Page 50 of For Butter or Worse
Which is why googling her ex hadn’t helped anything.
“Dude sports a topknot. He looks like someone I’d hate,” Gavin said matter-of-factly.
Leo chuckled, but he was grateful to hear his brother badmouth the guy. Nina would be at his house any second, and he’d need all the help he could get to not feel like a total fraud standing next to her. Especially because his mother was an expert at sniffing out the truth.
The doorbell rang. He considered not opening it at all. He’d just say that he’d had to unexpectedly leave town, and a return plan was TBD.
But then the doorbell rang again, and his mom firmly said, “You’re being rude.”
Okay, this was happening—Nina was going to have dinner with his family. Nothing to worry about...except for everything.
“Hey,” he said as he opened the door.
Words left him momentarily as he took her in. Her wavy hair fell across her shoulders. She wore a navy, long-sleeved sundress with a row of bright red buttons down the middle. His eyes drifted toward the sweetheart neckline, which revealed the top of her cleavage. Had her breasts always been this distractingly perky?
“I brought bread.” She held out a bouquet of baguettes. “Much better than flowers, I think.”
She handed over the baguette bouquet, and breezed past him. He turned to watch. The bigger problem, he realized, was that his mom was going to absolutely love her.
By the time he got to the living room, Nina was already introducing herself.
“I’m Nina,” she said to Gavin.
He laughed. “I know. I’m Gavin, Leo’s better-looking twin brother.”
“You said it, not me.”
“But you were thinking it, right?” Gavin winked at her.
Then his mother came into the room. She was wrapped in a flowing, floor-length dress, and her silver hair was tied up in an ornate bun.
Nina smiled, and moved toward her. As they were about to shake hands, his mother said, “You’re short.”
Leo pursed his lips. Just like Nina, his mother could be blunt. And there was the added level of his mother’s first language being Italian, not English, so her tone often got lost in translation.
Nina cocked her head. “That’s true,” she finally responded.
“You seem taller on TV.” His mother crossed her arms over her chest.
“The heels.”
“Ah!” His mother snapped her fingers, as if that was the answer she’d been trying to come up with.
“Mrs. O’Donnell—” Nina began.
But his mom interrupted her. “I loved my husband more than my own life, but I didn’t take his last name. I would’ve been Donna O’Donnell. Way too cheesy, don’t you think? You can call me Donna.”
“Donna,” Nina repeated with a smile. She looked over her shoulder and caught Leo’s eye. She raised her eyebrows playfully, which he appreciated.
Not everyone could handle his mother. He always found her lack of a filter entertaining, but she’d pissed off plenty of people with her well-meaning honesty. Which, he realized, wasn’t dissimilar from how Nina interacted with the world.
He scowled. Was he attracted to someone who reminded him of his mother?
Then he scowled deeper. He wasn’t allowed to be attracted to Nina.
“Nina brought us bread,” he announced, ignoring the thoughts he’d just had.
“Homemade baguettes,” she corrected him. “Italians know pasta, but the French know their bread.”
