“You can be extremely bossy, you know that?” he muttered, his hands resting on the back of the seat while he waited for me.
My legs jerked forward before I could decline again. I smiled awkwardly at Sofia as I approached the table, then took a seat when Dean pushed the chair beneath my thighs.
“Make her what you made me this morning,” Sofia told Dean as he stepped out from behind me. She then happily patted the top of my hand. “He makes a great potato frittata.”
“Oh?” I nodded.
“Or you could let her decide,” Dean retorted as he folded his arms. “Anyway, we don’t have any potatoes left.”
“What do you mean we have no potatoes?” Sofia frowned, and suddenly I could see where Dean got his from.
“I used the last of ‘em in your frittata this morning.”
Sofia’s eyes widened as she gestured to me. “You can’t serve her a frittata without potatoes.”
“Honestly, it’s okay,” I gently interrupted before looking at Dean, who pinched the bridge of his nose. “I really don’t mind.”
He sighed and dropped his arms, but he wasn’t annoyed. More pleasantly bemused. “Do you like eggs?”
“Eggs are fine.”
“Great. Nice and easy.” His eyes narrowed on his mom before he headed to the fridge.
Seeing Dean in a kitchen, gathering what he needed so casually, was...strange. Compared to the tatted-up, bad guy I saw in the basement, he looked almost approachable — emphasis on the almost. Dean’s face was still in some form of a frown, but it wasn’t so intimidating anymore. I was getting used to it like I was with his tattoos.
Growing up in a conservative household had programmed part of my brain to view tattoos and piercings as a red flag. That programming might’ve worked if it weren’t for the other part of my brain that craved an in-depth study of any potential sketch subject. Tattoos seemed to spark my inspiration, which explained why I hadn’t taken my eyes off Dean’s arms since he walked into the kitchen.
I blinked and quickly looked down at the lace tablecloth.
“Tell me, Lily,” Sofia said.
“Hm?” I was grateful for the distraction and found her leaning slightly toward me. Her own eyes fixed on Dean as he cracked an egg into a frypan with one hand.
Sofia was trying to be subtle as she whispered a bit loudly, “How did you meet? Dean won’t tell me anything.”
“Oh, um...” Did she know about what her son did for a living?
“I already told you it was at The Den last night,” Dean said, eyes on the frypan as it popped and sizzled.
“Again. Nothing.” Sofia rolled her eyes. “You can’t expect me to believe you met last night.”
She thought I was a one-night stand?
My chest felt like it hollowed out as my heart leaped skyward.
Dean’s brow furrowed as he jiggled the frypan. He too seemed to realize how it sounded. “It’s a little more complicated, but we don’t need to talk about it right now.”
“Does this have something to do with Antonio? Quel bastardo,” she spat, shaking her head in disapproval.
My eyes went wide. She definitely knew.
“Mamma,” Dean groaned, switching accents so smoothly. “Leave it. Please?”
Sofia sighed, reluctantly defeated, as she mumbled something that sounded like stubborn boy while frowning at Dean.
I tapped my fingers on my thighs, chewed at the inside of my cheek, and then asked, “Whereabouts in Italy are you from?”
It was a safe topic.
