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I shrug, looking away. “Just didn’t want anyone to see me and ask questions. They might think I’m being kidnapped.”

“We actually use the back service entrance for our kidnappings,” he throws back.

I stare at him. Is that a joke or—

With him, I can never tell.

“Lighten up, dove. We’re in for a good night and you’ll be fine,” he says.

“Well, I’m glad you’re joking around. I’ve been dreading this all day. I’m surprised they didn’t fire me with the mistakes I made.”

“Did you kill anyone?” Luca asks.

“No! Never. But I—”

“Better day than mine.”

I stare at him. Now, I really don’t think he’s joking.

He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Lighten the hell up. Don’t make me say it again. You’ll be fine.” He reaches over and takes my hand. “This will be, too. I promise. Just relax and don’t put in too much effort.”

My heart hangs in my throat as we show up at Nonno’s place.

I can’t breathe as we head up the front walk until I smell it.

Veal braciola in red sauce.

Oh, man.

There’s no mistaking it.

My grandparents only cooked it for special occasions, and the last time for my graduation. Nonno never skips a week complaining about beef prices either, so to break down and whip up this delicacy means—

Yikes.

He’s gone all out, ever since I told him he’d be meeting a boy.

I’m sure he’s breaking out the good wine, too.

Plus, the silver silverware that needs to be polished and stored right so it doesn’t tarnish. Maybe the old plates that belonged to his grandma, the ones we only use for Christmas and Easter.

The lump in my throat feels like a pinecone.

When I look through the front window and notice the brand-new taper candles on the dining table instead of the mismatched nubs of old candles we normally use, I know it’s about to be a long night.

Nonno answers the door, a red-and-white checkered dishtowel slung over his shoulder.

“Buonosera!” he says with excitement, ushering us in. “So good to see you again, Luca, my friend.”

Nonno gives him a massive hug.

Strange.

I mean, not that strange since it’s what second generation Italian guys his age do, but I get the feeling he wouldn’t be this friendly if he knew what trouble his new ‘friend’ has gotten me into.

Luca hands him an old, outrageously expensive bottle of wine. He told me he had it in his cellar, which must be richer than a bank vault stacked with gold.