24
SOPHIE
“The reuben is extraordinary,” I say, and I mean it.
Gavin lights up. “Flanagan’s has been feeding this neighborhood for 40 years,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been coming here my whole life.”
“Amazing.” I take another bite. “Sauerkraut is perfectly fermented. The grilled rye bread is obviously homemade. Mmm, just so good.”
Gavin laughs. ”You talk about food the way most people talk about people.”
“Foodispeople,” I say. “I can learn everything I need to know about someone from what they eat you and how they cook. It’s never just food.”
Outside, it’s grey with cold, and I breathe in a contented sigh looking at the Arsenal across the street. The glass has a warm amber glow, making it look exactly how it feels: like home.
“You grew up cooking?” Gavin asks.
“I grew uphelpingmy nonna cook. There’s a difference. She wouldn’t let me touch anything until I could tell her exactly what she was doing and why.” I smile. “I hated it at the time. Now I understand.”
“Smart woman.”
“The smartest I’ve ever known.” I set down my coffee. “Losing her was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced. Even harder than losing my uncle and contact with my cousins—and that was the worst.” I pause. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for a whole story.”
“I asked about your cooking,” Gavin says. “Thatisyour cooking.” He leans forward, forearms on the table. He has strong hands. “Can I tell you something without it sounding like a line?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You can try.”
“They don’t make women like you anymore.” He says it plainly, like it’s a fact. “I mean that genuinely. The way you think, the way you pay attention to every detail. How thoughtful you are. And of course you’re cooking—” He shakes his head and lets out a low whistle. “It’s extraordinary. You’re extraordinary.”
Startled by the compliment, I laugh. “That’s very kind. But if they made more women like me, the human race would go extinct.” He blinks and I wave my hand. “I’m not good at relationships with anything except food. It’s my greatest loveand my most demanding. I give it everything I have and then I have nothing left for—” I gesture vaguely at the rest of the world.
He laughs with me. “I don’t believe that.”
“You’ve known me for two months.”
“Long enough.” His phone buzzes on the table and he picks it up, a small frown crossing his face before he smooths it and sets the phone face down. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can try,” I say again.
“Your ex. Vin.” He watches my face carefully. “How long were you two together?”
Something in my chest pulls tight, then releases. I keep my expression neutral and reach for my coffee. “He was never an ex,” I say. “We were never together.”
Gavin’s brow furrows. “I thought—”
“People assume things.” I set my cup down. “We’re practically family. My cousin would say ‘family you have to tolerate,’ but I think of him more as a friend.”
Gavin makes a sound that is diplomatically close to a scoff. “Vin Demonio is a friend to no one but himself and his brothers. I’ve known him a long time. That’s not a criticism, it’s just the truth.”
I tilt my head slightly. “He has a good heart,” I say, and I mean it even as I say it, despite… well, despite everything. “He just has a lot of responsibility, and that doesn’t always leave room for niceties.”
“Well.” Gavin picks up his cup. “I hope he learns how to makeroom. He’s marrying my cousin, so I hope he’s as decent to her as he apparently was to you.”
My stomach turns over, but I say with as much conviction as I can, “He’ll make a good husband to her, I’m sure.” I’m proud of how believable I sound. I push my coffee away.
Vin came inside me twice in the last month, deliberately. He’s begged me to be with him, said things that he should only be saying to his fiancée. And he is marrying this man’s cousin.
Guilt settles in my chest like wet cement.
