Family Ties (Morelli Family 4)

I want to argue that he most definitely should not have taunted her for that, but it’s in the past now anyway, so what’s the point?

“Once she realized I wouldn’t mention it, she didn’t seem embarrassed when she woke up like that. She stopped acknowledging it. But she kept doing it.”

Since I don’t know how to answer that, I just listen.

“Turns out maybe I did kinda like her,” he says dryly, tipping the glass back and emptying it.

I’m so helpless to make him feel better. I don’t even know if I should try to make him feel better. Part of my mind tells me he deserves this for the way he treated her, but my heart recognizes his loneliness and wants to banish it. “It’s not impossible she and Vince will break up. They’re both young.”

He shakes his head, turning to look at the cart so he can put the glass down without dropping it in the floor. “It’s over now. Doesn’t matter. It’s better this way, just felt like drinking about it tonight.”

“You’ll still see her. They’re still coming to Sunday dinners. And if you like her and you think maybe she could still like you… I mean, I don’t want to recommend you steal Vince’s girlfriend, but maybe you guys could develop a friendship and see if it leads anywhere.”

He shoots me a look of plain amusement. “Oh, sure. That sounds like something I would do.”

I prop a hand on my hip and quirk an eyebrow. “Well, your way didn’t work, now did it?”

His amusement dwindles and I immediately feel like a jerk. Which is absurd, because he’s the one who should feel like a jerk.

“It would’ve, actually,” he remarks. “I didn’t send her away because I couldn’t have taken her back from him. I could’ve. I would’ve. That’s why I needed her to move out. I couldn’t have kept her here much longer without fucking her again.”

I have no idea what to say to that.

Nodding like I agreed that he made a good decision, he says, “Yeah, it was for the best.”

That makes me sad. Not because he’s wrong—he might be right, for all I know—but because he’s going to keep doing this. He’s going to keep pushing people away. He’s never going to let anyone get close enough to him to love him—he’ll just send them away if he thinks there might be a chance, and that’s no way to live.

Sighing, I go over to the alcohol cart and push it away from him. He doesn’t need any more alcohol, that’s for sure. I replace it by pulling a second wing chair up in front of the fire and sinking into it.

He glances over at me questioningly.

“When you’re ready to go to bed, I’ll go to bed. I’m not going to leave you here to brood all by yourself.”

“I’m fine on my own,” he replies, like the ingrate he is.

I can’t help smiling faintly, but I’m so tired, I lean my head against my chair, too. “She might not have left, you know.”

“She’s too young. It wouldn’t have ended well,” he states, like he’s already seen it through to the end. “I would’ve broken her. She would’ve grown to hate me. I made the right decision.”

I hate that he thinks that’s a foregone conclusion, but since I can’t even be sure he’s wrong, I say nothing.

—

I almost have an actual heart attack when Mateo shows up at my bakery the following day.

For one thing, I was just getting ready to leave for Sal’s.

Now I’m frozen behind the counter, heart pounding as I try to offer up a normal smile. He peruses the display case, absently smoothing down the already impeccable flap of his lapel, then glances up at me.

“Nice selection.”

I can hardly breathe. I force a smile and nod my head. “Yeah.”

Oh my God, I hope Mark doesn’t come up front.

Mateo never comes to the bakery. Never. He doesn’t even like dessert. I can’t stop wiping my hands on my jeans and I feel like he can see the fear in my eyes so I try to relax. Sure, it’s been literally years since he stepped through that front door, but that doesn’t have to mean anything, right?

“Um, do you want something?”

Amusement flickers in his gaze, but I glance down at the display like I meant food.

“The cinnamon cupcakes aren’t too sweet. You probably still wouldn’t like them, though. So I don’t know why I said that.”

Chuckling, he asks, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

I shake my head faintly, but to clear it, not to deny that. “I’m used to you in certain spaces. Not this one.”

He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks at the cookies with frosting faces. “I’m heading home for lunch. Thought I’d pick something up for Isabella.”

That makes slightly more sense, but it’s still deeply unsettling. What if he would’ve come in a half hour later? I’m sick to my stomach, considering how close this came to being a disaster.