Page 132 of Lucky Mother Pucker

“Oh damn, you made my favorite?” My stomach growls.

“Yup. Zuppa Toscana.”

I grab a hunk of toasted ciabatta bread, which Zoey pulled out of the oven right when I got to her house. I dip it into the broth and take a huge bite.

“Damn, that’s good.”

She laughs and shoves my shoulder. “No eating straight out of the crockpot.”

She hands me a giant bowl, and I ladle a massive serving into it. I sit down at one of the stools at the kitchen island and dig in.

She serves up a bowl for herself and sits down next to me.

“What do you think Nonna Maria would say if she knew that your favorite soup is an Olive Garden recipe and not authentic Italian at all?” Zoey teases.

I smile and shake my head.

“So how was the Halloween party last night? I’m guessing it was a rager given the fact that you waltzed in here an hour late smelling like cheap beer.”

I hold back a laugh. “You guessed right.”

“Did Lucy have a good time?”

“Yeah, I think she had fun.” I rein in my expression, hoping I don’t give anything away. After the lecture she gave me about hooking up with Lucy, I know she wouldn’t be happy to find out what happened between us.

“So, what’s Jeff up to today?” I ask, changing the subject.

I try to make my tone sound light. As much as I can’t stand the guy, I promised my sister I’d stop going after him.

“He’s at a job fair.”

“Oh. Good for him.”

She gives me a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. I hate how this exchange feels between us. It’s so fake. I don’t give a shit about Jeff, and she knows that.

But if that’s what it takes to keep the peace with her, I’ll do it. She’s my sister, and I hate fighting with her.

I inhale most of the soup in the crockpot, then help Zoey load the dishwasher.

She walks me to the front door and hugs me. “Thanks again for helping me move all that furniture.”

“Anytime.”

I head out the door and down the porch steps.

“Nice hickey, by the way,” Zoey hollers.

I stop walking and exhale sharply. Shit.

I turn around. My sister looks like she’s holding back a laugh as she points to the side of her neck.

“I’m guessing that’s from Lucy?” she asks. She sounds more amused than annoyed, which surprises me.

I think about brushing it off, but Zoey can always tell when I’m lying. I nod.

She shakes her head, but she’s smiling. Like she’s disappointed and amused at what an idiot her little brother is.

“It’s not what you think, Zoey,” I say. “I like her. A lot. More than I’ve liked anyone.”