“She was. Still, we had to learn how to adjust to each other. I thought I wanted your father to change, to become someone who would fit better with my life and my friends, but pretty soon, I realized I didn’t want that. I learned that your dad is restful for me—he’s a safe place, where I can be me. I can be quiet with him, or I can be silly and loud, but he loves me either way.”
“That’s so sweet. I love you both, just how you are. But I’m not sure why you’re telling me all this. Oh, make a left up here, at this four way stop.”
“Thanks. No particular reason. I was just thinking about marriage and couples and relationships, I guess. Having a child who’s the age you are now makes me wonder if I did a good enough job showing you all the possibilities in life. I’d never want you to think that you have to end up with someone just like you.”
I sighed. “Your subtlety is incredible, Mom. Please don’t make a big deal about ... anything tonight, okay? Just be cool. Make a right up here in about half a mile, then the restaurant is a mile down on the left.”
“I’m always cool. I don’t intend to make a big deal about anything or anyone.” She cast me a knowing smile. “I don’t think I’ll have to do a thing. I think that sexy guy who looked at you the way a cat looks at a bowl of cream is going to be the one making a big deal. But I don’t want you to run the other way because you’re afraid of something silly like being too different.”
“I’m not afraid of anything.” My answer was a knee-jerk reaction. “And I’m definitely not afraid of—him. Of any man.”
We pulled into the restaurant’s lot and found a place to park. Mom turned off the car, and as we walked toward the front entrance, she drew me along her for a quick side hug.
“I’ve always been proud of your fearlessness, Amanda. You don’t let anything slow you down. You never have. Just be honest with yourself and open your eyes to what could be meant for you, rather than looking at what might not be perfect.”
It wasn’t at all surprising that the food at Cucina Felice was delicious. The whole place was tastefully decorated and welcoming, filled with so much joy that it was practically contagious. I saw all of Ava’s relatives greeting one another with hugs and loud cries, as if it had been decades since their last meeting. Ava and Liam walked among the guests, relaxed and happy, and all of the DiMartinos seemed to be involved with keeping everything running smoothly.
Mom and I were sitting at a table with Giff, Jeff, Laura Bailey and her new boyfriend, Alec. It was the first time I’d met the guy I’d assumed was Mrs. B’s boy toy, and he’d actually turned out to be funny and kind of sweet. He and Mrs. Bailey were adorable together; she was definitely happier than I’d ever seen her. I had a feeling that she was finally finding a remedy for the unhappiness her ex-husband had brought her.
We’d chatted with Ava’s parents, and I’d had a short conversation with her brother Carl and his wife, admiring their baby son. I didn’t miss the way Angela smirked at me or the way Carl pretended not to do the same. Clearly, they both knew something about Vincent and me. I hoped my face wasn’t burning with embarrassment.
I’d seen him striding around the dining room, and there was something undeniably sexy about watching him here, in his obvious element. He stopped servers to point out tables that needed attention, he pitched in to help bus tables, delivered cups of coffee to his older relatives and generally took care of all of the guests.
And he avoided me.
I hadn’t realized it at first. But the more aware I became of him, the more certain I was. Servers stopped by frequently to deliver anything we might need, and other members of Ava’s family paused to make sure we were all right, but Vincent did not.
For some reason, that pissed me off. It was one thing to know that we weren’t revisiting our sexy times, but it was another for him to pretend as though I didn’t even exist. I wanted to walk up and stand in front of him until he couldn’t deny my presence. I wanted to tap him on the shoulder and smile sweetly, asking if he remembered me.
We’d finished the main course, and I was just working myself up into a decent mad about Vincent when I heard a familiar voice behind me and felt a hand on the back of my chair.
“Hey, Mrs. Bailey. Guys. How are you doing over here?”
I sat completely still, my heartbeat going crazy. He was so close, and I could feel his solid presence behind me. I’d half-convinced myself that the attraction between us had been a one-time fluke, but I knew now that was bullshit. If it was possible, I was even more drawn to him now than I had been at the engagement party.
“Vincent, do you know my friend Daria Simmons? She’s known Liam since he was a little boy. Oh, and I think you’ve met her daughter, Amanda.”
My face was definitely red now. I shifted in my seat, wearing my pleasant social smile as I finally looked up at Vincent.
He was still holding onto my chair, leaning over to shake my mother’s hand. “Mrs. Simmons, good to meet you. Hope you’re enjoying yourself tonight.” His eyes moved from my mom to me. “Amanda.” His voice softened. “It’s good to see you again. You look beautiful.”
And just like that, I was a goner. All of the shit I’d been feeding myself about why a second hook-up with Vincent would be disastrous no longer made sense. I wanted him. I couldn’t deny it. If there’d been a graceful way to drag him back to some quiet nook and let him pound me senseless, I’d have already been on my way there.
I became aware that I was gawking up at him, and everyone was waiting for me to respond to what he’d said. I cleared my throat.
“Thanks. Nice to see you again, too.” I gazed up into his eyes. “Everything is amazing tonight. The food is incredible.”
He grinned. “Did you like my cookies?”
Before I could stop to think about it, I blurted out an answer. “I love your cookies.”
Across the table, Giff choked on his wine, and Jeff pounded him on the back. I closed my eyes, wishing that I could suck the words back into my mouth.
My mother, that wonderful woman, held it together and swooped in to save me. “They’re exquisite. I have to admit, I’ve had bad imitations of Italian cookies, and they tasted like sawdust. Yours are full of flavor, and the texture is divine.”
Vincent lifted his hands. “I think I’m in love. Mrs. Simmons, would you be willing to sit in the kitchen with me every day and say that when my mother comes in and tells me what’s wrong with my desserts? I could use you to defend my fragile ego.”
I’d recovered sufficiently to snort at those words. “Fragile ego, my ass.”
