Page 21 of Luca

The server from earlier returns to our table with pen and paper in hand. “Okay, sorry about that. Two spaghettis and…”

I look up when I realize he hasn’t finished his sentence, only to discover he’s waiting on me. “Oh, I’ll have the chicken marsala.”

“Good choice.” Luca pokes his son in the ribs, making him giggle. “What? You don’t want to eat with us? You see two pretty girls and off you go?”

And now Myla’s cheeks mimic mine. Poor girl.

Luca drops his large, warm hand onto my shoulder and the current travels all the way down to my inner thighs. “I wanted to thank you again. For all you did for me. I can’t imagine how bad things could’ve gone for me if I’d left. Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have come back if I had to start over in that waiting room.”

Reaching for my glass of water, I’m suddenly parched. What is wrong with me? He’s being sincere, and my mind is in thegutter. But he’s so close. His hand is so strong and warm. And he smells so?—

“Luke. Who are your friends?” An older, distinguished-appearing gentleman with a salt and pepper beard and smiling eyes gazes down at me. I recognize him from prior visits to the restaurant.

“Luigi, this is Jillian. She’s the incredible nurse who took care of me in the ER the other day.”

“Oh.” I wave him off. “I didn’t do anything incredible. Only doing my job.”

“No, no. I watched you. You’re a badass.”

The kids break out in a fit of laughter, and now Luca’s cheeks resemble mine too. “Oh, I’m sorry. But it was the first thing that came to mind. Maybe superwoman would be a better description for this table.”

“I really didn’t do anything worthy of being called a superhero.”

“Oh, no?” Luca turns to the children, animatedly sharing his story with them. “Your mother knew what was wrong with me the minute she examined me. Before the doctor. Then, she let me come and get Mimmo from the bus and get my tests done once I got back. I was discharged the next morning because you provided such good care. And all while taking care of really sick patients. Much sicker than me.”

My eyes flick over to Myla, who’s beaming at me with pride. I have to blink a few times to prevent getting teary-eyed over this. He’ll never know what his words mean to me.

Beyond the fact we rarely receive any positive feedback at work, given the long wait times and unrealistic expectations of many patients, having him say this in front of my children means a lot. We’ve been through so much over the last few years. I try hard to be both mother and father to them, but frequently fall short. I know it, and Myla knows it. Whether I oversleep,splatter the kitchen in tomato sauce, or practically burn the house down, I hope my kids know I’m giving them my very best.

“Oh, I’m sorry. This is my daughter, Myla. This wild man is Caleb. And the blue-toothed wax eater is Truitt.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Luke. And you met Mimmo.”

“Nemo!” Caleb shouts, and Mimmo throws his head back in laughter. “And you can call me Scar.”

Luca chuckles. “Luigi promised me a dinner fit for a king after I could eat again. But it’s no wonder why Mimmo would rather sit here.”

“Have you already eaten?” I ask, looking across the dining room at their table. I practically gasp when I notice a gentleman who looks to be an older version of Luca. The man appears darker. Not his skin or hair, as they’re both tan with inky black hair and closely shaven beards. But he’s dressed in all black, his expression not as friendly.

“We did. We were about to get dessert.”

“Why don’t you kids come with me to pick out what you’d like for after dinner?” Luigi says. “I’ll let you see all of the sweets so you can pick the very best one.”

“They haven’t?—”

“Here’s their spaghetti,” the server announces as he places two plates of steaming pasta in front of the kids. “And your chicken marsala.”

The decadent scents waft upward, and I close my eyes and inhale. As I blink them open, I’m met with Luca’s eyes on my lips and swallow hard.

“Your husband could not make it to dinner?” His words, while sounding fragmented and distant, caress my face, he’s so close.

“Um, he’s… he’s not in the picture anymore.” I attempt to scrutinize his reaction but can’t decipher what he’s thinking.

He’s thinking, this woman is single with three kids, Jillian. That’s a whole lotta baggage.

“How about you? Your wife stayed home?”

Luca rubs his hand over his beard, his eyes dropping back down to my mouth. “I don’t have a wife.”

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