Page 83 of No Stone Unturned

We finally pulled into the driveway of a small house with yellow trim. Colorful flowers spilled out of the window boxes in the front. When I got out of the car, Slash came around and offered me his elbow. I tucked my bandaged hand into the crook of his arm and, as a united front, we headed to the door. Slash didn’t knock, he just went in.

“Nonna?” he called out from the foyer.

“Chierchetto?” She stepped out of the kitchen into the foyer, astonishment on her face. Slash’s grandmother was a tiny bundle of energy, her silver hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a cheerful yellow apron with red flowers and red sandals. From an earlier visit, I knewchierchettowas her favorite nickname for him and meant “little altar boy.”

With a cry of delight, she rushed forward and cupped Slash’s cheeks, kissing them with an abundance of enthusiasm, then she turned to me with laser intensity. Before I could decide if this were a good thing or not, she threw her arms around me and squeezed me with the strength of ten linebackers. Just when I was sure I’d die of asphyxiation, she enthusiastically kissed my face. I’d barely recovered when she snatched my hand, presumably to examine the engagement ring. Instead she saw the bandage.

She looked back and forth between us, noting Slash’s bandages, too.

Slash started to speak, and I presumed he was explaining what had happened. She must have asked a dozen questions before he finally pulled my engagement ring out of his pocket where he was keeping it safe. She examined it, then pressed her hand to her breast, her eyes filling with tears.

“Sono così felice per voi.”

Slash translated. “She’s so happy for us both. She’s also sorry to hear about our injuries, proud of us for saving the people at the parade, thrilled to hear of our engagement, and honored that you accepted her wedding ring and the ring of her grandmother before her.”

“Please tell her I’m honored to carry on the tradition and I love the ring,” I said. “I’m sorry I’m not wearing it at this moment.Grazie mille, Nonna.”

After Slash told her, it earned me more kisses and squeezes. Then she snatched the flowers and wine from Slash’s hand and pushed us toward the kitchen.

“She’s going to fix us an early dinner,” Slash said.

“We just ate,” I reminded him.

Slash raised an eyebrow. “And your point is?”

“Apparently no point whatsoever.” If Nonna was cooking, I was eating. I took a seat at the kitchen table and Slash sat next to me. “Something smells heavenly in here. Italwayssmells heavenly in Nonna’s kitchen.”

“That is an indisputable truth,” Slash agreed.

Nonna brought us each a chilled glass of wine. I took a sip. The wine had a tart taste, but it was cold, refreshing and surprisingly good.

“Mmmm,” I said. “What is this?”

“Brachetto.” Slash tipped his glass to mine. “Salute.”

“Can I say I’m really glad you’re Italian?”

He grinned as he took another drink and began chatting with Nonna. She was bustling around the kitchen, stirring things on the stove and chopping up vegetables. I noticed a small oxygen tank tucked in one corner of the kitchen and wondered if she were feeling okay. She seemed like she was moving around without a problem, but I wasn’t a doctor, so how would I know?

As she and Slash spoke, accompanied by an increasing amount of hand gestures, I heard my name mentioned on and off. I had no idea how much he was telling her about our current situation. I hoped he would update me later, so I knew what he’d said.

Slash helped Nonna with something at the counter when Principessa strolled into the kitchen, holding her gray head high. She sniffed the air, saw me and immediately gave me the evil eye. I’d kind of hoped she had forgotten about the bad history between us but apparently she hadn’t. She carefully avoided me, but wound herself around Slash’s legs until he picked her up and stroked her beneath her chin. He murmured something to the cat and pulled the catnip out of his pocket. She purred and gave me a triumphant look as if to say, “Ha!”

I almost asked Slash for my engagement ring so I could show her whatIhad, but then I remembered I was dealing with a cat. Luckily, at that moment Nonna put a plate of food in front of me. It smelled so delicious I almost face-planted in it, and I wasn’t even hungry.

“Wow, what’s this?” I asked, picking up my fork.

“Skillet ravioli and cheese with spicy Italian sausage,” Slash said.

“It looks and smells delicious.”

Slash translated and Nonna beamed. They both sat there looking at me with anticipation, so I awkwardly scooped up a bite, trying to avoid getting sauce on my bandage. I blew on it and took a taste, a thread of cheese hanging from my chin.

“She’s a cooking genius.” I chewed, took a moment to savor the taste in my mouth, then swallowed. “Do cheese limits even exist in Italy? Because this food is amazing. Does your mom cook like this, too?”

“She’s an excellent cook. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

Pleased by my words, Nonna piled a plate for Slash and set it on the table. He put the cat down, washed his hands the best he could with the bandages on them and joined me in eating. Nonna sat down, too, watching us eat and sipping black coffee. She asked Slash question after question. Finally, he stopped to translate.

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