Chapter 20

After work, Iarrive in Fiore's kitchen and cross to the sink to wash my hands. Fredo nods hello to me while he kneads dough on the counter. Nonna and Fiore stand on the opposite side of the kitchen, conversing in Italian while they chop fresh herbs from Nonna's garden.

"Ciao."

"Ciao, Summer. Sono così felice che tu sia venuta. So glad you're here." Fiore wraps me in a hug. I kiss Nonna's cheek and settle in next to her at the counter.

"Today, we are making Bolognese sauce. Ragù Bolognese. It's Renzo's favorite." Fiore winks at me.

"Uh yes, I remember you told me that."

"I've already made the pasta. That will be a lesson for another day. We use tagliatelle, flat broad noodles with our ragù here." Fiore passes me an onion, celery, and carrots. "First, we start with these three vegetables that make up the battuto. We sauté them in butter, and that's what makes up the soffritto, sí?"

My head is spinning with all the different names Fiore is throwing out. She hands me a cutting board. "You can chop them up. The soffritto is the base for most pasta sauces. It's a very important step."

I nod and grab a sharp knife out of the woodblock. I watch Nonna expertly chop herbs. "I don't think I'll be as fast as you two."

"Non c'è problema."

I repeat the phrase meaning, no problem, and Nonna nods approvingly.

"What have you decided about your time here? Are you still planning on leaving at the end of summer?" Fiore asks, opening a can of tomato paste.

"I—"

"You must stay at least past Ferragosto! We all go on holiday to the seaside together."

"That sounds lovely, but I'm not sure of my plans yet. My boss is letting me work remotely until we start a new project in September." I frown, chopping the carrots. I can't imagine Lorenzo would want me going on his family vacation.

"La vita è come una fotografia. Se sorridi, viene meglio," Nonna says.

Fiore chuckles. "Nonna said, life is like a photograph. If you smile, it comes out better."

"Goditi la tua vita." Nonna motions to me.

I repeat the phrase and Fiore smiles warmly before translating. "Enjoy your life, Summer. Vivi il momento presente! Live in the moment."

"Nonna is right." I smile and slice the onion in half. "Goditi la tua vita."

"Bene." Nonna tilts her head. "Ferragosto, sí?"

I chuckle, knowing I'm being railroaded once again by Nonna Rossi. "Sí."

"You're nothing like Gabriella, Summer. I think you should know that," Fiore says softly. "She hated cooking, hated the farm, and would never go with us to Ferragosto."

"Oh, Ren and I are just friends—"

"Sí, Gabriella was weak." Nonna whacks a tomato while she talks over me. "You are sole e sorrisi, sunshine and smiles. She was never happy here. She wanted the finer life, and being an olive farmer's wife was beneath her."

"Sí." Fiore nods. "She couldn't accept Lorenzo for what he was destined to be."

"That's a shame," I say, sad for Lorenzo, but also feeling slightly uncomfortable that we're talking about him and his ex-fiancée. By the pool with Fiore, I was curious, but I feel like a gossip with Nonna here.

"She would never have come in here to cook and chat with us." Fiore frowns.

"Really? I think this is the highlight of my week." I smile, and Fiore wraps me in a side-hug.

"Sole e sorrisi." Nonna smiles. "Ferragosto, sí?"

I chuckle and chop the garlic. "Sí, Nonna."

"Bene, piccolina."

Fiore and Nonna speak in Italian, translating words for me, and I repeat them while we spend the next hour making the Bolognese sauce. At one point, Stella comes in, tastes the sauce and kisses her fingertips, just like I've always pictured Italians doing after they try something delectable.

It's nice laughing and talking with the three generations of Rossi women. Something I never had growing up. I think back to my grandmother, who worked until she was seventy-five at the diner down the road from our small house. She had to take care of me and her wayward daughter, who couldn't or wouldn't hold down a job.

I'm so grateful Grams took us in and provided me with stability. It wasn't an easy life for her. I've played it safe for so long, afraid to go against the grain and turn into Barbara, but I don't want to end up working until the day I die like Grams. She would want me to smile for the photograph and be happy.

Fiore's laugh brings me back to the present moment. "Ah Renzo, glad you came down from your stuffy office! Taste what Summer made."

He lifts an eyebrow and removes his suit jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. How can a man's forearms be so sexy? He tastes the spoonful of sauce shoved in his face by his sister. "Molto buono, Summer."

My stomach twists with pleasure over his compliment. "I have excellent teachers."

"Perhaps you'll want to stay and learn more about our Italian culture." Nonna winks before she pushes past us. "You should take her to Rome and Florence, Renzo."

"I did promise to take you to Florence." He leans against the island and folds his arms over his chest, his lips curving into a smile.

I mimic his pose and stand in the cramped galley across from him, holding a bottle of Rossi Olive Oil.

His eyes flicker to the bottle and then back to me. We stare at each other, the chatter and banging pots in the crowded kitchen falling away. I get lost in the gold flecks in his eyes. I imagine him picking me up and setting me on the counter, slowly peeling off my clothes, dropping kisses to my fevered skin, tasting me like I'm one of Fiore's desserts.

His tongue would start at my navel, torturously licking his way…

A clattering of pans breaks the spell Ren has me under. I clench my thighs together. He leans forward and takes the bottle out of my hand, putting it safely down on the counter.

"It's bad luck to spill olive oil." His husky voice zips over my skin like wildfire burning out of control. Desire drips between us like a hot, humid night.

"Woo! Qualcosa ha preso fuoco qui! Something is on fire in here! I'm getting hot and bothered just looking at you two." Fiore raises her eyebrows and fans her face. "I wish someone would look at me like that. Scorching!"

Lorenzo rubs a hand across his jaw and shoots his sister a scathing glare as heat spreads across my already-flushed cheeks.

"Non mettermi in imbarazzo, Fiore. I've got to head back to the offices. Save me some of this for dinner, per favore. I'll be working late." He kisses Nonna and Stella's cheeks before he strides out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

"I embarrassed him." Fiore chuckles and turns to me, waggling her eyebrows. "Would you like to deliver his dinner later, Summer?"

"Uh, no, I'm good." I bite my cheek while Stella, Nonna, and Fiore stare at me with big stupid grins on their faces.

I wonder how to say, I'm screwed, in Italian.