She smiles apologetically, ducking her head a little as if she’s embarrassed to be here. “Hi, Franco. I’m Chloe. We met the other day at my aunt’s café.” She says it like a question, as though she doesn’t expect me to remember her.

  She’s standing there holding a plate covered with foil and a small bouquet of flowers. She’s wearing something slightly less gigantic than the other day.

  “Franco. Let her in.” Mom’s cry from the living room nudges me into movement.

  “Yeah,” I say, shaking my head and scowling at the blood that surges through my limbs. I’m thirty-eight, not eighteen. Why the hell does this woman in bag-lady clothes make me feel like a kid? “I remember you,” I say gruffly, covering my confusion. “Come in.”

  She steps past me and stops, her eyes on the floor. “Umm,” she mumbles, thrusting the plate in my direction. “Would you mind holding this while I take off my boots?”

  I take the plate from her and the flowers. I assume she needs both hands to take off those boots, so I just stand there, like a kid who’s never seen a woman’s behind before, watching her bend over to unlace the boots.

  She leans a hip against the wall to balance herself while she slides her feet from the boots, then she smooths her hair and adjusts the sweater so that, if it were actually possible, it covers even more of her. She tugs it past her waist so it covers the fine curve of her ass, and then she slips her hands deep inside the sleeves.

  “I brought my aunt’s peanut butter crisp cookies. I hope that’s okay?” She’s looking at me, studying my chin like there’s something stuck there, and very definitely avoiding my eyes.

  I self-consciously swipe at my chin with my forearm just in case I have dog hair or something there since I’ve got her plate of cookies in one hand and the flowers in the other. “Yeah,” I say distractedly, “great.”

  Being reduced to a babbling idiot by a woman’s halfway-decent backside sends me into an even fouler mood.

  I don’t know what it is about Chloe that’s turned me stone stupid, but I’m annoyed with myself. I’m even more annoyed with my mother for bringing a non-family member into our dinner, with my brothers for being idiots, and, if I’m reaching, with my sister just because she’s been so down and won’t let anyone in.

  I just want to get through this dinner and get the fuck out of here.

  My mother comes to the door to greet Chloe with as much enthusiasm as a one-woman parade. She’s cooing and rushing up to us, all excitement and warmth.

  Gracie is holding Venus in her arms, and Dolce slowly plods behind them, her tail slapping the wall as she walks carefully down the hallway on her old dog hips.

  “Chloe.” Lucia opens her arms and gives me a look. “I told you not to bring anything. You’re family.”

  I can’t help rolling my eyes because, no, this woman is not family. But I instantly feel shitty for the impulse.

  Chloe has done nothing wrong. Despite the fact that my mother seems hell-bent on fixing me up with any eligible female in Star Falls, I do have two brothers. Vito and Benny aren’t half bad. Maybe she’ll fall for one of them and I’ll be off the hook.

  “Did I hear someone say peanut butter crisps?” Gracie holds her body at an awkward angle, keeping snarling little Venus as far away as she can while giving Chloe a one-armed hug. “You’re my new favorite person.”

  “Who is this?” Chloe asks, her voice a nearly breathless whisper. The honey in her voice sends a little pulse from my gut straight to my cock.

  I shake my head to clear that shit away. She’s whispering at a snarling Chihuahua, but my body is acting like that sweet, low rasp is meant just for me.

  “Here,” I grunt, thrusting the plate of cookies at my sister.

  She raises a sharply angled eyebrow at me but takes the plate. I hear Chloe and Gracie cooing over the dogs, because now, of course, Dulce is sniffing and wagging all over Chloe’s legs while Mom’s overly loud voice booms introductions to the dogs.

  Christ.

  Normally, I wouldn’t even notice that Ma’s rolling out the red carpet for a guest, but something about the whole situation grates on me.

  It’s as if everyone in the family is conspiring to welcome this girl, and I’m the asshole who just wants a family dinner without the pressure of making small talk with a stranger.

  A stranger who my mother seems determined to see me dating, while my body is being a traitor with the way it’s reacting to her presence.

