“I know,” I say with a chuckle. “But you have a restaurant full of people downstairs, and I can’t face them by myself. I haven’t talked to her yet, but I’m pretty sure I heard your grandmothersaying something about ‘short shorts’ and ‘hot buns’ when I was down there the first time.”
Tina snorts a laugh and forces herself to sit up. “Nonna took a tour of the Spring Chickens facility today. Someone told her about the physical activity classes at the local gym, and they mentioned the tiny shorts the owner likes to wear.”
Recognition dawns on me, having heard similar phrasing every couple of days since I started the seniors’ fitness classes. “Miss Martha. The woman can’t get enough of my hot buns.” I shake my head. “My shorts aren’t even that short.”
Her eyes go comically wide and she looks side to side. “Okay, Daisy. You keep telling yourself that.” She places a hand on my knee and pushes herself up to standing. “Let’s go before my family breaks down the door. The curiosity has to be eating them alive by now.”
She’s unlocking the deadbolt before I take in what she’s said. “Wait a minute. Are you calling me Daisy Duke? From theDukes of Hazzard? That’s not even accurate, Tina. Daisy wore denim cut-offs. My shorts are a breathable blend of polyester and spandex. They’re specially designed for running and other athletic activities.”
She shakes her head and walks to the door, waiting for me to catch up before heading out of the apartment. My brain is occupied with one thought as I follow her down the stairs. When we reach the door to the restaurant, I can’t hold it in any longer. There’s something I desperately need to know. I stop her with a hand on her arm.
“Tina?”
“Yes, Nick?” She cocks an eyebrow in question, sending a rush of blood to my dick. God, I love her eyebrows.
“Are we talking Jessica Simpson’s Daisy Duke, or Catherine Bach’s? Because that’s a pretty important distinction.”
When she bursts into laughter before pulling the door open, my heart soars. I love hearing her laugh. It’s almost enough to distract me from the question at hand. I say almost, because I still need to know.
Jessica or Catherine?
Oh, shit. She doesn’t mean DaisyDuck, does she?
Nah. That can’t be it.
Daisy Duck doesn’t even wear shorts.
“Call Me The Nickmobile”
Tina
“That was delicious, Dad.I didn’t know you could cook like that. And look,” I add with a laugh. “You still have all your fingers.”
My father and I are in the back of Wings and Pizza washing up the last of the dinner dishes while the rest of our group heads across the street to the cornhole pitch. He keeps casting longing looks over there, but insists he wants to help me finish in the kitchen before trying his hand at cornhole. I think that Superhole footage he watched at Crow Bar earlier motivated him to add some activity to his life. And I’m at least sixty percentsure it’s not only because his number one hall pass plays the sport.
Dad chuckles and lifts his hands from the soapy water, giving his fingers a wiggle before submerging them again. “Thanks, sweetheart. It’s been so long since I cooked, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. But when your mother, Nonna, and aunts couldn’t tear themselves away from those young men, and you and that Nick fella were nowhere to be found, Wade and I realized we’d need to step in and get it done if we wanted to eat today.” He shoots me a sly glance before adding, “I thanked him for all the help he’s given you over the years. You and everyone else.”
I sigh.
I suppose that’s the best I can hope for when it comes to keeping Wade’s real identity a secret. Most everyone in Tuft Swallow knows he’s not exactly who he says he is, anyway. If his old gang were going to find him, I bet they’d have had no trouble doing it before now. Besides, despite his mild-mannered realtor persona, he’s still the old Gianni Scibetta underneath, and I have no doubt he could take care of himself if needed.
“Hey, Stan. Why don’t you let me help Tina finish up in here while you go play cornhole? I called my coach, former world cornhole champion Peter Harrelson, and he’s agreed to come give you all some pointers. I had to promise to never touch a bean bag again to get him to come, but after the disaster I made of my trophy case earlier, that’s an easy promise to keep.”
My dad’s eyes light up at the mention of Nick’s cornhole coach, and after dropping a quick kiss on my cheek, he’s out the door. Surprisingly, my dad is more impressed with the former world champion cornholer than he is with Nick, despite admitting to watching all of his fightsandhis stint as a professional wrestler. Stan Falcone is full of surprises today.
During dinner, Nick told us all about how his cornhole lessons culminated in the near destruction of some of his mosttreasured rubber ducks. Jared said Nick was almost ready to rush the little rubber guys to the hospital in Spitz Hollow for medical attention before he reminded him they’re not real. Nick threatened to increase Jared’s training if he didn’t confess to making that part up.
It was the first family dinner I’d attended in years where I wasn’t singled out for being the only Falcone child bucking tradition to follow her own path. Could the two teenage boys present have had something to do with that? Most definitely. Mom spent most of dinner convincing them to call her Nonna.
My own grandmother was giddy with the knowledge she finally had a great-grandchild old enough to call her Bisnonna, which she says sounds just enough likeBitchNonnato be funny. She was a little sad that my grandfather wouldn’t get to enjoy being called Bisnonno, but when she realized the two boys are old enough now that she may still be alive when they have kids, and she’d get to see my father calledBitchNonno, she cheered up. Did any of them care that Jared and Carson aren’t my kids, or even my foster kids? Not in the slightest. As soon as my family caught on that I’m seeing Nick (which he made a lot easier for them by pulling me into a passionate kiss the second we walked back into the restaurant), and that Nick is the boys’ guardian, my family brought them fully into the fold. As far as my mother is concerned, those two boys are Falcones now.
“You knew how much he would love that, didn’t you?” I ask Nick while placing the last of the dishes on the rack before sending them through the dish sanitizer. “Did you see his eyes when you first mentioned Peter during dinner? It wouldn’t surprise me if Peter took first place on my dad’s hall pass. You know, if it weren’t already laminated, that is.”
Nick narrows his eyes at me. “Do I want to know who his current number one is?”
I shrug. “Apparently, Shemar Moore has that honor. What I’d like to know is, when did Shemar oust Tom Selleck from the top spot? My dad’s been obsessed with that man’s mustache for literal decades.”
Nick shakes his head, then grins. “I kind of love your dad. I have Shemar’s number if he wants it.”
