matteo: “You.”

“Me?” I choke on my spit.

“Yes,” he says with devastating sincerity. “I’d like you.”

Tattoo Guy mutters, “Matteo, for fuck’s sake.”

Sunlit-Hair Guy sighs, “Tone it down.”

My face heats. “Do you… want to order actual food?”

“Sure,” Curly Hair, no, Matteo says. “What do you recommend?”

“Something fast,” I say.

“Perfect. I like it fast.” He winks.

I stare.

He stares.

His friends look like they’re watching the world’s stupidest soap opera.

I clear my throat. “So you want a bacon cheeseburger? Fries? Milkshake?”

Matteo’s grin widens. “You’re describing all my favorite foods. I’ll have it all.”

“Good grief.” Sun-Hair Guy says.

“I’m in mourning leave me alone.” He glares at his friend.

“Who died?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“My will to live.” Matteo smiles sweetly. “Also my last relationship.”

I regret asking.

“Ignore him. He’s being dramatic.” Sun-Hair Guy says.

“You went through a breakup?” I surmise looking at Matteo.

“It was mutual but she’s dead to me.” He straightens.

“She’s not dead,” Tattoo tells me as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“She’s is spiritually.” Matteo shoots back.

Tattoo Guy drags a hand down his face. “Just bring him his food before he tries to flirt with you some more.”

“You don't have to tell me twice,” I mutter.

***

When I bring the food out, Matteo brightens like a child on Christmas morning.

“Look at you,” he says, hands clasped, “feeding me. What a beautiful step forward in our relationship.”

“We don’t have a relationship.”

“Not yet.”

Tattoo mutters, “Matteo,” in a warning tone.

Matteo grins, shameless.

***

When I come back to check on them. They’re debating something intense.

Matteo: “I’m telling you, if he touches her again, I’m cutting off his—”

I clear my throat, and all three men instantly sit straighter. I set down their drink refills.

Matteo beams at me. “Sorry about that. We were discussing… business.”

Tattoo adds, “Not the illegal kind.”

“Definitely not,” Golden Hair deadpans.

I give them all a very skeptical look.

Matteo throws his arm over the booth dramatically. “Allow me to formally introduce us. Since we are going to all be best friends very soon.”

I groan. “Please don’t.”

“This,” he says, pointing at himself, “is Matteo. Matteo Moretti, if you want to G****e me.”

“I do not.”

“This,” he gestures to Golden Hair, “is my brother-in-law, Luca. He looks angry but he’s just tired because he has a new baby at home.”

Luca lifts a hand in greeting without smiling.

“And this,” Matteo says reverently, “is Giovanni. He looks like sin and salvation had a baby, but he is actually the softest of us all.”

Giovanni scowls so hard Matteo cackles.

“And you are Libby,” Matteo says, eyes softening. Heat creeps up my neck.

“Yes,” I say quietly.

His grin widens like he just won something.

“Libby,” he repeats, savoring it. “Beautiful name.”

“Stop flirting with the staff,” Giovanni mutters.

“I’ll flirt with whoever I want,” Matteo fires back. “Especially the woman whose sister knocked over a dragon display and told the entire store her father murdered their mom.”

I cover my face. “Please never bring that up again.”

“Never,” Matteo promises. “Except constantly.”

***

When I bring the bill, he takes it before the others can reach.

“Don’t worry,” he tells me with a wink, handing over his card. “I’m a generous man.”

“Mm,” I say, “I’ll believe that when you tip.”

His friends shake their heads.

Matteo narrows his eyes at me in playful offense. “Sunshine, I tip extremely well.”

“Great,” I say cheerfully. “Then I’ll pretend all of this—” I gesture vaguely to his existence “—was less painful than it was.”

He puts a hand to his chest again. “I think you might be my soulmate.”

I snort.

Giovanni murmurs, “Please don’t encourage him.”

All three of them look at each other with easy affection. The quiet kind that comes from surviving something together. Something big. Something life-changing but before I can wonder what that something is, Matteo hands me the signed receipt.

I glance at it. My eyebrows shoot up. He tips a lot. When I look back up at him, he winks.

“See?” he says. “Told you.”

He taps the receipt. “You should write your number here.”

I snort. “For what? So you can laugh about it with your friends the second I walk away?”

There’s no way this guy is interested me. He’s way out of my league in looks, money, and God knows what else.

His smile falters but then he recovers, softer this time.

“No. So I can ask you out.”

The sincerity hits like a shove. Too real. Too dangerous.

I shake my head quickly. “I don’t date customers.”

“Then let me be a friend who buys you coffee sometime.”

“No,” I say gently. “But… thanks.”

He nods once. Not offended. Not cocky. Just quiet. His friends look at each other, something like concern flickering between them.

As I walk away, I hear Matteo murmur:

“Relax. She’s right not to want anything to do with me.”

Something about the sincerity in his voice cracks my stone shaped heart. Not completely but enough. Enough for it to matter.