Page 22 of Stabby Little

“No.”

“I was talking to my brother Gianluca at the club bar. The Littles were rowdy that night and being naughty.”

“I can see that.”

“They left their toy racecars on the floor and refused to pick them up. That's when I heard an angelic voice cry for help as a crashing sound filled my ears. When I rushed to assist the stranger, I held him in my arms… and realized he was the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen.”

I tick my eyes up. “That's amazing.”

“He had green adult braces and the most beautiful smile.” Constantine stares at the setting sun. “I took him to the bar and promised Gianluca would fix his ouchie. Needless to say, he lived with me for the next two months in Chelsea. I proposed to him and we recently got married.”

“I didn't know you two tied the knot.” I massage Constantine's shoulder. “Congratulations.”

“We had the ceremony in my brother Benedetto's backyard. Our extended family from Italy arrived and Arlo set up a green alien bouncy house for his friends.” Constantine shakes his head in amusement. “I tried to talk him out of the bouncy house—that's not something you typically see at weddings. Lord knows I was unsuccessful. My entire family is kink-friendly and they understand Littles, though. They encouraged Arlo to play with his friends. That boy will be the death of me.”

I picture Arlo and a group of Littles jumping in a bouncy house. I used to love those when I was younger, but I haven't entered one since I became an adult.

For all their naughtiness and boisterous obnoxiousness, Littles have the world figured out. They embrace their inner child so many of us forget.

“I would've purchased you a wedding gift if I'd known about the ceremony.” I take a sip of my drink. “That sounds phenomenal.”

“Oh shit.” Constantine issues me a look as he rises from his seat. “I didn't mention the cannoli, did I?”

This catches me off guard. “Cannoli?”

“Youhaveto try it.” Constantine rushes to his refrigerator and returns a moment later with a silver tray. Saran wrap covers a pyramid of rich cream filling stuffed into pastry shells that glisten under a drizzle of dark chocolate. “Benedetto convinced Nana to give him the family recipe. She resisted at first—she claimed only she could make it—but she finally agreed.”

Constantine peels back the saran wrap and hands me a pastry. “Try one.”

I accept the cannoli from my friend. I run my thumb over it, then bring it to my mouth. I force myself not to ask for another when the explosion of flavor dazzles my tongue.

“Holy shit.” I wipe a crumb from my upper lip, then take another bite. “This is outstanding.”

“I've had cannoli from the best restaurants in New York.” Constantine selects one and pops half in his mouth. “I'm convinced Nana's recipe is not only the best in the United States, but Italy. I'd put her up against the top pastry chefs in Sicily any day.”

“Can I have another?” I hate to sound so greedy, but I can't control myself. It's been ages since I've had cannoli this good.

I don't come from a large Italian family like Constantine. My grandmother died when I was a boy and my aunts never took up baking. The best they did was purchase pre-made cookie crumble crusts from the grocery store and add vanilla pudding mixed with strawberries to the center.

They didn't even bother to make real pie filling with extra-fine sugar and freshly beaten egg yolks, which is a tragedy. The pies tasted fine, but they lacked the love that comes from someone who's spent years of their life perfecting authentic cuisine.

This cannoli is different. I can practically taste theamoreConstantine's Nana poured into it washing over my taste buds.

Constantine pushes the platter toward me. “It's good, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“We're lucky Benedetto is such a talented chef.” Constantine takes a sip of his scotch on the rocks. “It's a shame, actually.”

“Why?”

“His ex-boyfriend broke up with him due to his weight. He didn't eat Benedetto's cooking because Benedetto's a bigger guy—afluffyguy—and he didn't want to consume unnecessary calories. Benedetto quit cooking for others altogether.”

“That's terrible.”

Constantine takes another bite of his cannoli. “I'm a selfish bastard for saying this, but we're fortunate Benedetto met his new boy. He regained his love of cooking and always makes us delicious treats.”

I follow my next bite of cannoli with a sip of my drink. “It's a good thing you have a fluffy brother. You get first dibs on whatever he cooks.”

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