  I stalk into the dining room in search of a vase for the flowers, but then I think better of it and head toward the kitchen. Dad and some cold water—for the flowers, not for me—will clear me of the shit mood I’m in now.

  “Flowers?” Dad asks, pointing to a cabinet.

  I grunt. “I know where the vases are.” The words come out saltier than I intend, and Mario takes notice.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he asks. He’s yanking off the apron with one hand and turning off the burners with the other. “You look like you spilled your last beer.”

  I yank open a cabinet and pull out a vase, then jam the small bouquet inside. “Nothing, I’m fine. When do we eat?”

  Mario looks me over but doesn’t push. “Benito here yet?”

  I shake my head. “Course not.”

  “Your brother is a…” Dad uses a pair of tongs to extract a single strand of pasta from a stockpot of boiling water. He can tell by the way it bends how much longer it needs to cook. “Send him a text, will you? Pasta’s on in three minutes, and his ass better be in his chair at the table.”

  I fill the vase with water and set the thing down in Dad’s huge sunny window box over the sink, next to cut herbs in water-filled mason jars.

  “Put those on the table,” my pops urges, giving me an eyebrow raise that rivals Gracie’s. “What’s gotten into you in the last five minutes? Is it that girl your mother invited over?”

  I take the vase back and scold myself for being so transparent. And for being such a dick. “Nah, I’m fine. Just hungry, and I’m sick of Benny always being late.”

  “He owns a business,” my dad says with a wave of his hand. “But if I’m being honest, it bothers me too. Your brother can be a real pain in the ass.”

  I’m not sure if my dad’s trying to make a joke so I lighten up or if he’s serious. Either way, I clap him on the back and head back to the dining room.

  While I set the flowers on the table, I tell myself to calm the fuck down. Just because Ma wants to set me up…it doesn’t mean anything.

  She’s tried a million times before, although this is the first time she’s ever taken her meddling matchmaking this far.

  It’s one meal.

  I’ll be pleasant to Chloe, ignore my mother’s heavy-handed hints, eat a delicious meal, and head the fuck out.

  In fact, maybe I’ll even crash Benito’s restaurant tonight and have a cocktail with my brother. He’s a dick, but he gives me at least two rounds on the house any time I stop in.

  Tonight would be a good night for a gin and tonic and some mindless conversation with the new bartender my brother’s banging.

  At least no one will be trying to set her up with me.

  By the time I get the flowers put down, Chloe and Gracie are settled on the couch, and to my absolute shock, Venus is curled up on Chloe’s lap. She looks like she might pounce at any time, but this is the only time I’ve seen the old dog warm up to anyone who isn’t Ma or Grace.

  Vito tumbles down the stairs, his wet hair flapping in his face, and interrupts their chatter. Ma introduces him to Chloe, and they all exclaim in a new round of admiration that Chloe has tamed the snarky Venus.

  I watch Chloe’s face, all shy smiles and self-conscious flushes, as they talk about her like she’s not standing right there, and something curls around my heart.

  I hate the sensation, something all fluttery and unsettled sinking deep into my chest.

  I am actually relieved when I hear the front door open, and my brother Benito starts bellowing.

  “I’m here!” Benny shouts and slams the door behind him before kicking off his shoes.

  “You were almost late!” my mother shouts back from the living room. “Your father got ten more gray hairs waiting.”

  “Bullshit.” Benito strides into the living room, looks over the group, and leans down to kiss my mother. Noticing Chloe, he adds, “Pardon my language. I didn’t realize we had a guest.”

  Benny kisses our sister and slaps Vito on the back, then extends a hand to Chloe. I can see his body language change immediately, and he straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin.

  “I’m Benito,” he says. “And you are?”

  She takes his hand much more quickly than she took mine the other day, and I have to fight a prickle of white-hot jealousy. Which is absolutely stupid, not to mention unreasonable.

  First of all, my brother is a player. He’s like this with every woman he meets.

  Second, not five minutes ago, I was hoping Chloe would show an interest in one of my brothers and take the pressure off me. I should just sit back and enjoy the show.

