Page 120 of The Holiday Hate-Off
She shoves my arm, her fingers wrapping around it for a second, like she’d enjoy holding on for a while. She did last night.
“You didn’t answer me before. You live here?” she asks again as her hand drops. There’s a strange expression in her eyes, and I wonder if she’s thinking about that letter I left at her doorstep earlier. Wondering if it was me.
“Only two or three days a week. Giovanni, Nico, and I keep a schedule.”
Her gaze warms. “You take care of her.”
“Just don’t let her hear you saying that,” I say with a grin. “But yes. She took care of us when we needed her, and we do the same. You take care of family.” I give her a sidelong glance. “Whatever kind of family you have.”
She nods. “Thank you for that.”
We walk into the kitchen together, not holding hands, but our sides brushing slightly—and I like having her here, in this space that belongs to me and mine.
“About time,” Nonna says as we walk in. Her brow furrows when she sees the takeout bag I’m carrying. “Nico cooks when he stays over.”
“Nico can cook.” I lean in to kiss her wrinkled cheek. “And the town calendar informs me it’s Clam Chowder and Cornbread Day. We’re Hidies. We couldn’t possibly miss Clam Chowder Day.”
“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt your dinner,” Lucy says, setting the wooden spoon down next to a mixing bowl full of dough that smells like butter and brown sugar.
“You won’t be,” I say as I set the bag down on the kitchen island. “I got you some vegetable chowder.”
She throws me a mutinous look before murmuring a tight “thank you” for my grandmother’s benefit, but I meant what I said earlier. If she’d told me to give them space, I would have. I’m trying to learn, like Giovanni advised me to do. That’s also why I didn’t tuck the cell phone I got her underneath the stuffed calico cat the way I’d wanted to.
“We eat before we finish baking,” Nonna Francesca decrees. “And we’ll make our cappuccino with dessert tonight.”
“There’s no use arguing,” I say, smiling at Lucy. “The decree has been issued. Would you help me set the table?”
Nonna Francesca always uses her own plates, takeout or not—one of her eccentricities all of us are very accustomed to.
“Of course,” Lucy says with a beatific smile.
I lead the way into the dining room, then to the old cabinet where Nonna keeps the ceramic bowls she bought in Tuscany on her last trip to the “old country” with my grandfather.
The silverware and napkins are in drawers beneath it.
“You planned this,” Lucy complains, although she doesn’t seem overly upset.
“Plan for the best, prepare for the worst.”
Her eyebrows wing up as she accepts the silverware from me, her hand lingering over mine. “And what would the worst be?” she asks, looking up into my eyes. “If I sent you to your room like a bad boy?”
Blood immediately rushes south to my cock, not somethingI’m comfortable with in my grandmother’s house. Shaking my head, I say, “Oh, you like driving me crazy, don’t you, Lucia?”
There’s a teasing glint in her eyes as she pulls her hand away from mine. “I think that’s what people call a shared interest.”
“Ah, and everyone says shared interests are the bedrock of a good relationship,” I say.
Her mouth parts with shock, and my grandmother enters the room, shaking her head. Her eyes are glittering, though, and I wonder how much she’s picked up on. Maybe nothing; maybe everything. If she’s trying to get Eileen to play matchmaker for me, it’s very possible the two of them are trading secrets.
Again, I’m surprised by how little this bothers me.
“You young people, always so slow,” Nonna Francesca says, but it’s a half-hearted complaint.
“Dinner is served,” I tell her, making a grandiose gesture to the bag of takeout, probably tepid now.
CHAPTER 26
LUCY
