“Perfect. We’ll call you.” Anxious to firm up my plans, I ran out of the store and pulled my phone out to call an Uber. Once in the car, I texted my brother. His response was immediate.
Dude. I love it. Whatever you need.
Smiling to myself, I hoped it would all turn out as I wished.
Chapter Three
“Uncle Frisco?”
“Yes?” I let Tina go to town on kneading the dough while keeping a careful eye on her. Even I, someone with zero interest in children, could admit she was cute as she worked hard, her tongue poked out in her little cheek as she stuck her hands into the dough.
“Do you love Uncle Torre?”
Surprised at the question, I couldn’t control my smile. “Yes. I do. Very much.”
“Like my mommy and daddy love each other?”
Where was this child heading with these questions?
“I guess so.”
“Are you gonna get married?”
Over my rapidly beating heart, I picked up the small rolling pin and set it on the island, then shaped the lump of dough.
“Let’s make a nice round ball with this. While it’s resting, you can decide what kind of pasta you want to make.”
“Linguine. Are you?” Those big brown eyes found mine. She sure was a true Rossi. Once they got hold of something, they didn’t let go.
“We haven’t talked about it.”
How could I explain it to a child when I didn’t understand it myself? The last thing I’d ever thought about or planned was permanency in a relationship. Or even a relationship at all. I’d known love wasn’t in the cards for me.
Until Torre.
And knowing how much family meant to him, I’d been thinking about the future more and more. Torre knew he didn’t have to worry about me leaving—God knew, I got the better end of this deal, and I hoped I’d made him aware exactly how much I wanted him. Needed him.
Loved him.
Every damn day I imagined how bleak my life would be if Edward hadn’t forced me to step out of my golden circle to review the little unknown restaurant in Brooklyn called Mangia. What would I be doing now? Probably sitting in Presley’s store, listening to him wax poetic about his beloved, Nate.
I knew what I wouldn’t have.
I wouldn’t have Torre’s warm body snuggled next to me every night and wake up with the sweet taste of him on my lips, my body sore from lovemaking but still needing him…always aching for him. I wouldn’t have Sunday family dinners filled with wine and food and pretend arguments and laughter well into the night. I wouldn’t have a mother figure like Maureen who called me just to say hello and see how I was doing, ending each conversation with an “I love you, Frisco.” I wouldn’t have a home away from home in Bello and Mangia, where I could finally create the food I dreamed of and give in to my passion.
I wouldn’t have anything.
Torre was the person who understood every part of me, even when I made it hard to figure out the pieces of who I was.
We put the dough aside and Tina decided she wanted to draw. I gazed longingly at the bar and my bottles of Campari, gin, and vermouth.
“Can I watch TV?”
I turned on the set to something colorful and she sat, happily engrossed for half an hour.
“Okay, time to make the pasta.” She sprang up like a rabbit and ran to the kitchen. I picked her up and put her in her seat, where she rolled out the dough under my instruction.
I wondered if my parents regretted having me and if Torre ever thought about having children.
