Page 36 of A Winter in New York

I swallow hard, blindsided.

“Because I read about how to talk about grief after Penny died, about mentioning her loads, how it’s good to know other people remember the person you’ve lost too,” she says, rushing her words out in an even faster jumble than usual. “And I know you don’t have that kind of support here, people who knew him, so if you want to talk about him, you can to me, okay?”

She turns to look at me, and I nod as my eyes well with tears at her kindness. She’s referring to Adam, of course, but I feel her sentiment about the profound loss of my mother.

“What was he like?”

My insides go very still. “He…it…our relationship was complicated,” I say. “I…I was frightened of him sometimes.” The words leave me before I have a chance to think about them, because Sophia’s arm around my shoulders has lowered my defenses.

Sophia’s eyes scour my face, her brows low. “Shit, did he hurt you?”

I close my eyes and look away, wishing I could unburden the whole truth. “Not physically,” I say, and she squeezes my shoulder, her grip firm and reassuring, “but he made me realize there are a lot of other ways a person can hurt you.”

“Fuck,” she says, under her breath.

I dash the back of my hand over my eyes. “Yeah,” I say. “Like I say, complicated.”

“Maybe stubborn isn’t the worst thing Gio could be,” she says after a few moments, and I lean into her and laugh softly, because the tension is broken.

“Definitely not the worst thing,” I say. “Will you be okay if I go on through?”

She looks around the empty gelateria. “I think I can cope with things out here.”

—

I find Gio stackingingredients on the kitchen workbench, tension emanating from his precise movements and set jaw.

“Are you okay?” I say, trying to meet his eyes.

“Absolutely fine,” he says, turning to get something from a drawer behind him.

Not absolutely fine at all, then. I wait for him to stop busying himself and look at me.

“Shall we begin?” he says, clipped.

This is awful. Not like our usual mornings at all, and I don’t know if it’s what happened between us last night or what happened with Sophia just now. Either way, it’s not what I expected and I’m on the backfoot as to how to handle it.

“Can we talk first?”

He lays his palms flat on the table and breathes out slowly. “I think it’s clear from what happened out there just now that talking is not my strong point.”

I sit on one of the tall stools beside the workbench, and after a few beats he sits too, his knee brushing mine.

“I don’t know about that. You were pretty chatty last night,” I say, remembering our rambling conversations as he walked me home.

He nods slowly, his gaze locked somewhere down by my boots.

“About last night,” he says, and his sigh is lead heavy.

“You regret it,” I say, trying to read him.

He lifts his eyes at last and looks at me. “Yes. And no. No, because how can I regret a kiss that made me feel like a teenager again? It reminded me that my heart still beats, Iris, that I’m not just a son and a father and a gelato maker. But yes too, because being a son and a father and a gelato maker is who I am now. It’s enough for me.”

“Gio, I understand,” I say. “I’ve purposely filled my life up with everything so there’s no room for romcom worthy kisses or big family dinners or singing in the park, but then I met you and those things are happening to me anyway and it honestly scares me shitless.”

I’ve just spilled my metaphorical book bag at his feet, and now I wait to see if he picks the books up or acts like a jerk and leaves me scrabbling on the floor. It’s a moment he doesn’t even know is happening.

He puts his hands on my knees. “Romcom worthy, eh?”

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