Stefano leaned forward. “Not happening. Fix this, Brett.”

“What do you want me to do? Ground them? Send them to their rooms?”

“Oh, I bet Rosa would like that,” Charly purred. “Look at them.”

I turned in my chair, staring at Pops and Rosa. Was she touching his arm? And where the hell was his hand under the table?

“Fuck,” I muttered.

Stefano stood. “I’m going to stop this.”

Gabby pulled him down. “No, you’re not.”

“Tesoro, that is my mother,” he hissed.

“And she is loving the attention of a male who is not related to her. Let her enjoy it. And he is having a wonderful time. A little harmless flirtation is good for both of them.”

“As long as they keep it harmless,” both Stefano and I said at the same time.

The girls all laughed, even Maxx joining in on their amusement. I glanced at Kelly, who was watching me, a small smile on her face. “They do look as if they are having a good time,” she said quietly. “I think they’re allowed some happiness too.”

She was right. I hated to admit it, but she was right.

Then I leaned over, grinning at Stefano. “Does this mean I can borrow your bike, bro?”

He blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Ah, come on. We’re family now.”

His eyebrows shot up, and he glared. My lips quirked, and I began to laugh. Gabby said something to him, and he relaxed and joined in my amusement.

I looked over at Rosa and my dad again. Drinking coffee, eating cake, and smiling. Enjoying themselves. Kelly was right. They deserved happiness, and if they enjoyed each other’s company? There was nothing wrong with that.

Right?

In the car later, I turned to my dad. “Enjoyed yourself?”

“Tremendously. You were right. Angels sang while I ate that lasagna. All of it, actually.” He glanced out the window. “Quite the woman, that Rosa Borelli. Raised all those kids on her own after her husband died. Strong. Fierce.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Reminded me of your mother. She was always a force to be reckoned with. I like that in a woman.” He paused and chuckled. “You take after me that way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The women around you, son. Charly, Gabby, Mary. Your Kelly. All strong, independent women.”

I huffed out a breath in annoyance.

“What?”

“You’re right about the women around me, but she’s not ‘my Kelly,’” I replied.

“I saw how you watched her.”

“She wasn’t feeling well. I was simply concerned. She’s Charly’s friend.”

He laughed. “You keep telling yourself that. Every time I looked over at you, you were watching her.”

“And every time I looked over at you, you were making goo-goo eyes at Rosa.”

“She’s a lovely woman. I enjoyed looking at her.”

“She is Stefano’s mother.”

“I know. I enjoyed meeting her and making a new friend. We have a lot in common, and I liked talking to her. I loved her cooking. My God, Brett, I’m over sixty. I’m not looking for some passionate affair. But a new friend is always welcome.”

“Oh,” I said, somewhat relieved.

“But that doesn’t mean I have no intention of calling Rosa Borelli and asking her to dinner.”

“Oh,” I said again.

“Lots of levels of friendship out there. Yours with Charly. Or Gabby. Maxx.” He paused. “Kelly. All different.”

“Jesus, Pops. Stop it.”

He chuckled. “Let me live my life, Brett, and I’ll let you live yours. I’ll give you one piece of advice, though.”

“Which is?” I asked, checking the lane beside me and easing the car onto the highway.

“Don’t let the past dictate your future. Things change. People change.”

“Pops,” I groaned, knowing where he was going with this. “Kelly and I have history. It’s not that easy.”

“It’s never easy. That’s all I’m saying. I saw how you looked at her, son. You can tell yourself anything you want, but I’m telling you what I saw.”

I concentrated on the road, not responding. Then I spoke.

“I have some advice for you too.”

“Go for it.”

“Rosa Borelli has three sons. One of whom is Stefano. They know where to hide bodies, and I can’t stop him. Watch it with their mother.”

He burst out laughing, holding his stomach as he shook with amusement.

“Good advice. I’ll remember that.”

I wound up on Kelly’s doorstep again later that night. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Worrying and wondering if she was okay. What had caused her to feel ill. Finally, I gave in and went to see her.

She answered my quiet knock, once again looking surprised to see me.

“Brett,” she greeted me.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, studying her. She still looked paler than usual and tired.

“I’m fine.”

“I brought ice cream. And ginger ale. An ice pack in case you didn’t have one.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

I held out the bag. “I wanted to.”

She accepted the bag with a small frown.

“Get some rest.”

“You’re not coming in?”

“I just wanted to check on you because, well, because I was worried. And I wanted to bring you some stuff. I don’t want to intrude.”

Tags: Melanie Moreland Reynold's Restorations Suspense
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