“Ach, devi avere una fame da lupi! Sei pelle e ossa.” She clasped his shoulders and frowned at him, then patted his stomach.
“Oh, I’m definitely not too skinny,” he replied. “And we’re both looking forward to your cooking.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. Hedidunderstand.
“I’ve been spiegando to my, uh, fidanzata that your food ismandatoda Dio.” He pointed to me. “That’s Quinn. Quinn, this is my Great-Aunt Matilde.”
She turned to me and her eyes went wide. She pressed her hands to her chest. “Bella, bella, bella!”
The next thing I knew I was wrapped in a hug as well.
“Questo è l'atleta?” she asked Ben over her shoulder.
“She sure is an athlete,” he answered. “Il migliori.”
Zia Matilde took my hands in hers while she studied me, her dark eyes familiar. ‘L'é na campionessa. Dio l’ha volù!”
Ben burst out laughing. “Well, okay then. Zia Matilde says that god has willed your win, so you’re all set.”
I laughed with him. “Grazie.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “L'é un gran bel acsent!”
“She said your accent is great,” Ben explained.
A man strode out to join us and the pair looked like a matched set of salt and pepper shakers. He was just a few inches taller than Matilde, and had the same stooped posture.
“Welcome,” he boomed at us. “Happy, happy!”
He walked over and hugged Ben tightly, slapping his back so hard that it probably left a mark.
“Ziu Carlo, this is my friend Quinn.”
“Fidanzata,” Matilde added.
He looked down at my hand then back at Ben.
“Fidanzata?” Carlo pressed.
Ben went white as he seemed to translate what was happening. “No, I meanamica! Quinn is myfriend.”
“Oh ho, very nice!” He walked over to me and wrapped me in a gentler hug. “Hungry? Yes?”
I nodded. “Always.”
“Good, we eat! Come.”
They started toward the house and Ben fell back to walk in with me. “Sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to give you a reason not to come.”
“Are you kidding me? I’mlovingthis. I didn’t know you spoke Italian.”
“Speak,” he made air quotes. “More like ‘desperately tries torecall my high school Italian and the junk I picked up around the house.’ I’m not conversant but I understand a lot of it. My parents both speak, and obviously with my mom’s opera I heard it all the time.”
I followed them inside.
“Wow.” I glanced around. The front door opened directly into the dining area with a long rustic table beneath dark, exposed beams, probably unchanged since it was built. There was a fire lit, and the smell of something delicious and garlicky in the air.
Matilde went into the kitchen and came out clutching a big silver pot. “Sit!”