  But now, with Venus in Chloe’s arms, Ma batting her eyelashes, and Benny and Vito turning on the charm, I’m not sure what I feel.

  Pops comes into the living room and jerks a thumb at me. “Everything’s ready,” he says, which is my cue to start bringing the food to the table.

  We eat family style, so every serving platter and bowl in the house needs to be filled and set out.

  “Son,” he says to Benny, giving my brother a smooch on the cheek. “One of these times, you could try to come more than ten seconds before we sit.” Pops slows, and his voice softens as he approaches Chloe. “And you must be Chloe. Nice to finally meet you, sweetheart. You’re all I’ve heard about for weeks now.”

  Chloe stands with Venus in her arms and says something I can’t fully make out. But I must be staring at her, because as soon as Pops kisses her cheek and adds his surprise to everyone else’s that Chloe’s managed to tame the beast in Venus, my dad turns to me.

  “You okay, son?” He squints at me but then motions with a thumb to my brothers. “One of you help Franco bring out the food.”

  “I got it,” I grunt, realizing I’m the only one who seems pissed off and sour.

  Even Gracie seems to warm to Chloe and is more animated and friendly than she is at a normal dinner.

  “Franco.” I hear disappointment in my mother’s voice.

  “What is it?” I pause on my way to the kitchen. “I need to help Pops serve.”

  Ma is glaring at the table where I’ve rearranged the place settings. She shakes her head but doesn’t argue with me.

  I pound my way into the kitchen and take a deep breath.

  It’s one dinner.

  Then it’ll be over, and I can tell Ma to stop trying to set me up for good.

  4

  Chloe

  Family dinner with the Bianchis is…a lot.

  “So, Chloe…” Lucia is filling my plate with food.

  I shift nervously in my seat and fiddle with the buttons on my sweater.

  She loads me up with some rolled thing that looks like meat drenched in sauce, forks a pile of noodles so high I’d need a week to eat my way through it, and then uses wooden salad tongs to fill a bowl beside my plate with greens. “How do you take your pasta? Swimming in sauce or lightly coated?”

  “Whatever way you want to make it,” I tell her.

  Mario is pouring me a very full glass of wine. “Do you drink, sweetheart? I should’ve asked before I started pouring.”

  “She’ll drink if she wants it,” Lucia says as she hands me a giant plate of pasta.

  I just nod and murmur, “Thank you.”

  Grace holds up her empty glass for her father to fill more than the half glass he’s already poured. “Top it off, Dad. You opened two bottles.”

  He fills it, and once everyone at the table has wine and a plate full of food, Lucia and Mario take their seats at opposite ends of the table.

  “We like to give thanks before we eat.” Lucia folds her hands and bows her head.

  I notice every head at the table lowers, so I do the same and squeeze my eyes closed. I hope I’m not expected to say anything or hold hands or any of that. I’m not from a religious family, and I don’t know any formal prayers.

  I’m lost in my thoughts, staring at the steaming heap of food on my plate, when for some reason, I look up. I feel someone watching me, and in spite of the nervousness twisting in my belly, I chance a look at Franco.

  It’s him.

  He’s watching me.

  Staring at me.

  I press my lips in what I hope is a reassuring smile and look away.

  “And we’re so very thankful for our new friend in Chloe.” Lucia finishes her prayer, and around me, everyone lifts their glass of wine.

  “Salud,” Benito says, tapping the rim of his glass to his father’s.

  Everyone around the table echoes the toast, and I just lift my glass silently and take a sip when everyone else does.

  When the meal finally starts, that’s when the real awkwardness begins.

  “So, Chloe,” Lucia starts.

  “Ma, for fuck’s sake…” Franco has pulled a piece of actual string from the rolled meat on this plate and slices into it with a bang of cutlery against stoneware.

  “Franco.” It’s his father who responds, giving his son a dark look. “We’re at the table, son. Language.”

  Gracie settles back in her chair, a smug look on her face, while Benito grabs the bottle of wine and tops off his glass.

