Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)(40)

I appreciate how he never gives up, and finally after ten minutes of picking strawberries, my mom starts asking him questions. She’s particularly interested in learning about his aunt, whose family moved to America from Cuba during the fifties, but she clams up again when he mentions his life in Vegas.

When my mom excuses herself to go use the restroom located on the other side of the farm, Lorenzo takes advantage of her absence to amp up the showmance for our nearby audience.

I should’ve known he was up to something when he accidently tipped my basket over, but I didn’t expect him to smack my ass as soon as I bend down.

But that isn’t nearly as bad as me liking it.

My lower half pulses when his palm connects with my ass, and if it weren’t for the group of women standing a few rows away, I’d press my legs together to ease the ache that comes out of nowhere.

Don’t you dare embarrass yourself like that.

Frustrated by my lack of control, I remind myself of how Lorenzo hurt me and why I can’t get caught up in the moment. Not even for a single second.

I look over my shoulder to check out the group of women. Josefina has invited them over to her house a few times for a romance reading club, so I recognize them, although they look different without their eyes glued to their paperbacks.

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist,” Lorenzo says loudly, making them giggle.

I stand up and turn so our chests are touching.

“No need to apologize, baby.” My voice has a huskiness to it that I don’t recognize.

Based on the way his nostrils flare, Lorenzo either loves or hates the sexy rasp as much as his nickname.

I brush my hand down his chest. “But next time don’t hold back. I promise I can take it.”

And that right there is how I helped Lorenzo secure the Smut Club readers’ vote.




Little by little, as our pile of strawberries in the back of Lorenzo’s truck grows, my mom gets more comfortable in his presence, to the point of inviting him back to our house to make some agua fresca once she is too hot to continue.

Her invitation was not part of the plan, and I’m instantly anxious at the prospect of Lorenzo hanging out in our home. It has nothing to do with the house itself but rather how I feel having him in my space.

Going out on dates with Lorenzo is one thing, but having him in my chaotic little sanctuary feels like a step too far.

“Oh, I’m sure Lorenzo is busy,” I answer for him.

“I took the day off, remember?” he says aloud, acting like we memorize each other’s schedules.

“That settles it, then,” my mom says with a smile, and we head back to the house in separate cars.

My mom spends the first five minutes of the house tour in the garage, showing off my latest pressed-petal art. Lorenzo keeps a straight face while my mom tells him about how proud he must be of me wanting to pursue my own business venture with the Pressed Petal, all while shooting me looks.

“Any new updates on that since last week?” He is so damn smooth with his delivery that my mom doesn’t think anything of the question.

“Nope. Everything’s still on hold.” I keep my answer vague, and thankfully my mom doesn’t bring up Lavender Lane and the mayor’s plan, although she is quick to shuffle us into the kitchen after.

She and Lorenzo work in comfortable silence while I pull out my sketchbook and get to work on a design I’ve fallen behind on. My mom’s favorite telenovela plays in the background, and Lorenzo—who seemed completely uninterested at the start of the episode—has been equally invested in finding out who the bad guy is.

My mom has taken a liking to him, although I can’t expect her to be as comfortable around him as she is with Julian or Rafa, whom she has known since they were little. The way she is with Lorenzo is different, but then again, so is he.

He’s patient, polite, and intent on helping my mom with whatever she needs in the kitchen. My mom gives him a few tasks, including washing the buckets’ worth of strawberries, and Lorenzo does it without a single complaint, following every request with a “Sì, signora” that makes me giggle.

“Your dad used to say that too.”

I gape. Lorenzo blinks.

“You knew Lorenzo’s dad?” I ask my mom because Lorenzo looks incapable of speaking.

My mom looks cautious all of a sudden. “I didn’t know him too well, but I never forgot his flower order.”

I can’t resist asking, “What was it?”

“Whatever’s in season—”

“So long as it’s pink,” I say at the same time as her, my eyes wide from recognition.

My mom laughs. “How’d you know?”

Because I’ve heard that phrase before, back when Lorenzo first started ordering bouquets from Rose & Thorn.

Lorenzo reaches inside his pocket and leans against the counter, looking unbothered if it weren’t for the small twitch in his jaw.

Now the bouquet in his house makes so much more sense, although I can’t say the same about the twinge in my chest at seeing his sentimental side.

His parents might not be here anymore, but he finds the smallest ways to acknowledge them, unlike me, who can’t visit my father’s garden without crying.

My mom’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Your father never missed a single Friday.”