Sex, Not Love(24)

The smell of sauce wafted through the air as we turned the corner to my mother’s block. Of course, this was Howard Beach, so almost every brick house in the neighborhood had an Italian family cooking sauce—or gravy, as most of them called it. But I could actually identify the smell of my mom’s sauce. My mouth salivated as we walked closer.

I used my key to let myself in. “We’re here! Sorry we’re late.”

My mother pursed four fingers together while she spoke. “The pasta is going to be overcooked.” She power-kissed both of my cheeks and then moved on to Izzy. “You’ve grown even more in the last few weeks. Now you have more room for meatballs. Come. You can lick the spoons on the cake I just made before you set the table.”

I followed the two of them into the eye of the storm, otherwise known as the kitchen. My two nieces were in highchairs, the one year old crying and the two year old banging a spoon against her plastic tray while yelling “Ma Ma Ma Ma” nonstop. My sister Alegra yelled hello while dumping sauce from a giant pot into a giant bowl. My sister Nicola screamed fuck while pulling bread from the oven—she’d apparently burned herself. And Mom began scolding her in Italian for her language.

Yep. I missed Sunday night dinners.

Jumping in, I grabbed glasses and napkins and started setting the dining room table. When I went back into the kitchen to grab plates, the doorbell rang.

“Will Francesca ever remember her key?”

“Your sister isn’t coming. She’s in Jersey for the weekend, down at the shore,” Mom mumbled. “I hope she brought sunscreen.”

“Well, that makes setting the table a lot easier.” My sister Francesca had an array of obsessive-compulsive behaviors, one of them being symmetry and orderliness. It took her over an hour to fix the table after someone else set it on Sundays. Growing up, I’d shared a room with her, which was how I became interested in cognitive behavioral therapy to begin with—not that she’d let me work with her or even go see a different therapist.

The doorbell rang again.

“Natalia, go answer the door.”

“Why? It’s probably just someone who wants to save our souls.” I turned to Alegra. “On second thought, you should probably get it. Your soul needs saving, floozy.”

Mom barked, “Go get the door, Natalia. That’s our guest. Don’t keep him waiting.”

“Our guest?”

“Go! And brush your hair before you answer the door.”

I shook my head, but headed to the front door anyway. If Bella Rossi said jump…

The peephole was so damn high, I had to stand on my tippy toes and crane my neck to the sky. A man stood on the top step of the stoop, facing the street. From the back, he looked damn good in his jeans. Maybe I should have fixed my hair for the Jehovah’s Witness after all. Wait? Do Jehovah Witnesses have premarital sex? I smirked to myself. I really need to get laid. I’m checking out the religious solicitor standing on the stoop next to a statue of the Virgin Mary at my mother’s house.

With a smile still on my face, I opened the door. “Can I help you?”

The man turned, and my breath caught in my throat. I blinked a few times, but it didn’t change the face in front of me—the gorgeous face with a smile that slowly curved into something wicked.

“What…what are you doing here?”

“Your mother invited me for dinner.”

I’d forgotten whose number I’d punched into his phone when I last saw him in California a month ago. “My mother?”

“Yes. You accidentally gave me Bella’s number instead of yours, remember?”

Oh. My. God. I’m going to kill my mother. I’d given Hunter the number as a joke, figuring he’d take the not-too-subtle hint. And if not, I’d been sure Mom would send him running the other direction. She couldn’t talk to a single man for three minutes without mentioning that her daughter Natalia needed a husband and babies.

I was utterly and completely bewildered to see Hunter standing at my mother’s door. “My mother invited you, and you flew across the country for her sauce?”

“I had business in New York this week, and Bella thought it would be nice for us to see each other again. I figured since I was here, it would give you an opportunity to rectify your mistake in giving me the wrong number. Again.”

“I think you might be a little insane.”

My mother startled me when she flung open the door that had swung partially closed behind me.

“Ah, you must be Hunter.” She stepped forward and kissed both his cheeks. “So nice to meet you. Why are you still standing outside? Did my rude daughter forget her manners? Come in. Come in.”

I hadn’t moved since I’d opened the door. Hunter stepped around me into the house, pausing as he passed. He leaned down and kissed my cheek, then whispered in my ear, “I’ll take a proper kiss hello later.”

***

I still couldn’t believe Hunter was in New York, much less sitting at the head of my mother’s dining room table. Everyone’s hands were joined and our heads bowed to say grace, which gave me the perfect opportunity to stare at him without being caught. God, he was so damn handsome. Dangerously so. As my mother prayed to the Holy Mother Mary, I found myself thinking what it would be like to be underneath this man. Bella would spend a week in church praying for my soul if she knew the thoughts I was thinking during her prayer.