“You’re moving here?” Ramin asked.
Then realized how personal that was.
“Sorry. None of my business.”
But Maria waved her hand. “You’re practically family now. Angela’s taking over our store. We want to retire.”
“Oh. Wow. Congratulations.” That sounded like a dream, honestly. “Are Jake and Noah coming too?”
Also none of his business. But why did the thought of Noah moving away bother him? It wasn’t like he’d see Noah again. Although at least, with them both in Kansas City, there was a chance. A small chance.
“Jake might,” Angela said.
Jake, but not Noah. Ramin had only known Noah again for a few days, but it was obvious Noah loved his son more than anything. Did Noah know about all this? He had to, right? That was the kind of thing co-parents discussed. Wasn’t it?
“Wow,” he said again. He didn’t know what else to say.
“Allora, Ramin, can you get the boys?” Maria asked as she scooped the now-cooked ravioli out and dropped them into a pan of brown butter and sage. “It’s time to eat.”
Outside the villa, the rain had started, lashing the windows in heavy curtains of silver as they dug into the enormous meal.
Ramin wasn’t usually a fan of eggplant (grounds for excommunication from the Iranian diaspora, to be honest), but the fried discs were savory and smooth and magical topped with grated Grana Padano and a garlicky tomato sauce. The guinea fowl melted in his mouth, juicy and complex with just a bit of acidity. The ravioli tasted like rich, heavenly pillows. Jake’s tiramisu had come out a little lopsided, but it tasted oh so good.
And the wine, the rest of the Gaja Barolo, was a revelation. Ramin wanted to bathe in it. Shrink himself down and live in the bottle. He didn’t know how he could ever love another wine again.
“Everything is amazing,” Ramin said. “I can’t believe we made all this. Thank you for letting me come.”
“Of course, of course!” Tomaso boomed. “If we didn’t have to drive, I’d get out the limoncello. Made from our lemons! Forty years and no pesticides.”
Ramin’s mouth watered. But he definitely wasn’t going to risk driving tipsy. A glass of wine—maybe even two—he could handle with a big meal like this, but liquor? Better safe than sorry.
“Next time,” Ramin said, then realized there wouldn’tbea next time.
He’d never see any of these people again.
He didn’t know why that made him so sad. Except that, for the last few hours, it felt like having a family again.
But he was Interesting New Ramin. He came through towns and homes like the wind, here and then gone, seeking out adventures. Not planting roots.
He polished off the last of his tiramisu. Everything tasted so good, he hadn’t even measured his portions. He’d just taken whatever sized scoop Maria offered and finished every bite.
To his right, Jake’s plate was still half full.
“You okay, Jake?” he asked.
Jake shrugged. Ramin frowned. He wanted to rub Jake’s head the way Noah always did, but that seemed like a boundary not to cross. Instead he said, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t feel so good,” Jake muttered.
Noah, who sat on Jake’s other side, did start rubbing Jake’s hair.
“What is it, buddy?”
“My tummy hurts.” He swallowed. His face was turning red. “I think I have togo.”
eighteen
Noah
