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I honestly hadn’t even really picked up on a particular tone. But, apparently, there had been one because Milo looked appropriately chastened.
“Sorry, Ma.”
“Yeah yeah. You better be. Here. Take this,” she said, shoving a platter of what looked like caprese skewers at her son. “Put it on the table with everything else. Here. Take this lovely young lady with you. He’s handsome, is he not, my son?” she asked, making Milo look immediately horrified. “Stubborn as the day is long, mind you. But the right woman could knock some sense into him. She’s pretty, isn’t she?” she asked, and it was my turn for my cheeks to warm up.
“Beautiful,” Milo agreed, and there was a hint of what I bet was a deep well of charm on his face when he shot a wink at me. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Oh, sorry. Josie,” I said, going to give him my hand, but Adrian plopped a platter of penne vodka into it instead.
“Yes. Yes. Good. Talk. But walk and talk. Lots of hungry people here,” she added, shooing the two of us.
“So, you met my mom,” Milo said, smirking as I fell into step with him, letting him be the one to shoulder through the crowd like his mother had done. “As far as she is concerned, we might as well be married,” he added, making an awkward laugh bubble up and escape me as we moved into the dining room that was clearly still under construction. In fact, there was no actual dining room table, just a sheet of wood draped over two wooden sawhorses.
The walls themselves had spots of spackle that had been sanded down, but nothing had been painted over them yet. I found myself wondering what Matteo had planned for the color scheme, if he had even thought of such things. Most people just went room by room, picking colors, instead of making a palate for the whole house.
“This is a lot of food,” I said, looking at the spread before me. And there was more to come.
“This?” Milo asked, looking genuinely confused. “Oh, right,” he said, giving me a devilish little smirk as he leaned closer. “You’re not from a big Italian family who shows love with baked pasta and too much cheese.”
“I am not,” I confirmed.
“Well, then as the closest, and clearly most handsome,” he started, leaning down a little like we were having the most intimate of conversations, “of guides, please allow me to explain to you how to get the most pleasant dining experience here,” he said. It was abundantly clear to me that Milo did not need his mother’s help to find pretty girls to charm. “First and foremost, the size of—“ he started.
And then he got cut off by another male voice.
One that was becoming a little too familiar—and a little too welcome—to my ears.
“Josie?” he called, making my belly flip-flop at the sound of my name on those annoyingly appealing lips of his. “I thought that was you,” he added, emerging from between two bodies.
He looked good, too.
I mean, he always did.
But I hadn’t seen him in a few days.
That whole sight for sore eyes phrase tried to make its way across my mind before I reminded myself that he was absolutely the last person I needed to be thinking those words about.
“Oh, ah, yeah. I was coming to find you,” I said, shaking my head in apology.
“But then Ma got her hands on her,” Milo explained. “And the next thing you know, she’s doing chores.”
“Sounds like Aunt Adrian,” Matteo agreed, eyes warm, clearly fond of the woman. And, really, was there anything about her not to be fond of?
“And then I, of course, saw a chance and took it,” Milo said, shooting me soulful eyes that I absolutely would have fallen for if I didn’t find myself a little more concerned about Matteo Grassi’s eyes. “I didn’t realize she was taken.”
“I’m not. Taken, that is,” I blurted out, then winced at my own awkwardness.
What was wrong with me?
I was good with people, with parties.
It was why I went into the profession I was in.
“Well then,” Milo said, moving a little closer. “Please excuse us while I show the lady the best dishes to sample.”
Matteo shot Milo a smirk that said while he appreciated his young cousin’s confidence, that he was not going to do that.
“Josie,” he said, head ducking down as he looked at me. “Can I help you with something?” he asked.
“Oh, right. Yes. Actually,” I said, giving Milo a smile because the guy was charming and I had to appreciate his self-assurance, “I do have to talk to your cousin about something,” I told him, tone a bit apologetic.
“No worries. I will be here. Pining for you,” he said, even as his gaze slid across the party, likely looking for a woman—any woman—who he wasn’t related to.
