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“What was that for?” I asked, wanting more. The kiss we shared in the bar had changed the entire trajectory of the evening. This one was merely sweet, as if we were kissing for the first time.
“Our first kiss under mistletoe.”
I looked up and sure enough, a big patch of mistletoe hung over the front door. We stood facing each other while his hand lingered on the side of my face and neck.
“Our first kiss? That implies they’ll be more.”
“Yes, and I’m looking forward to them, aren’t you?”
He stood only inches away from me. Any closer, and we’d be kissing again. Heat swirled around us, despite the weather.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I am.”
“Good, because the house is riddled with mistletoe. My parents like to torment everyone during the holidays. Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” I told him as we turned back to the closed front door.
“Well, get ready because food is everything to my family.”
“Sounds wonderful,” I told him, my mouth watering just thinking about all those spicy flavors. “I’m looking forward to a heavy plate.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Now, hold on tight because it’s going to get wild.” He stuck his key into the lock.
“I like wild. It makes me feel right at home,” I told him, looking forward to the night.
He didn’t turn the key in the lock. Instead, he turned and kissed me again, only this time, it was a much hotter kiss, more like the one in the bar that took my breath away. The man not only knew how to win my heart with my favorite pizza, but now he was quickly winning my heart as an amazing kisser.
“And what was that one for?” I asked when he moved away.
“A preview of coming attractions,” he whispered just as the front door swung open, and a rush of loud, happy voices spun me out of my sexy anticipation.
I should’ve stuck with the iron underwear; I knew these tissue-paper panties wouldn’t last another hour if we kept kissing like this.
Gianni 6
“Ma, she’s not my girlfriend,” I repeated for the third time. “We’re only getting to know each other tonight. It’s our first date.”
We were in the kitchen, and I was helping to get all the food out on the buffet tables. My three brothers had already done their share by helping to cook it all, while I’d made my contribution earlier today with three different salads that needed dressing and a good tossing. I’d also made a couple of chicken and pasta dishes with olive oil, fresh Italian parsley, and lots of lemon that my parents still hadn’t put out. Anything that didn’t weigh down your plate and had lots of red sauce wasn’t considered a traditional Christmas Eve dish, so they were reluctant to serve it. I already slipped the two baking dishes into the oven, and I’d pull them out in another five minutes to serve them, despite their disapproval.
“Good, because I heard about this one. She’s not loyal. All them strange pizzas she orders whenever she breaks up with a fella, but then how can she be loyal when she’s a student from another state,” my mother said as she ladled hot, thick pasta sauce over a large bowl offarfalleor bowtie pasta. “I keep telling you to date a nice Catholic Italian girl from a local family, but do you listen? No. I got four sons who never listen to their mother. I’m cursed, that’s what I am. Cursed!”
“You’re not cursed, Ma. I don’t care what a woman’s background is. All that matters is that we get along.”
My parents were old-world types who wanted their sons to come home with their perfect idea of a girlfriend, and so far, we were all a disappointment.
“And you get along with this girl?”
“I don’t know. It’s our first time out together, but so far, yes. We get along, fine.”
My mother had turned fifty-nine on her last birthday and intended to stay right there for a few years. She’d done the same when she turned forty-nine and didn’t change her age until she’d passed fifty-five. She wasn’t a very tall woman, maybe five-six but what she lacked in height, she made up for in a formidable disposition. Her short, dark hair was all natural, without one gray hair to be found. She wore wire-rimmed glasses most of the time, and one hearing aid that she refused to admit to in mixed company.
I grabbed a couple of oven mitts and pulled out my lemon chicken pans. They smelled so good I couldn’t wait for Dani to give the dish a try. We hadn’t talked about my wanting to open my own restaurant one day, and when I did open that restaurant, this was exactly the type of dish I hoped to serve.
“And you bring her home for Christmas? She’s gonna think you want to marry her.”
My mother had a way of jumping far ahead of whatever my brothers or I would do. If we took an interest in golf, she’d think we wanted to be professional golfers. If we wrote even one letter, she’d think we wanted to be writers. And if we brought a girl home to dinner, she’d assume we wanted to marry her. When we were teens, every girl who stepped foot on the property, we were going to marry.
I loved her like crazy anyway, no matter how frustrating she could be. Both my parents were frustrating. I knew they would do anything for us, and they loved their kids more than they probably should, so it made up for all the crazy things they said and did.
