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Fuck. I’ve never in my life longed to see a girl again after a date. Hell, I didn’t even do dates. There was something different about Gabi Mandola.
Something very different.
Pulling my jeans on, I got to planning out the day with Gabi. First stop, Woodland Park. I couldn’t wait to show Gabi my favorite hiking trails.
My doorbell rang and I froze.
Shit.
Maybe if I stood here and was really quiet.
It rang again and then my phone went off.
Mama: Your truck is here. Wake up!
Groaning, I sliced my fingers through my hair and headed to the door. Opening it, my mother pushed in.
“First you don’t come to the family dinner the other night, then you don’t answer your phone yesterday or last night.”
“I was working, Mama.”
“Hmph. That job of yours, it scares me and keeps you from the family.”
Pulling the T-shirt over my head, I replied, “I love my job.”
“What you need is to not love that and find you a nice Greek girl to settle down with and love.”
My heart seized. Surely if my mother accepted Kilyn into the family, she would Gabi.
Wait. What am I even saying? No. Relationships are not my thing.
But if I dated an Italian girl, how would my mother feel? All hell broke loose when my youngest brother Thano fell in love with Kilyn, an Irish girl.
“I brought you some moussaka. I’ll put it in the refrigerator for later.”
“How’s Pa?”
With a grunt, my mother answered. “Grumpy. He wants to go on a trip. See the world he says.”
“That sounds like a great idea. Why don’t you?”
She turned and glared at me. “I have a feeling there is something about to happen. Something big.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “R-really? Like what?”
With her eyes narrowed at me, I took a step back. “I think Kilyn is pregnant. That girl is so damn stubborn. It’s the Irish in her. But I see the glow on her face.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and laughed at myself. It wasn’t like my mother was a psychic. There was no way she’d know about Gabi.
“What. Is. This?”
Jerking my head up, I saw her holding the Tupperware container that Gabi made for me.
“Food.”
Her head slowly turned to the side. “I know it’s food. It’s homemade food and not in one of your containers. Who made it for you?”
Holy shit. My mother new the type of food containers I owned? That was almost borderline crazy.
No. It was crazy.
“A friend.”
Her lips pursed as she casually nodded her head. “This is Italian food, Nicholaus. You missed family dinner for Italian food made by a . . . friend?”
“No, Mama. I missed family dinner because I was working.”
She glanced up. “That’s right, Oliver said you were delivering some warrant or something dangerous.”
Moaning, I blew out a frustrated breath. “You cannot keep calling my sergeant when I miss family night. I’m a grown man. And I can like other food besides Greek.”
“Who is she?” Her hands went to her chest as if I had mortally wounded her.
“W-what?”
“The girl who cooks you this . . . this . . . food!”
“What makes you think it’s a girl, Mama?”
“It isn’t?”
I was at a crossroads. Did I lie to my mother? Or tell her the truth.
“Liam’s wife made it and had leftovers. That’s all.”
A look of relief swept over her face.
Shit. I’m going to hell.
I had never lied to my mother.
Okay, that’s a lie.
Opening the lid, she smelled it. “Ugh. Too much basil, my goodness. Poor girl needs to go to cooking school. Italians. I swear.”
I watched as she opened my garbage and banged the dish on the side. Sending my heavenly delight into the trash.
Stumbling back, I asked, “Why would you throw perfectly good food away?”
Holding up the moussaka, she grinned. “This is good food. That . . . that was nonsense. Make sure you eat this today. Now, your brother Thaddeus and Phoebe are planning a baby shower. The whole family will be there. A week from tomorrow. I have the perfect girl I want you to meet.”
“Mama, please don’t set me up with anyone.”
She held up her hand. “Shh! You are thirty years old, Nicholaus. Your sperm is growing weaker by the day.”
My mouth dropped open. What had I done in my life to deserve this?
“Aunt Maria’s niece from Greece will be there. Her name is Aphrodite. You know what that name means in Greek?”
Rolling my eyes, I nodded. “Mama, I’ve met her a dozen times. And yes . . . it means Greek goddess of love.”
“Equal to the roman goddess Venus.”
Why was she bringing that up?
“She is probably a good lover, unless you have tested those waters with her. I know you like your women, Nicholaus.”
My hands raked down my face. “Mama, why do you go there?”
“Don’t be ashamed of your sexuality. Greek men are very proud of that. Take your father for instance.”
