Mia dropped her face into a palm, her hair falling forward over her face. “I know. There’s a lot that goes into a lasagna, plus I made the meat sauce from scratch.”
“Mia, you didn’t need to go to all this effort.”
She slid her gaze to him. “I wanted to make sure it wasthelasagna. That it tasted exactly the same, and if it doesn’t…” She shrugged her shoulders in what she hoped was a carefree response because they were talking about lasagna, after all. She didn’t want to appear too dramatic. “Well, as Grandma Russo would sometimes say,Tutto finisce a tarallucci e vino.” Mia did her best imitation of her tiny Italian grandmother with the tips of her fingers pressed together, striking through the air. “Which means it all ends with cookies and wine, and everything will be fine. But that assumes your version of fine is not eating the inevitable, disgusting lasagna I made and pigging out on cookies and wine instead.”
“Did you finally learn to speak Italian?”
“Nope, but I still know those swear words. I’ve been using them all afternoon. I noticed you didn’t ask about Spanish.”
He gave her an amused look, clearly also remembering their old library conversation. “¿Tú hablas español?”
“I may have forgotten most of it since high school,” Mia said.
“Aw, so both Spanish and I got the shaft on your memory real estate. Maybe I shouldn’t feel so bad.”
“Shut up, Rosso.” She laughed, slapping him lightly with the apron in her hand.
He managed to snag it and used his grip on the apron to pull her closer. His dark eyes were warm burning embers again. “Well, what do you want to do while we wait?”
She considered lassoing Ross around the hips with her apron strings and—
Stop. She promised him she’d behave herself. “I don’t know,” she replied lightly.
“Your dad wouldn’t approve of us doing nothing. I feel like I should have my backpack and be sitting at the dining room table with a school book.”
“The Odyssey?”
“I actually finished it, on my own, a couple years ago.”
“If you read every word twice, it means you’ve read it one more time than I have.”
“That’s right,” Ross said. “And I’m trying to learn Spanish.”
Impressed, her eyebrows rose. “You’ve become quite a fascinating man, Ross Manasse.”
“You’re not the only one who likes a challenge.”
They smiled at each other, the second hand on the kitchen clock ticking slower as the moment eased to a stop. The motivation to behave herself was beginning to crumble.
The timer went off.
A flutter of anxiety ran through Mia’s veins at the arrival of Lasagna Judgment Day. “Okay, I guess it’s time.” She grabbed pot holders, cracking the oven door. She offered a silent plea to her Latina mother and all her Italian ancestors in the hopes nutmeg was the correct ingredient. She could useallthe heavenly help available. She retrieved the glass casserole dish with the browned, bubbled cheese and curling steam wafting above it. As she set it on the stove, Ross drew nearer, hovering close enough for her to catch the wonderful spicy scent emitting from his form. Mia grabbed a handful of fresh-cut herbs, finishing the top with a generous sprinkle. “Buon appetito.”
“That is probably the best-looking lasagna I’ve seen in a while.”
Her chest inflated with a cotton candy swirl of happiness at his words. “Hopefully, it tastes as good as it looks.” She scooped large portions onto white plates, and they ate standing beside each other at the granite-topped island in the center of the kitchen. They weren’t digging into their dinner long before it was necessary to cool their mouths with a glass of cold water. The pasta was scalding. It was a good thing Mia wasn’t planning on using her tongue for anything else. Anyway, she was too busy keeping her emotions in check, because the recipe had not failed Mia. Her mother was still here. And nobody cried over a plate of lasagna without looking ridiculous.
She stole a glance at Ross, who appeared to be in his own spiritual food moment, his lasagna portion half-eaten at this point. He stopped when he noticed her attention. “Never thought I’d be eating the Russo lasagna again. You did good, Mia.”
She bumped his shoulder with her own, her optimism restoring itself, and with Ross here to share it with made it an extra bonus. “Maybe next time I can do it without bringing down the whole kitchen.”
“Baby steps,” he replied. “You don’t want to push for the impossible. You’re clearly not Little Miss Perfect, after all.
She smiled at the teasing, the feeling of absolute delight tested the boundaries of her heart. Was it possible Rosso and Russo had found their way to how it used to be?
He broke eye contact, returning his focus to the lasagna on his plate. “Can I ask you something?” he said after a few moments of silent eating.
“Sure. Are you going to ask what the secret ingredient is in the lasagna? I don’t spill my secrets easily, Rosso.”
