Free Always Mine by Christie Ridgway

sniffed the air. “Something smells really good.” He remembered in Vegas that she mentioned coming from a large Italian family, no surprise given her last name and the Mediterranean warmth of her olive skin and big brown eyes. “Is that something from your childhood, too? A woman named Cavaletti surely learned her talent in the kitchen at a young age.”
    â€œBoth my nonnas and a zia or two could make a grown man weep with what came out of their stock pots.”
    Weep? Hmm, more crying. “Yeah? What about your mom? Or is she a rebel like you and skipped out on the cooking lessons?”
    â€œShe skipped out on a lot of things,” Izzy murmured, but then her gaze narrowed. “Did you just call me a rebel?”
    â€œMs. Just-Say-No-to-Dewey? What do you think?”
    â€œI think you might be right. Though, truly, moving on from Dewey is—” Breaking off, she laughed. “Don’t get me started on the Dewey decimal system. We’ll be here all night and I won’t even notice your eyes glazing over.”
    â€œSo what will we talk about then? I am bored.”
    â€œI don’t know.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and he found himself fascinated with the tiny gold ring threaded through the rim of her left one.
    Rebel, all right. No run-of-the-mill piercing for Isabella Cavaletti. She had a different kind of adornment, one that made him think of that sweet delicate shell of ear and how if he let himself follow it with his tongue, he could suck on her tender lobe without getting a mouthful of jewelry.
    It would just be a mouthful of Izzy.
    Clearing his throat, he shifted on the step, then shifted his gaze off her pretty face. “Um…uh…” The boxes. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Why do you have Emily storing your stuff?”
    â€œOh.” She looked embarrassed again. “Would you believe I don’t have my own place?”
    He blinked at her. “What?”
    â€œI shamelessly take advantage of my friends, and every one of them ends up with a box or two or three of Izzy-belongings. My work means that I travel all over and I don’t have an actual home base, if you know what I mean.”
    No. He had no idea what she meant. “You don’t…you don’t have an address?”
    â€œI have a P.O. box, but I take care of my bills online. It seems odd to a lot of people, but it works out fine for me.”
    â€œWhat about…” He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. “Television. Car. Coffemaker.”
    â€œI rent a car when I need one. Most hotel rooms come complete with TV and coffee service.”
    Still…“You are a rebel. Or should I say a rolling stone?”
    Izzy shrugged. “Good phrase. I use it myself. I’m definitely footloose, that’s for sure. I travel all over the country and enjoy the different sights I see and the friends I make.”
    Yeah, but for how long did she enjoy them? Shemoved from place to place and, unlike a turtle, didn’t even bother carrying her house on her back. He remembered Bryce had told him that Izzy had arrived at the condo with only a single small suitcase.
    â€œSo you really like living like that?”
    â€œIt’s good,” she said, sounding defensive. “It’s a good life.”
    â€œI guess.” If you didn’t like roots or stability or your very own Wii game system. Not to mention a place where your relatives could track you down…Okay, maybe he could see an upside.
    But he suspected Izzy couldn’t see a thing, because her gaze was back on her copy of Eight Cousins and he could detect the distinct glint of tears in her eyes again. He found himself scooting back a step, and cursing his boredom again, because coming down the stairs and seeking her out had been a mistake. What he’d seen and heard—what he’d found inside Izzy—was hitting him right where he didn’t want her