“But I don’t want to forget it, not this time.”
“Look, I can’t exactly be angry about something you actually believe. At least you were being honest.”
“Stop it. Here’s what I believe. I think what you’re doing in this shop is great, and you’re clearly doing something that utilizes your talents. Ross, you’re lucky. And I-I feel like I’m still flailing around in life and it terrifies me. All I want is something certain I can hang on to, and I’m worried I may never find it. Or I’ll find it, and it will be just one more disappointment. And then what? That’s really all I was trying to express, and I, obviously, did it very poorly. It had nothing to do with you or what I think about you. And I respect you, so it’s the worst feeling in the world for you to perceive my problems as a slight against you. I never meant to do that, and I want you to believe me.”
If Mia had practiced this speech, she at least did a good job of sounding unrehearsed. He finally faced her, determined to keep this short and to the point. But when his gaze locked on her, it wasn’t the confident, sunny Mia he was used to seeing. Instead, this was a woman who was worn around the edges with tired, glossy eyes and disheveled hair pulled in a loose ponytail. She kept her eye contact with him steady, her brow lifting in sincerity.
Ross didn’t have enough energy these days to feel anything close to anger toward her, even during their awkward conversation a few days ago. The most he experienced was irritation, and he was more perplexed about this than anything else. Why did he care what she did? It was her life, her decision, and it didn’t affect his situation whatsoever. Yet, it bothered him a great deal knowing Mia was on her way to being trapped and unhappy.
“You’re making me nervous,” she said. “Have you finally succeeded in your goal of hating me?”
He sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand along his jawline. “No. But maybe this is really for the best. I have a business to run. You’re going to be leaving. So, what exactly are we doing here? Maybe you had it right from the start. Maybe the past really should be forgotten.”
Her face fell further, her frown deepening. “If you don’t want me to bother you anymore, I won’t.”
A charge of disappointment shot through him at these words, but he brushed it away and tried to dismiss it.
“But I would feel better if you gave me one last opportunity to make it up to you. Please,” she added, her lips lifting in hope.
“You don’t owe me anything, Mia. Trust me, you’ve done more than enough.”
She held up a pointer finger. “One thing, Ross, for old time’s sake.”
“What exactly do you have in mind?” He couldn’t help being curious. When was Mia not being intriguing?
“The Russo lasagna, my place.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. You always told us it was your favorite, and you certainly ate enough of it whenever we had it.”
Mia remembered. Ross had stated several times that lasagna night at the Russo’s had been one of his favorite things. He couldn’t deny it now. Since those days, he tried many other lasagnas, but none of them came close to Mrs. Russo’s. He should have declined the offer, but…
“How are we going to have this lasagna?”
“I’m going to make it.” Her delicate jaw locked in determination.
“You cook?”
“I’m perfectly capable of following a recipe, Rosso. And I did help once or twice.”
He tapped a finger on his desk. “No, I don’t think this is a good idea—”
“It’s just lasagna. Since when is eating a lot of lasagna a bad idea?”
“Right before going swimming or having sex,” he shot back.
Mia released a hearty laugh, returning a lightness inside the room. “Okay, well, I don’t have a swimming pool, and I won’t try to seduce you. So, unless you make other plans after you leave the old Russo place, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“What about your dad?”
“What about him?”
“He’s probably not going to want me there.”
Mia dropped her head back, her tongue making atsksound. “Good lord, Ross. He hasn’t seen you in ten years. I doubt he’ll remember you. Half the time, he can’t remember if he ate breakfast or not. Besides, I’m inviting you for Thursday, and he won’t even be there. He always goes to play poker at a buddy’s house after work. What else do you have?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to spend close, personal time with you.”
