Page 33

“You made it seem like trading the Jeep for the house was the only way out of my predicament. You tricked me.” I fold my arms tight. If I don’t, I might fight him in front of Tina.

“That’s the story you assumed, which is your fault,” he says.

My arms fall and flail. “That’s, that’s, that’s⁠—”

“Brilliant?” Gio studies his fingernails like he’s bored, but then he reveals a goading expression from under his thick lashes.

It turns out I don’t like being on the other side of this gag. I don’t like him imitating me to me. It’s the kind of thing I did to Jeanie when we were kids.

My lips twist. Would it be rude to kill him before dinner?

Why does he have to be this freaking gorgeous? Why can’t his insides match his outside? Then, at least, he’d resemble a bridge troll with crusty abs.

“You’re the worst,” I grumble.

“I eagerly await my punishment,” he says in a suggestive manner.

“You wish!” My jaw drops, but I snap it shut.

Before I can take this argument to the boxing ring, he falls into Tina’s hug.

I watch their interaction with confusion. They touch cheeks in greeting. It’s tender and sweet. Did he just tell her he misses her? There’s a closeness, like family. I angle my head and study them.

“Good to see you’re keeping each other sharp.” Tina’s shoulders jiggle on a laugh, like she’s thrilled with our outlandish banter.

I follow them through the eclectically decorated home, which Gio seems familiar with. Plants and jars of dried herbs line a wall of a sunroom. Another is filled with books, Hawaiian-patterned quilts, seashells, children’s photos, and a refrigerator covered in magnets holding up party invitations. It’s a cozy chaos.

On the back lawn, I try to keep my distance from Gio, but he continues to bump my shoulder with his, which I determine is not an accident.

He’s such a child!

Now my poor shoulder burns with the same intensity as my hand. The touch of him will not fade. I would say he’s slowly branding me, but it’s more likely that he’d rather burn me to death.

“I loathe you,” I whisper to him.

He chuckles like he enjoys the attention. I’m starting to wonder if he feels the same about our antics. For me, he’s the enemy. For him? Well, I’m not sure what this is for him. Does he think this is fun?

Is it fun? I shake off the ridiculous thought.

In the backyard, a group of kids, kindergarten-age to teenagers, sit on fold-out chairs inside a two-car garage. The ceiling is decorated with white fairy lights. A 1970s rock band sings about dreams in the background. A group laughs and claps as one little guy in a bright blue cape embroidered with shiny silver stars yuks it up with unbridled dance moves.

“Everyone, this is Amelia and Sophia,” Tina says, introducing us with a broad wave.

“You made it!” The group claps like they were expecting us. Like we’re the main event.

I wave back, feeling confused. But not Amelia. No, she’s tucked into the buffet, where she loads her plate with shrimp, poké, macaroni salad, and sweet bread rolls.

“These are my kids.” Tina names each child, along with their ages and interests.

On a quick head count, I land on a dozen. I’m ready to applaud Tina for her parental-juggling prowess.

“My hānai, or my fosters,” she says, clarifying.

“Oh.” My smile widens in understanding. My gaze flicks to Gio. Maybe he’s one of her fosters too.

“They’re well-loved, well-fed, and they make life amazing with a side of crazy.” She ruffles the hair of a pint-sized child as he passes.

“Will you adopt me, Sophia?” Jaz appears. She puckers her bottom lip in a pout.