Family Ties (Morelli Family 4)

“Good.”

“Do you have a maid?” she asks, like that’s a normal thing to expect.

Grinning, I shake my head. “I don’t.”

Her eyes light up. “Do you cook and clean?”

It’s a little amusing how this delights her. “I’m capable of both. I don’t want to set your panties on fire or anything, but I also do my own laundry.”

Playfully fanning herself, she says, “Too late.”

When we got to the kitchen, I realize I left her flowers lying on the counter. I’d been lost in thought when she got here and I forgot to grab them.

I sweep them up now and turn to face her, offering them. “For you.”

“You have spent way too much money on hydrangeas today,” she tells me, taking them and bringing the bouquet closer to her face. She closes her eyes as she breathes in their scent, then she sighs with pleasure. “Thank you,” she adds.

“You’re very welcome.”

“No one’s ever bought me flowers before,” she tells me, looking down at them, grinning. “And you’ve really set the standard today. I pity the fool who has to follow you.”

Yet again she mentions the asshole after me, and I like it even less this time. “You should pity him for more reasons than that.”

“Oh yeah?” she asks, moving closer to the center island where I’m leaning. “Why else should I pity him?”

“He’s moving up my hit list at an alarming speed. You mention him again, he’s hitting the top three.”

“You can’t be jealous of my imaginary next suitor,” she tells me. “That’s unreasonable.”

“Then I’m completely unreasonable, because I already want to beat his imaginary ass.”

That makes her laugh. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, he’s probably never going to exist. I don’t really date—ever.”

That actually doesn’t make me feel any better, because I don’t want her to be lonely, either.

Damn, what a weird mix of feelings.

“You shouldn’t deprive the populace of your company.”

“Or my cupcakes?” she teases.

My gaze drops to her cleavage again. “Definitely not your cupcakes.” Then I frown. “On reflection, the cupcakes are all mine. Maybe your next boyfriend can be a nice gay guy—in the closet, a lot in common with you, a great friend, but he doesn’t want to fuck you.”

Francesca laughs. “So you can? I’ll cheat on my beard boyfriend with you?”

“Hey, this plan has merit,” I tell her, only half-joking. “How do you feel about dating Mark? He’s not gay, but he wouldn’t fuck you, and I could have an excuse to bring you around all the time.”

“I’m definitely not dating Mark.” She rolls her eyes again, finally not about me. “He was talking about Entourage at the bakery today. What kind of douchebag did you send me?”

I roll my eyes, as if in agreement. Mark better not have left the movie case on my TV stand. “Yeah, gross. Who would ever watch that stupid show?”

She shakes her head like she can’t begin to guess, and I consider that this is the first time I’ve ever wanted to impress a woman.

“When was your last date?” I ask her.

“Ages ago,” she tells me, fiddling with the paper on her flowers. “You don’t have a vase I could put these in, do you?”

“I do not. Sorry. I should’ve thought of that.” Watching her face, I ask lightly, “Did your ex watch Entourage?”

Her eyes roll, but with real irritation, not the playful, indulgent way she usually rolls them at me. “No, he probably watches snuff films.”

“Jesus,” I mutter, raking a hand through my dark hair.

“He’s a psychopath. Like, people call my brother a sociopath, but he’s… there’s nothing human in him whatsoever. I sound like sour grapes, but I’m not exaggerating. He probably really does watch snuff films. He probably makes them himself and gets off on them.”

I feel a little sweat break out on my forehead, just thinking of Francesca ever being with someone like that. Wouldn’t that have been dangerous? Didn’t Mateo know? What the fuck?

“Whatever happened to this guy?” I ask her, since I really want to know the story.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” she tells me, gently placing her bouquet down on the granite countertop of my center island. “I like your kitchen, did I mention that?”

I smile at her slick subject change. “You probably spend a lot of time in the kitchen, huh?”

“Not as much as I could,” she says, pulling out a stool and taking a seat. “We have maids.”

I had heard something along those lines. “Yeah, well, I like to slum it.”

“Clearly you’re struggling,” she states, nodding. Her gaze moves behind me, I assume checking out the place, then she barely misses a beat before she asks, “So, did you recently live with another woman?”

This startles the shit out of me. “What? God, no. No. I’ve never lived with a woman.”

Still focused on something behind me, she nods skeptically. “So, you collect Alice in Wonderland tea cups?”