Page 153 of Stolen Bases

I stand from my seat and kneel beside her, throwing my arms around her in a fierce hug. “I love you too.”

“Oh, thank God. You made up,” Zia Rose shouts and throws her arms around us in a group hug. The three of us laugh and sniffle. She takes a seat and pops a cracker into her mouth. “Now, what are we going to do about Nico?”

“What do you mean?” I sit back down and wait for her to finish munching on her snack.

“He’s MIA. Hasn’t returned any of your mother’s calls or texts. I tried and … nothing.”

“Mamma?”

She places her hand on mine. “It’s going to be fine, Lia. He probably locked himself inside that stupid penthouse condo of his and is brooding. He just needs a minute to cool down.”

“Should I go over there?”

“Let’s give him the day, then you can go over there with some food from the restaurant.” If anyone knows what Nico needs, it’s my mom.

“Excellent plan.” Zia rubs the crumbs off her fingertips and gets up from the table. “I’ll head into the restaurant early and make a fresh batch of his favorite manicotti with the spicy sausage he loves and some of Sofia’s focaccia bread. He won’t be able to say no if you show up with enough to feed a village.”

“Thanks, Zia.”

She brushes the hair off my face. “You’re welcome,cara mia.“ My darling. “It’s all going to work out.”

When Zia Rose leaves, I turn back to my mom. “Do you think he’s going to hate me?”

“Never. He loves you. Just give him time.”

I hope she’s right because the thought of my brother shutting me out hurts more than the idea of walking on hot coals.

“I have a key, and I’m not afraid to use it!” I knock on the door and ring the bell outside Nico’s penthouse apartment.

I know he’s home because Roberto, the sweet doorman—who looks like a jolly Latino Santa—told me my brother hasn’t left the apartment all day.

I knock again, in tune to shave and a haircut, and wait. Nothing. “Fine. You want to be stubborn? You asked for it.”

There is one thing my brother hates more than anything—the little baby in that weird cartoon with the talking dog who calls his mom’s name over and over.

Enter the annoying little sister.

“Nico. Niiiicoooo. Nicoooo. Niiiiico. Niicoo. Nico. Nicooooo. Niiiiicooooo. Nic.”

“Oh my God, you’re so fucking annoying. Go away, Lia,” he shouts at me through the door.

I pump my fist in victory. Yes, I got him.

“Just let me in already. I’m not going anywhere.”

I hear shuffling and thumps from the other side. He’s close. I can feel it.

Come on, Nico.

I can picture him knocking his head on the counter, fighting with himself.

I bust out my sad sister voice. “Please. I have food.”

“Leave me alone.” His voice sounds closer.

“It’s Zia’s special manicotti with the spicy sausage and cheese filling. She made it just for you.”

A minute passes before he asks, “Do you have the focacciabread too?”

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