Page 62 of His Reckoning

She smiles slightly. “Writers write.”

“That seems like a convenient explanation.”

Kayla finally closes the laptop, then looks at me again. This time, with open amusement. “You’re very curious tonight.”

“I’m evaluating possibilities.”

“Of what?”

I take a drink of water before I place the bottle down on the counter. “Of what might be inspiring your work.”

Her smile widens slowly. “Well,” she says lightly, “you were there. Use your imagination.”

For a second, the kitchen goes completely quiet. Kayla opens the laptop again and resumes typing like she didn’t just say something incredibly dangerous.

And for the first time all night, I realize something.

Kayla might know exactly what she’s doing.

* * *

My mother still insists on Sunday dinner. It doesn’t matter how busy the week gets or how many times I tell her I have work. Every Sunday at six o’clock, the entire family shows up at the house in Brooklyn, like we’re following some unwritten contract.

I park in front of the brownstone and shut off the engine, but I’m late … again.

When I walk in, the smell of garlic and tomato sauce hits immediately.

My mother appears in the kitchen doorway. “Finally.”

“Good evening to you too, Mom.”

Lucia Maccini crosses the room and kisses my cheek. “You’re late.”

“I had work.”

“You always have work.”

She waves a wooden spoon toward the dining room. “Everyone is already here.”

Of course they are. The dining table is full when I step in. My father sits at the head of the table, reading something on his phone.

Luigi Maccini built three restaurants into a small empire and still somehow manages to look like a man who just stepped out of the kitchen.

Cole is already halfway through a glass of wine.

He grins when he sees me. “Well, look who decided to show up.”

“You’re one to talk,” I say, taking the empty chair beside him.

“I was here on time.”

“Because you live ten minutes away.”

“That’s called good planning.”

Across the table, my sister Brooklyn rolls her eyes. “Please don’t start already.”

Hudson, my brother, leans back in his chair. “You’re lucky Mom didn’t start without you.”