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They high-fived each other while Jules looked on indulgently. How lucky was she to have such cool elders in her corner.
“Now, as for the dating,” Jack said, directing his hard fraternal gaze back at her. “Sweetheart, no one’s good enough for you but if you find someone who makes you happy and he’s not a complete pillock, then I suppose I’ll have to get on board.”
She ducked her head to look under the table, then picked up a frosted glass candle holder and turned it over. “What have you done with my brother?”
He chuckled. “Look, you’re an adult and you have to make your own way. You were always an amazing girl, but since you’ve come to Chicago I’ve watched you grow into an amazing mother and woman. And I know you hate how in touch I am with my feminine side”—he slid a withering glance at Shane who had laugh-snorted at that—“but I’m not going to apologize for loving the crap out of my sister. And loving you means having to respect that you might be able to make your own decisions. In all things.”
She swallowed past a lump as large as a side of beef in her throat. “So you’re not going to go all Cro-Mag when I bring home the ex-con with a latex fetish and mommy issues?”
Her brother slid a dark look to Shane then wheeled it back to her.
“Youwoulddo that to piss me off, you cheeky mare.” The sound of their laughter covered her too-fast heartbeat.
Shane raised an astute eyebrow. “What about Tad? Isn’t he the guy you want to bring home, Jules?”
She hoped her swallow didn’t sound as loud as it felt in her throat. True, the only guy she wanted to bring home was the one who was the very definition of home. He had been since the moment she stepped into the kitchen at DeLuca’s Ristorante and made the first decision to change her life for the better.
With Tad, she had found a soul connection that should have been strong enough to break free of all that held them back. But sometimes we come to enjoy the cozy confines of the cages we’ve spent so long building. Tad’s faith in her had given her wings; she only wished he could let her do the same for him.
“Tad and I aren’t going to work out. We’re better as friends.”
Concern furrowed Jack’s brow. “Did he hurt you, Jules?”
“No,” she lied. “He just hurt himself.”
Thirty-Seven
Tad pulled up outside Casa DeLuca on the Harley, his stomach rumbling with what he wished was hunger but what was more likely a case of sour grapes. Lili had warned him but he had to see for himself.
Quietly, he let himself in the front door and made for the kitchen, but instead of heading outside, he watched the gathering around the big picnic table through the window that faced the backyard. They had a full house today, all the usual suspects and one special guest.
Simon St. Fucking James.
He was one of a cozy pair of bookends with Jules on the other side and Evan in the middle. The wily little prick said something over Evan’s head and her soft, musical laugh wafted over the unseasonably warm May breeze through the open window. Tad felt it like a chef’s knife to his heart.
Demon threw his dino-giraffe on the ground and Jules stood up to retrieve it, giving him the full picture. She had pulled her hair into a top knot like you might see on a dolled-up poodle. Her oversized tee hung off one perfectly round shoulder, a streak of something pea-green—probably peas—cutting a path across one breast. Peeking below the shirt’s hem were the white ravels of cut-off denim shorts, frayed over her creamy thighs. The whole image should have been fairly nondescript, but in Tad’s eyes, she was so fucking beautiful.
He lifted his hand in a wave but Evan chose that moment to screech for the damn toy and she turned back to the table without seeing his greeting. For the briefest moment, he questioned if he was even here. He felt oddly insubstantial, strangely transparent. Talk and chatter continued, all that vitality moving on and around him. His life for the last ten years had been like this—an ebb and flow, where he would sometimes pull up to the shore only to have his progress ripped from under him by the greedy surf.
Simon now bounced Evan on his knee, making the kid giggle while Jules looked on indulgently. Tad recognized that look. She was happy—cautiously so, but happy all the same. They had created a bundle of life together, and no matter the guy’s sins, he was still Evan’s father. An unbreakable bond of blood and genetics. And Tad was still his parents’ son.
Doing the right thing had never felt so wrong.
Frankie bustled in, barely looking at him, and wrenched the fridge door open. She pulled out a large ceramic bowl ofzabaglione.
She pushed a plate of washed strawberries toward him with a knife. It was a move she tried every now and then, as if his hands would start chopping involuntarily, somehow possessed by muscle memory. Every time she did it, he ignored it, and every time he did that, she sighed deeply like the Italian mama she was.
“How is business?”
He curled his hand around the butt of the chef’s knife and started to bisect the ruby-pink fruit.Watch your fingers, Taddeo.
“TheTasty Chicagoreview is going to be bad but we’ll survive it.”
She nodded her understanding. As the wife of a restaurateur, she’d suffered her fair share of poor reviews over the years. Nothing was so bad they couldn’t bounce back from it.
“How did you spend the day?”
He focused on his knife work.Be one with the knife.It kept him from shaking.
