“I do not.”
“Sorry, buddy.” He pats my shoulder, smug.
“Oh, get out of here.” I shove him, and he laughs, popping the door and hauling his suitcase from the back.
“Call me when you land.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He shuts the door, and I flip him off through the glass. He grins and mouths, “Love you,” before he disappears through the sliding doors.
Yeah, he’s gonna fit in just fine around here.
Giant raindrops smack the windshield as we head out of town, wipers working overtime.
“What if she doesn’t like me?” Beckett asks, knee jackhammering, fingers drumming against his thigh.
“She’s gonna love you,” I say.
He huffs. “Even if I look like I belong in a rock band?” He runs his hands down his all-black outfit—ripped jeans, fitted tee, black eyeliner sharp as sin.
“Especially because you look like you’re in a rock band.”
Beckett chuckles, and I notice the tension in his shoulders ease, but his leg still goes as we head to my Aunt Sofia’s.
Before I picked him up, he asked me what he should wear, and I said he needed to just be himself. It made me happy when I picked him up to see him dressed in his ripped black jeans and a black T-shirt. Typical Beckett attire. What I didn’t expect to see was the black eyeliner. I’ve only seen him wear it a few times when the group has gone out to the club. I’m not upset by it, far from it. I want Aunt Sofia to see him for who he truly is, not who he pretends to be.
By the time we turn onto Sofia’s street, I can feel the nerveswinding him back up. Her small one-story house sits in its usual quiet corner, warm light glowing in the front windows like it’s been waiting just for us.
I reach across the console, thread my fingers through his, and squeeze. “She’s going to love you,” I repeat.
He blows out a breath, staring at the house.
Aunt Sofia has lived in the same house for as long as I’ve known she exists, in a quiet neighborhood about an hour from Camden.
“Come on,” I say, getting out and rounding the hood, coming to a stop next to the passenger-side door.
I give a little chuckle as I open the door. “Let’s go, scaredy-cat. She’s harmless. Mostly.”
He slides out, and I catch his hand as we head up the walk.
I don’t even get to knock.
“Domenico, my sweet boy!” The door flies open, and there she is—Aunt Sofia, in black leggings, flowy top, big earrings, bangles chiming as she pulls me into a hug that knocks the air out of me.
Behind her, Beckett raises one judgmental eyebrow and mouths, “Domenico?”
“Shut it,” I mutter.
“Is that any way to talk to your guest?” She turns to Beckett. “You must be the boyfriend I’ve heard all about.”
I freeze. Narrow my eyes. I didnotsay boyfriend. I said “I’m seeing someone.”
Beckett goes full deer in headlights.
Sofia just rolls her eyes. “Please. Come in, both of you. Before the Nosy Nellies start peeking. One look at you two and they’ll say I’m running a brothel again. You throw one sex party, and suddenly everyone is butt-hurt. Pun intended.”
Beckett snorts a laugh. I groan. “Aunt Sofia.”
