God, yes, wine.Anita followed her mother into the kitchen. At least her dad wasn’t there to put the cap on the evening.
****
“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked. Marina had gotten up to put away the dinner plates and fetch the dessert, leaving the two of them alone, if only for a moment.
“Nothing.” Anita sipped again at her wine. It was only her second glass. He did not need to make a federal case of it. It was not like she had needed to contribute much to her mother and Patrick’s conversation.
She wanted to be home. Home in bed. Alone. Definitely—probably?—alone.
It would help if her body stopped flushing every time Patrick looked at her, though right now she was freezing and half wished he would put his arm around her. Seriously, did her mother always live with the house this cold? She could barely drink her wine for her lips chattering.
“Who would like cheesecake?” Marina announced, carrying in a large, clear glass cake stand bearing a beautiful four-inch-high cheesecake drizzled with chocolate glaze and adorned with fresh raspberries.
Anita’s stomach flipped.Oh no.
“Wow, Marina, you are absolutely a gourmet.” Patrick accepted a large slice from her. Anita gulped, holding a hand to her mouth.
“Oh, please, Patrick, your mother’s cooking is also excellent.”
Her mother offered her a slice of cheesecake, but Anita held up a warning hand. Marina cocked an eyebrow at her daughter but said nothing.
Good. Marina tended to force food like a love language. She was too full of wine and pasta and her body too exhausted trying to fight its attraction to the man sitting beside her. The man charming her mother, which was possibly the most attractive thing she had ever seen.
“She is vegetarian, yes?”
“Mostly,” Patrick said, a large piece of cheesecake on his fork. “But on special occasions she will make meatloaf. The things she can do with a carrot are inspiring. You know me, though. I never could give up a good cheesesteak.”
Patrick smiled sideways at Anita, which literally made her stomach flip. Seriously, what was going on with her? He was just a guy, just her oldest friend in the world. Exactly. Yes. She really should ask Toni about dating apps because she clearly—
Her stomach flip-flopped again dangerously.
Oh no. No, no, no, no.
She raced to the bathroom, hand clutched over her mouth, and just made it.
It was a good thing she had not taken the cheesecake.
Sweat pooled on her forehead. She ran cold water over a washcloth to drape across the back of her neck. Anita sank onto the floor, the A-line skirt of her light-blue dress fluttering around her. She closed her eyes and cooled her forehead against the chilly porcelain sink.
A gentle knock. “Anita?” Marina called through the door. “Are you all right?”
No problem. Totally normal.“I’m fine, Mom!”Good. Project confidence.
Her stomach flipped again. If only her body would cooperate.
“Can I come in?” Her mother did not wait, just nudged open the door. Anita could not meet her gaze but took the glass of ice water and pressed it to the nape of her neck. “What’s going on?” Her mother’s voice was soft. Tears pricked in Anita’s eyes.
“I don’t know. Maybe the salad I had for lunch was contaminated or something.” She melted into the familiar warmth of Marina, the well-loved scent of cinnamon and vanilla and clove. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Don’t be silly,” Marina replied. She swept tendrils of hair off her daughter’s face. “You’re sick. I hope it wasn’t the pastitsio.”
“I doubt it. You and Patrick seem fine.” She had not eaten much that day. There had been the weird bitter coffee from Amore, but that couldn’t be it. She had barely sipped it, and whoever heard of salmonella from coffee?
“I’m sorry you do not feel well, my dear. But I am glad you brought Patrick.”
“I can tell.” Anita sipped at the ice water. Thank goodness her stomach was finally settling.
Her mother opened her mouth to say something, but Patrick interrupted.