  “Would you all just settle down?” Vito, the quietest of the Bianchis, is swirling a forkful of pasta in the air. He looks at me with a warm smile, and I can’t help but relax a little.

  I look down at my plate piled high with hot, delicious-smelling food.

  “Have you ever had braciole before?”

  I assume the question is for me. I look up and feel every eye at the table on me. I grab the glass of wine and take a swig, then shake my head. “No, we, uh… No.”

  Lucia gets all excited at that. “Mario’s is the best,” she explains, but then she looks at Benito. “No offense, son.”

  Benito is chewing a mouthful of salad and shrugs.

  “It’s just beef, dear, rolled into a cute little shape with a filling inside.” Lucia is watching me with something so kind and warm on her face, it breaks my heart into little pieces.

  She sincerely wants me to eat and like the food. Even if she also sincerely wants me to date her son—and I think by now we all know that isn’t going to happen—she’s welcoming and warm. She reaches across the table and rubs Vito’s arm, urging him to show me how to eat it.

  “Ma, stop hovering. You’re making me nervous. You expect the woman to eat while you’re obsessing over every bite?” Gracie is seated next to me, and all three Bianchi sons are across from us on the other side of the table. Gracie takes her braciole in her fork and shows me how to remove the string. “It’s just butcher string,” she tells me. “Totally sanitary and safe to cook with. It’s not like Dad has a sewing kit in the kitchen he uses to wrap up meat with.”

  I laugh nervously and way too loudly at that, but Mario and Lucia chime in and chuckle. I avoid looking across the table at any of the Bianchi boys and copy what Gracie did, unwrapping the string from the beef.

  I don’t even need a knife to cut into the thin, tender, rolled strip. I take a bite and widen my eyes, looking from Gracie to Mario. “Holy crap,” I gasp as soon as I swallow. “That is…” I’m searching for the right word, while Mario waves a hand at me.

  “If you don’t care for it, don’t eat it.” He’s trying to be nice, but I’m not.

  “No,” I say over him, finding my voice. “This is exceptional. I mean, like, the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten. It tastes like…”

  “Home?” Lucia offers. She sighs and leans back in her chair. “I knew you’d love it. Braciole was your aunt’s favorite.”

  Gracie swirls a forkful of pasta against the inside of a large spoon and cocks her head my direction. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  This question gets the whole table’s interest. I avoid the stares of the handsome trio across from me and look down at my food.

  “You can have half of mine,” Benito blurts, laughing at his own joke. “I don’t even care which two.”

  Vito slugs his brother on the shoulder and calls him an asshole, which prompts a whole new round of scolding about language from Lucia and Mario.

  “Let her answer,” Mario says, shaking his head. “But yeah, if you want one of these knuckleheads, help yourself. You should probably take the one with the smart mouth.”

  “What did I do?” Gracie blurts before Mario can point to which of his knuckleheads has the smart mouth, and everyone is laughing, even me.

  When the giggles calm, I shake my head and answer her. “I don’t,” I said. “Only child.”

  They receive that news like I’ve just said my puppy had been run over by a car, so I can only hope no one asks about my parents.

  Alcoholic, abusive dad. Depressed nurse mom… Yeah, I’ve got all the fun stories when you start to dig for them.

  Instead, I decide to turn the tables. “What about you?” I ask, turning to look at Lucia. “Did you and Mario always want a big family?”

  Lucia starts talking about how she and Mario are both from big families, but as she speaks, I look down at my plate and spear the last bite of my beef.

  I can’t help but peek at Franco. He’s like the sun, and I’m a seedling just yearning to soak up some of his life-giving strength.

  My heart rate speeds up when I see he’s watching me, chewing slowly and deliberately, his intense blue eyes locked on me.

  Under his hot gaze, I shift uncomfortably in my chair and look away. I hurry to chew my last bite of braciole while Lucia finishes her story.

  “After all of that, none of these idiots are mine. They’re all adopted.”

  “You wish,” Benito says. “You have no one out there to blame for how we turned out. This is all you and Dad.”