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"Help, he says!" Nonna scoffs, ushering us further into the house. "More like eat all my food and flirt with my nipotina Gabriella.”
"Shh, Nonna." I hold out my hands. "You're ruining my master plan."
Gabi and Gio's Italian grandmother heads for the kitchen, directing Gabi to put the wine in a specific spot while handing me an apron. "You know the drill, Jacob. Roll up your sleeves and start peeling potatoes."
"Nonna," Gabi interjects, "it's past midnight. You shouldn't be cooking. That's why we brought you leftover lasagna. It's really good."
"Nonsense," she huffs. "Whatever canned and stored food I have is for when the apocalypse hits. For now, we cook real food."
I can't help but grin at her stubbornness. Nonna may be in her seventies, but she still has the energy and spunk of a woman half her age.
"Gabi, you'll take care of bruschetta?" she calls out, already bustling around the kitchen.
"Yes, Nonna. I've got it," Gabi responds dutifully, grabbing a baguette and slicing it.
"Good. Now, I'm going to try that wine you two brought. It looks divine."
Grabbing a corkscrew from a drawer, she heads back into the living room, leaving Gabi and me alone in the kitchen.
I laugh, but there's no use arguing with Nonna when she gets into her cooking mode. I roll up my sleeves and join Gabi at the counter, where she is already expertly dicing tomatoes for bruschetta.
I turn to her with a grin. "Looks like we have our hands full tonight."
Gabi laughs, nodding as she spreads tomato and basil on the sliced bread. "But it's worth it. I haven't seen Nonna this happy in a long time."
We work in comfortable silence for a while, lost in the familiar rhythm of cooking together. It's something Gabi and I used to do all the time growing up, helping Nonna prepare family meals or baking sweet treats.
Before I know it, I've settled into my potato-peeling routine, the rhythm soothing and familiar. I toss Gabi a smirk. "You know, Gabs. This PR crisis of ours? A fake relationship would really smooth things over."
Gabi snorts, not missing a beat as she douses the baguette slices with olive oil. "Oh, Jacob, always with the drama. You think some hand holding and a couple of staged dates will fix everything?"
"It couldn't hurt."
She shakes her head, but there's a ghost of a smile on her lips. "You always manage to turn everything into an event. Have you ever considered moonlighting as a wedding planner?"
"Ha! With my cooking skills, I should be a head chef somewhere,” I retort, theatrically flipping a potato into the air and catching it.
Gabi laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that warms you from the inside out.
"So, how's junior doing?" I ask, nodding toward her belly.
Gabi's face softens. "Kicking up a storm lately. I'm pretty sure they're trying to form a soccer team in there."
I chuckle, reaching over to steal a slice of bruschetta. "Well, tell them I'm excited to meet them. You know I’m going to spoil them rotten, right?"
"Oh, I have no doubt," she says, rolling her eyes but smiling.
"Do you know the sex of the baby yet?"
"No. I, uh, wanted to wait. Until the delivery."
As we slide the trays into the oven, a comfortable silence settles over us. I glance toward the living room, noticing how quiet it's become. "Why's Nonna so quiet all of a sudden? Should we check on her?"
Gabi nods, concern flashing in her eyes. "Yeah, let's see what's going on."
We tiptoe into the living room to find Nonna sound asleep on the couch, the bottle of wine unopened beside her.
I shake my head and grin. "Looks like cooking wore her out more than she'd admit."
