"Carbonara."
"Damn. That woman could end wars with her cooking." Tyler shook his head. "If Nadia's smart, she'll at least stay for dinner. Sofia's carbonara is legendary."
He wasn't wrong about that either. Sofia had been feeding me since the day I moved into the apartment, refusing to let me eat "that garbage" from the supermarket deli. She'd taught me to appreciate proper food, the kind made with care and tradition.
The kind that reminded you family was more than blood.
"Back to work," Ethan called from across the job site. "We've got that inspection at two, and I want the framing finished before then."
I got back to work, but my mind kept drifting. To Nadia's bright green eyes. To the way she'd felt in my arms. To the fear on her face when she realized last night had meant something.
By lunchtime, I'd nearly nailed my hand to a stud. Twice.
"For fuck’s sake! Take a break," Ethan said, grabbing the nail gun from me. "Before you hurt yourself."
I sat on the tailgate of my truck, staring at my phone. Nothing from Nadia since she'd agreed to dinner. Part of me worried she'd change her mind, find an excuse to cancel.
The other part knew she'd show up. Nadia Becker wasn't the type to back down from a challenge, even when that challenge was an eighty-six-year-old Italian woman who'd doubtless interrogate her.
"You've got it bad," Cole observed, settling onto the tailgate beside me. The older man had been hanging out with the Lucky Break crew ever since his nephew, Zac, joined the team. No official role, just there when it suited him.
He'd known me long enough to have witnessed my lowest points. Defensive, angry, and convinced the world owed me something.
He'd been the one to tell me, in his blunt way, that nobody owed me shit. That if I wanted a different life, I had to build it myself.
"Yeah," I admitted. "I've got it bad."
"Is she worth it?"
I thought about that. About Nadia's laugh, her competence, the way she ran her business like a military operation. About how she'd looked at me this morning, scared but wanting.
"Yeah. She is."
"Then fight for her," Cole said. "But fight smart. A woman like that, she won't fall for grand gestures. She needs to see you show up. Day after day. Prove you're not going anywhere."
"I'm not good at that," I said. "Showing up. Being reliable."
"Bullshit." Cole's voice was sharp. "You show up for Sofia every day. You're here now. You showed up for yourself when you got out of lockup and could've gone right back to fighting. You know how to be reliable, Booth. You need to believe you're worth the effort."
His words hit harder than I expected. I'd spent three years proving I wasn't the screwup who'd ended up in jail. Three years of being the guy who showed up on time, did quality work, didn't cause drama.
But I'd never applied that effort to my personal life. Let no one close enough to require reliability beyond casual hookups.
"She thinks I'm going to hurt her," I mumbled.
"You might," Cole said, brutal in his honesty. "But you might not. The only way to find out is to try."
I spent the afternoon on autopilot, my mind already on dinner. At six-thirty, I headed back to the apartment to shower and change. Sofia's kitchen windows blazed with light.
She'd have been in full cooking mode since midafternoon. When Sofia cooked for guests, she threw herself into it with zeal. Everything timed to perfection, every dish a masterpiece.
I was pulling on clean jeans when the large, old-fashioned telephone screwed to the wall jangled, with a ring that could split my skull. I'd tried leaving it off the hook, but the warning tone was every bit as grating, and it only led to Sofia coming to see me in person.
"Yes," I said without preamble.
Sofia's response was just as no-nonsense. As far as my landlady was concerned, phone calls were for cutting to the chase. "Daemon, get over here. I need you to grate the cheese."
A second later, I was listening to dead air.
