They’d apparently caravanned out because everybody was piled on his front stoop. As soon as he’d opened the front door, they were pushing past him, talking and laughing at once, headed straight for the kitchen. Mitch hoped Tess was ready for them.
“Holy crap, man, your house smells fantastic,” Reed said.
“Smells like someone finally took advantage of the cook’s kitchen you built,” Cam observed.
“Wasn’t me. This is all Tess.” Mitch edged his way past them to begin taking drink orders.
“I think I had a foodgasm just from walking in the door,” Miranda announced.
“Is it too early to hope there are leftovers?” Ethan asked.
At the stove, Tess seemed to have regained her composure. Her cheeks were still flushed, but maybe they’d think it was from the steam. “I hope you all like it. Mitch was kind enough to let me co-opt his kitchen and conscript him as sous chef.”
“It’s about time somebody put my son’s kitchen to good use. Hey, baby.” Liz wrapped an arm around him and tugged him down for a noisy kiss.
“He told me how little he cooks. I told him that was a crime in a kitchen like this.” With chef-like efficiency, Tess removed the stuffed pasta pouches she’d informed him were not ravioli from the water and slid the next batch in.
Trey brought up the rear, setting down a few bottles of wine before circling around to hug her. “You made agnolotti!”
“Your favorite.”
“I haven’t had this since…”
“Mom.” Tess didn’t look at him as she continued bustling around the kitchen, pulling fresh bread from the oven.
Maybe her discomfort with his family had less to do with the size and more to do with her conflicting feelings about her father’s marriage to Sandy. Mitch hadn’t asked her what she thought about it. They’d been far too busy with other things this week. But perhaps she wasn’t as delighted about it as the rest of them were.
“Mitch, you want to get the salad and antipasti out of the fridge?”
Shaking out of his thoughts, he hopped to follow orders. “Yes, ma’am. Am I allowed to touch it now without getting my hand slapped?”
Expression serious, she went brows up and made an eyes-on-you gesture with her fingers. “To. The. Table.”
“Okay, okay. Slavedriver.” Catching the quirk of her smile, he called it a victory.
Cam fell into automatic helper mode, taking the platters as Mitch passed them out of the fridge. They carried all of it into the dining room, where his cousin pinned him with a hairy eyeball.
“Dude, really?”
“What?” Mitch reviewed everything he’d said and done since the family arrived and came up with nothing untoward.
“Just, no.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He made an unhurried retreat back to the kitchen, feeling Cam’s eyes on him the whole way.
Ten minutes later, the entire crew was seated around the long, dining room table. Mitch took one end and Tess the other. Everybody fell on the food, with immediate compliments all around.
“Tess made the pasta herself,” Mitch told them.
“Seriously? That’s amazing. Where did you learn to do that?” Uncle Jimmy asked.
Tess darted a look at Sandy before bringing her focus back to Jimmy. “From my mother and my nonna. I’m half Italian, so it’s kind of a family requirement.”
“What a delightful family heritage,” Aunt Sandy said. “Mom’s been teaching us all the family recipes the past few years, too.”
“Except the secret to her chocolate pie,” Miranda groused. “You won’t let go of that one.”
“A woman’s entitled to her secrets,” Grammy insisted.