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Tony smiled. “Apology accepted.”
“Just like that?”
Tony laughed. “We’re almost forty, man. A lot of that shit happened nearly twenty years ago. Besides, according to Rhys, grudges give you wrinkles, though I doubt he has any medical research to back that up. He just says it to shut me up when I bitch nonstop about losing a bet over a hockey game to my brother, Joey.”
Matt hadn’t expected this to be so easy. “Brothers,” he joked, aware Conor was standing there listening. “Always bring out our competitive worst.”
“Hey,” Conor interjected.
The three of them laughed.
“Thank you,” Matt said sincerely to Tony.
“There you are!”
Matt turned, confused when an older woman barreled directly toward him.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the woman said.
“For me?” Matt asked, wondering who she was.
Tony offered the introduction. “Matt, this is my aunt Berta. Renzo’s wife.”
Shit.
“Mrs. Moretti,” Matt began, anxious to offer this apology as well. He hated knowing he’d caused Liza’s beloved aunt and uncle so many years of stress and worry.
“No, no, no.” The woman waved his words away. “Everyone calls me Aunt Berta.”
Matt didn’t have a clue if that was information or an invitation. He exchanged a glance with Conor, who shrugged, clearly as baffled as he was.
Before he could say more, the woman—Aunt Berta—was thrusting a covered tray into his hands. “These are for you. A batch of my homemade biscotti, fresh from the oven today.”
Matt stared down at the tray, wondering if he’d somehow slipped into an alternate universe. Or maybe he’d suffered a total mental break and none of this was real at all. “I don’t…understand.”
Aunt Berta linked her arm through Tony’s. “My nephews told me what you did.”
Matt glanced at Tony. If that was true, shouldn’t she be reading him the riot act rather than baking him cookies?
“Ms. Mor—” he started again, stopping when the woman raised one eyebrow. “I wanted to offer you an apology for…for my behavior. For causing your husband so much stress, for threatening his livelihood, his business.”
“You tore up that marker. You forgave the debt,” she said as if that was enough. Matt wasn’t sure it was. “My Renzo was a good man. I know he…” Aunt Berta batted away a tear. “I know he wasn’t perfect, but he was good. I wanted to thank you for not holding his weakness against our family.”
“Please don’t thank me,” Matt said. “I don’t deserve your thanks.”
“Nonsense. Now, I plan to stop by your office one afternoon this week with a pan of my lasagna. A good Italian boy like you? I bet you love pasta.” She didn’t give him a chance to answer, just kept plowing forward. “Does Tuesday work for you?”
“Yes, but you don’t have to?—”
“Perfect. I’ll bring some garlic bread as well. You can’t have lasagna without garlic bread,” she said, smiling widely. Then she stunned him even more by reaching out and hugging him tightly, whispering “thank you” once more before releasing him. “Tony told me where you work, so I’ll see you Tuesday,” she said, before returning to the party.
Tony snickered at Matt’s outright shock. “You might want to get used to that. Aunt Berta’s gratitude comes in the form of casseroles. Speaking of, I’m about to hit the buffet. Nonna made her eggplant parmesan. You might want to get over there and make a plate before my family devours it all.” And with that, Tony walked away.
Matt turned to Conor. “We’re in the twilight zone.”
Conor clearly agreed. “Yeah. FYI—I’m coming to your place Tuesday night for dinner.”
Matt laughed loudly, ready to tell Conor if the lasagna smelled as good as this restaurant did, he wasn’t inclined to share.
