When It Falls Apart (The D'Angelos, #1)(53)

“Nonna does.”

“Why don’t you go get them, and you can read them to me and tell me what the words mean.”

Franny wiggled from her father’s arms. “Okay.”

And she was out the door.

Luca ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, cara. She told my mother she was going upstairs to do her homework. My mother thought that meant her own bedroom.”

“It’s okay. She’s an absolute joy.”

“Still, I know you have work to do.”

“I was almost done for the day. Trust me, it’s okay.”

Luca reached for her as he seemed to be getting used to doing, and Brooke let herself be pulled into his orbit once again. He’d come straight from the kitchen and smelled of spice and him. “You’re good with her.”

Brooke shrugged. “I like kids.”

He tilted her chin and grazed her lips with his own. “Thank you,” he whispered over them.

She kissed him this time . . . a little longer. “You’re welcome.”

He was trying to keep his distance . . . with his body anyway. But his lips were attached, and his hand grasped her arm for dear life. He drew away. “Your kisses are becoming my oxygen.”

“That doesn’t hurt to hear.”

His dark eyes liquefied with a moan.

Footsteps had them moving apart.

Franny walked through the door, looked at the two of them. “Hi.”

Brooke recovered first. “Did you find the books?”

“Yes.” Franny walked to the couch and sat.

Luca and Brooke exchanged glances.

As Brooke took her space beside Franny, Luca excused himself. “I see I’m not needed.”

“Nope,” Franny concluded without apology.

Brooke tried not to laugh.

“Dinner is at five thirty,” he said.

“I’ll make sure she’s home by then,” Brooke announced.

Luca backed out of the apartment, and his daughter opened a colorful Italian book designed for a toddler.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Mari had been friends with Rosa since they were both pregnant. Rosa with Dante, Mari with Giovanni. A few years later, Chloe arrived, and once the kids grew older, the mothers saw a possible match.

For years, they imagined their children growing up and falling in love, but alas, that wasn’t meant to be. Dante moved away almost immediately after graduating from high school to explore Europe, fell in love with sailing the Mediterranean, and was now chartering pleasure cruises for tourists off the Amalfi Coast.

When Mari and Rosa came together to have coffee, or wine—or pizza they secretly ordered from Filipes—they always spoke of their children. And other people’s children if theirs weren’t providing any gossip.

Today, the focus was on Luca.

“What do you know about this woman living in your home?” Rosa asked almost as soon as they had coffee in front of them.

“Brooke is a lovely girl. Well mannered. A delight with Francesca.”

“I hear she and Luca are getting close.”

Mari’s eyes widened. “Where have you heard that?” Though she’d sensed that was the case, she’d seen nothing herself.

“Dante told me.”

“How would Dante know?”

“Giovanni speaks with Dante all the time. According to my son, your Luca is not opposed to kissing Brooke in the stairs of your home.”

Mari lowered her coffee to her lap. “Why am I hearing this from you and not my own children?”

“They probably don’t want to excite you,” Rosa teased.

“Why not? We could all use a little excitement in our lives.”

Rosa clicked her tongue. “As if the last few years haven’t been exciting enough.”

“You know what I mean. Antonia was such a tragedy. Luca deserves someone loyal and caring like Brooke.”

“You rented to her with this in mind,” Rosa concluded.

“We know what’s best for our children.”

Rosa sat forward, lowered her voice. “Then how do we put Chloe and Dante in the same place once again?”

Mari raised her cup in her friend’s direction. “You need to drag your son home.”

“He’s been home many times, and each visit I think just maybe . . .”

Mari thought so, too. Their kids got along well, fought like brother and sister, but smiled at each other in a way that suggested perhaps there was more. Then again, they knew their mothers wanted to see a union. “One child at a time. Luca first. Francesca needs brothers and sisters. There were too many years between him and Gio and Chloe.” Not that she and her late husband hadn’t tried.

“I want grandbabies,” Rosa moaned.

“Nothing with Anna yet?”

“You would think my daughter was a nun.”

And the conversation switched.

But in the back of Mari’s mind, she congratulated herself on renting the apartment to the right woman.

Now all she needed to do was give her son and Brooke some time alone.

Hmmm . . .



Every Saturday, Little Italy hosted a farmer’s market that closed one of the streets and brought hundreds of people into their small section of San Diego.