Page 28 of Falling for Mr. October

“Theo’s been doing that.”

“And Theo’s a great guy, but he’s not personable with strangers. You know he’s probably spoken all of five words to him.”

I sigh, leaning back on the bench. “You’re not wrong. But there’s something else we haven’t taken into account.”

“Oh?”

“The nonnas. God only knows how they’re going to react when they find out. It sounds like Nonna Francesca all but dragged Giovanni out of Maine to get away from the attention. What’s she going to do here?”

“I wish we’d brought more seeds,” Emily says.

When I get home, Giovanni’s car is parked in the driveway, but there’s no sign of Theo’s truck.

Jesus Christ, he and the nonnas have been gone a while. What happened with this wagon they were supposed to buy, anyway? Was my brother taken in by hucksters who clubbed him and the nonnas over the head and buried their bodies in a shallow field?

Or maybe they got into a car accident at Nutgap Curve, the same place where Miles’s life changed forever, and ours along with him.

My brother wasn’t driving that day. But out of the three people in that car, he was the only one who came out alive. There’s a special kind of grief that comes from being the only survivor. I’ve seen it more times than I can count, especially when I worked in hospice. There’s no fairness in who lives and dies, impossible as that is to accept.

I pull out my phone and text my big brother:

Where ARE you? Don’t make me worry. You know what I’m like when I worry.

Then I send yet another text to Miles, which he’ll surely ignore. If he even has his phone.

CALL ME.

That done, I get out and approach my home, feeling strangely apprehensive about entering the House That Never Changes. But I’ve never let fear slow me down. If I did, it would never stop.

So I open the front door with more confidence than I feel, then nearly swoon at the scent in the air. It’s full of tomato and cheesy goodness. I’ve barely eaten anything today, and only just this moment remembered.

There’s a rustling sound in the kitchen, and I half expect Giovanni to come out the way he would in one of his videos—his chiseled chest revealed for the camera or perhaps hidden, barely, behind a half apron.

The thought makes my mouth dry.

I tried to act completely unaffected when I watched those videos with Emily and Luanne, but I’m only human. Giovanni has a beautiful body and a seductive way of talking about cooking.

I shake the thought away, instantly annoyed at myself, as the man himself steps into the foyer—fully clothed, which I try to convince myself is a good thing.

“Come in, please,” he says. “I’ll pour you a glass of wine.”

There’s an earnestness in his gaze, a need to please, so I bite back the retort that it’s my house, and I don’t need an invitation and follow him into the kitchen.

“Have you heard from your grandmother?” I ask as I peer through the window on the oven, trying to figure out what he’s baking without seeming too interested. “I’m getting worried. They should have gotten home by now.”

A furrow appears in his brow. “Should we go after them? Nonna likes to eat dinner right at five thirty. It’s not like her to be out this late.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I hold up a finger, signaling for him to wait as I fish it out.

“It’s Theo,” I announce, glancing at the screen.

Busted tire.

Nonna Francesca is standing over my shoulder while I change it, telling me what I’m doing wrong.

They didn’t sell the wagon to us.

The guy said the nonnas insulted him. I figured it could end with a brawl or I could take the loss and leave, so that’s what I did.