Page 110 of What About Love

His head popped back around the doorjamb.

“Your mother was expecting us for dinner.”

“Shit! I’ll call her.”

“She was depending on me to get you there. I guess I’ll have to let her down.”

“I’ll explain. She’ll understand.”

“I’m not so certain.”

“We’ll reschedule. It’ll be fine. Bye, baby.”

“Bye,” she whispered to the empty doorway.

***

TCALLED SOPHIA WHOturned right around and called Angie, insisting she come anyway. Feeling awkward about going to her new...

What exactly did she call him? Lover? Boyfriend? Dom?

Whatever the term, having dinner at his mother’s house without him felt odd, so she tried to get out of it. As luck would have it, Sophia Portman was as charming and stubborn as her son and Angie found herself walking up to the house at twenty minutes before five, with a bottle of wine in her hand. The same Shiraz T had brought her.

Sophia and her husband, Hank, T’s step-father, welcomed her warmly. Hank seated her on a stool at their big kitchen island that doubled as a workstation, uncorked the wine to let it breathe—whatever that meant—and went back to chopping vegetables for a salad as Sophia drained the pasta.

“I made Antonio’s favorite. He’ll be disappointed to have missed it.”

“No, I won’t,” came a deep voice from the front room, followed by thudding footsteps.

“Tonio!” Sophia quickly dried her hands on her apron and went to greet him. “I thought you got called away with work.”

He dutifully bent his head and kissed her proffered cheek. “Luckily, this skip wasn’t too bright. I apprehended him while he was still saying goodbye to his girlfriend from her bed.”

Sophia wrinkled her nose. “Don’t tell me about the dangerous fugitives you work with. I don’t want to know.”

Amusement flickered in the brown eyes that met Angie’s as he quipped, “They’re rarely dangerous when naked, in bed, and getting busy.”

“Enough!” his mother cried, covering her ears. “I get the very vivid picture.”

Grinning, he moved past her to where Angie sat. “Little bit,” he murmured in greeting as he cupped her cheek, his thumb beneath her chin tilting her head back. His lips covered hers. The kiss, including a little lick of his hot tongue along her bottom lip, sent heat zipping through her body.

When he raised his head, she breathed, “Hi, T.”

He smiled, whisking the residual moisture from her lips with his thumb. As he moved away, the lingering warmth he’d incited settled on her cheeks. Seeing Sophia beaming with delight having taken it all in, she flushed even more.

T didn’t notice, or if he did, it didn’t show as he lifted the lid of the large stockpot on the stove. Bending slightly, he inhaled. “Mm, mm. Ma’s gone all out. Her ragu is better than any I’ve ever tasted anywhere in the world, even Italy.”

“Grazie, bello. Your grandmother’s recipe is divine.”

“Ragu?” she inquired.

“Pasta Bolognese, dear,” Sophia explained, crossing to take the spoon from T after he took a taste. “I make it with four kinds of meat: pancetta, ground chuck, ground pork, and veal. I add sautéed onions and fresh garlic, but that goes without saying, it’s ragu after all. There are also carrots, red wine, tomatoes, and cream. The spices, however, are a family secret.”

Moving away to let his mother deal with her sauce, T lounged against the counter, his eyes alight with a teasing humor. “She could tell you, darlin’, but then my uncle, Don Luigi, would have to come over from the old country and whack you.”

Sophia lightly smacked his arm while Hank guffawed, and Angie grinned.

“Tonio! Be serious. You don’t have an Uncle Luigi, and you know our family never had mafioso connections. Angelina might believe you. Then what would she think of us?”

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