Page 58 of Smitten with the Single Dad

“Favorite food?” she asked.

“This is going to sound really bad coming from a chef, but honestly, it’s pizza.”

That made her grin. “This is going to sound bad … or maybe good, coming from an Italian, but it’s mine too. Like I told Griffon, there really isn’t anything better than a wood-fire cooked Margherita pizza.”

“Yeah, you can say that. Your people invented pizza.”

“The Greeks claim they did, but they’re lying.”

He chuckled. “Ever broken any bones?”

She held up her left arm and pointed to her ulna. “Fractured it when I was twelve. I fell off my bicycle after I tried to keep up with Lorenzo and his friends. I crashed into a big garbage can and had to wear a cast for the rest of the summer. What about you?”

That made him grin wide and mischievous. “So many bones. So, so many. Pretty much all of them, really. Makes me worried for the boys.” He scratched his chin. “Though, by the time I was Jake’s age, I’d already had three casts and he hasn’t had any yet. So maybe I’m just accident prone.” He glanced into the backseat at his snoozing sons. “However, if either of them is going to break bones, my money is on Griff. Kid is a lunatic.”

“A sweet lunatic though.”

Their eyes met again, and something passed between them warm enough to make her nipples pebble in her bra and the butterflies in her belly to wake up out of their pizza coma.

They were also still holding hands.

“Ferry’s here,” he said, pulling her out of her smitten fugue.

They watched the big vessel dock and the cars onboard unload. Soon enough, it was their turn, and they followed the car in front of them onto the ship where they then parked again and waited to cross. Unlike some ferries, the ship to San Camanez Island wasn’t so big that it had a passenger deck. It had a bridge for the captain and such, but passengers were expected to stay in their vehicles for theshort crossing. Of course, there was a small, covered area for walk-on passengers, but nothing fancy or comfortable like larger vessels Vica had boarded in the past.

“Favorite animal?” she asked, not liking the silence between them.

He remained staring straight ahead for a moment before smiling and turning to face her. “Octopus. They’re so intelligent. I refuse to serve it at the restaurant, and I won’t eat it. Squid, on the other hand, I’ll eat and cook all day long. They’re assholes and delicious.”

His answer had her giggling. “Mine would have to be an owl. Specifically, the tawny owl. There was a mated pair in the trees of the cemetery across the street from my house growing up, and I just loved hearing them talk to each other. They mate for life too.”

“You grew up across the street from a cemetery?”

She shrugged. “Quiet neighbors. No loud parties.”

“You weren’t spooked as a kid?”

Frowning, she shook her head. “Not really. As sad as death is, it doesn’t scare me. I obviously don’t want to die right now, but death is also a part of life. There were a couple of headstones with recipes on them as well. So every year on the person’s birthday, my brother, dad, and I would cook the recipe on the headstone—usually something sweet—and go sit with that person at their gravesite and eat their most treasured dish. We didn’t know them, but we liked to think they were family since we didn’t really have any.”

“I actually really love that.”

She smiled. “My dad taught us to not only not take life for granted, but to also not forget that when we die, just because our body is gone doesn’t mean our energy or legacy is. When our physical form leaves this earth, hopefully, we made a lasting impression. Either a contribution to society, a legacy of family, or friends, or in the case of Gia Bianchi, a really deliciouspasticciotto.”

“I love the way you say that. ‘Pasticciotto.’”

The conversation between them right now was wonderful, but the added element of touching him would just make it all so much better. She missedholding his hand and wished they could go back to that “You’re not quick to trust, are you?” he asked, after a moment of companionable silence passed between them.

She tilted her head to the side and studied him in the darkness of the truck cab. “Not really, no.”

“Does it come from growing up in a house of men who were mostly emotionally closed off?”

Her eyes widened. “In addition to a chef and marine, are you also a therapist?”

That made him chuckle. “No. But I grew up with four brothers, don’t forget. Not a lot of talking about our feelings went on. Once, Bennett’s wife called us all emotionally stunted and it’s something I’ve really thought about, particularly as of late. I don’t want to raise my sons the way I was raised, unable to express or talk about their feelings. It’s okay for a man to cry, for a man to show joy and sorrow. I struggled with my grief when Sheila died, and I think it was a detriment to my sons in some ways.”

As if he couldn’t get more perfect, the man was also incredibly self-aware and striving for self-improvement. She resisted the urge to sigh, but swooned big time on the inside.

“I have been on my own without any family for so long it’s been hard to find anybody I trust the way I trusted my father and brother. Even though we didn’t talk about our feelings much, not having them has still forced me to shove all my emotions down to my toes.”

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