Page 16 of A Winter in New York

“Viola,” says the third.

“Sophia.” Gio’s youngest sister bobs a curtsy.

For his part, Gio looks testy, his jaw set stiff. “Contrary to what it might look like, we’re not auditioning forThe Sound of Music,” he says. “My sisters were just leaving.”

“Do you sing, Iris?” Sophia says, ignoring him. “You can be our new governess.”

I laugh as I unwind my scarf. “I do, actually.” I don’t know why I admitted that. I haven’t sung in years, not infront of people, anyway. I inherited my mother’s voice as well as her blue eyes, but she was the performer in the family. “I’m afraid I’d be a terrible governess, though. I can’t sew clothes from curtains or throw puppet shows. The only thing I’m any good at is cooking.”

“Please let me apologize for my sisters,” Gio says, his hand on his heart.

“Always so grumpy,” Sophia mutters and, beside her, Viola looks at the floor to hide her laugh.

Francesca, on the far end, takes charge. “Enough, girls. Iris, I’m sorry if this looks like an ambush.”

“Because that’s exactly what it is,” Gio says.

“We just came by on our way to the hospital,” Francesca says, and they all nod, wide-eyed.

“Even though visiting hours don’t start until noon and you all really ought to be at work?” Gio adds, earning himself dirty looks down the line from his sisters.

“Thisismy work,” Sophia says, raising her hand as if she’s in class. “I don’t know what everyone else is doing here.”

“That’s it, Soph,” Elena says, in the middle. “Throw us under the bus after you texted us all to say Gio’s dating a dead ringer for Jess fromNew Girl.You know how much I loved that series.”

Sophia throws her hands up, laughing. “Was I wrong, though?”

“You’re wrong, and you’re being rude,” Gio says, cutting in. They all shrug, unapologetic, and he opens the door on to the street. “Out. All of you.”

His sisters file out, murmuring variants of “nice to meet you” and “good luck putting up with him” as they pass me.

He snags Sophia’s hood at the back of the line. “Not you. You work here, remember?”

“I thought you might prefer me to leave you to it,” she says, smiling sweetly.

“And I thought you might prefer me to leaveyouto it,” he says, pulling his apron over his head and handing it to her. “Iris, shall we? I have an idea.”

I glance uncertainly at my beloved gelato maker on the counter.

“You can leave your tiny machine there, it’s safe.”

I pick up my bag and scarf. “Umm, okay. Lead the way.”

7.

“Sorry, I just needed toget OUT of there,” he says, steering me through the sidewalk cafés and busy last-day-of-festival preparations. “I swear, when they get together like that they’re just…” He shakes his head, searching for the right words.

“A lot?” I suggest.

“Too much,” he says. “Way, way too much.”

We lapse into silence as we walk, awkward now we’re alone and his sisters have thrown their spin on things.

“They were just kidding around,” I say, trying to get us back on track. “Forget what they said. I will. In fact, I already have. I can’t remember at all.”

He glances down at me and I see the tenseness in his face ease. “Thank you,” he says. “Because I’d hate for them to scare you away, you’re the best hope I have.” He pauses, and then hurriedly adds, “For the recipe, obviously. Not for anything…oh, for God’s sake.”

I press my lips together, because he’s tying himself up in knots and making it worse. I veer into the nearest brightly lit store, feigning distraction as much to change the mood as anything else.

---