When It Falls Apart (The D'Angelos, #1)(38)

“The condo?”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

Franny shuffled her feet, impatient with the grown-up talk. “Can we play?”

Brooke stood, dusted off her butt from the park bench dirt. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Don’t you want to play?” Franny asked. “It’s a lot of fun.”

Fun? That wasn’t a word in her dictionary these days. “I don’t want to impose.”

Franny narrowed her eyes, looked at her dad. “What’s impose?”

“It’s when someone thinks they’re interrupting,” Luca explained. “You’re not imposing,” he said to Brooke. The look in his eyes said he liked the idea of her sticking around.

“Do you know how to throw a Frisbee?” Franny asked.

“It’s been a long time.”

Franny turned and, with a bit of dramatic flair, poised herself to toss the Frisbee. “It’s all in the wrist,” she said as she threw her entire body into it.

The Frisbee sailed through the air perpendicular to the ground and rolled a good ten yards once it hit the grass. She ran off after it, leaving Luca and Brooke alone.

“You don’t have to stick around,” he told her.

“Trying to get rid of me?” she asked, teasing.

He turned to her, waited for her eyes to meet his. “No, bella, that’s not what I’m trying to do.”

Brooke’s Italian was limited to a dozen or so phrases and a few extra words, bella among them.

The endearment brought heat to her cheeks.

She decided a little bit of fun might be exactly what she needed. “I haven’t done this since I was a teenager.”

“It’s like riding a bike.”

“Why do people say that? The last time I tried riding a bike I nearly broke my head open.”

“Wear a helmet,” Luca suggested.

She laughed. “You’re such a parent.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“C’mon,” Franny yelled from across the park.

Luca put his hands in the air. “Throw it.”

She did, and the disk made it a little more level with the ground, but it didn’t go very far.

Luca picked it up and tossed it back, a steady arc that made it directly to his little girl.

“Throw it to Brooke,” Luca coached.

Putting her entire body into it, Franny tossed it.

Brooke didn’t need to worry about catching Franny’s throws. So far all of them had hit the ground rolling.

Holding the piece of plastic in her hand, Brooke leveled it a couple of times before attempting to toss it back to Franny.

Her throw was completely off and hit the ground as well. “I can see how this is going to go,” she announced.

A few more attempts and Luca stepped up beside her, placed the Frisbee in her hand, and walked behind her. “It’s all in extending the arm and the wrist in one motion and letting go.” His body pressed close to hers as he showed her the movement.

Not that she was paying attention.

The feel of his body molding against hers was right up there with turning on a light switch inside of her. His left-hand fingertips rested on her shoulder, the right hand held on to her as he guided her arm.

He smelled of an exotic blend of spice. Not cologne, or something fake . . . but spice. Maybe working in the kitchen all night long did that, or maybe it was simply the man.

“Brooke?” he called her name, breaking her out of her spice man thoughts.

She shook off the images in her head and made a couple of motions with her arm before Luca stepped back.

With him gone she could think.

Barely.

She tossed the Frisbee, following through, and the thing flew.

“You’re a quick study,” Luca announced.

“Sadly.” The word came out of her mouth without invitation. And as much as she’d hoped Luca hadn’t caught it, his grin said he did.

“Forget I said that.”

He shook his head. “Not possible.”

“Sh—”

Franny ran up, stopping the expletive midword.

“Are we playing, or what?”

Brooke’s eyes found Luca’s and they both smiled. “Oh, we’re playing,” he said.

She squeezed her eyes closed and couldn’t help but smile. God, it was good to just blush, flirt, and be a girl.

Brooke rubbed her hands together. “Okay, Franny. Let’s give your dad a run for his money.”

The girl wrinkled her nose. “What does that mean?”

Brooke laughed. “Let’s show him how well we can play.”

Franny understood that and ran back to where she’d been standing.

“No more lessons?” Luca asked.

Brooke pointed away from her. “Get on your side of the park, Machismo.”

She heard him laughing as he walked away.



Mari pulled in a long, deep breath.

The past few years had been some of the hardest she and the children had endured, outside of those that followed the death of her husband, Paolo D’Angelo.

Still, she was optimistic.

Her children were itching. All of them in their own way.