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“Are you kidding?” Tris puts the bottle aside. “What could be more perfect? The last bottle from the start of my dreams to toast you achieving one of yours.”
I hold up my hand. “Not so fast. I’m just an official nominee. It’s only the semifinals.”
Tris turns to the others. “She knocked the socks off a Cucina judge with her head chef home sick and her sous-chef in the hospital without half a pinkie finger.”
“Oh my God,” Lusanne says. “Is he ok?”
“Yes, thank goodness.”
“That you pulled off a compliment from the judge,” Brax says, “with a ghost kitchen is beyond impressive.”
“Thank you.” I lift my glass with the others.
“To Mama Leoni’s Restaurant,” Tris says.
A strange toast for the gathered group, but none seem bothered by the irony. Only smiles and cheers, which are contagious. To think, what started as my mother’s dream has genuinely become my own. I love that restaurant with all my heart, and to have it celebrated like this . . . I have no words. We clink glasses, and then Lusanne proposes another toast.
“To family,” she says, looking at me. “Salute.”
42
Tristano
“Do you remember the night I gave you a blow job out here?”
If I hadn’t just swallowed my beer, it would be currently sprayed all over the table. Any time one of us needs to work late on a Monday, the other comes over to make a meal for two. It’s one of the ways Evie and I have found to navigate our crazy schedules.
I have another way to propose tonight too. Though we both agree it would be a good idea to wait a bit on an engagement, not seeing her every day is driving me nuts.
But my “moving in together” question may have to wait. A new proposal has just taken shape thanks to her question.
“I do, very clearly,” I say as a boat horn blares in the distance. The night is a similar one to that night. Cloudless, warm, a slight breeze. A perfect night for another blow job.
“What are you smiling about?” Evie asks from across our two-top.
“You seriously have to ask that?”
She grins.
“Since you clearly remember that night fondly,” I start, “maybe we should recreate it right now?”
Evie thinks I’m kidding. She laughs and pops a forkful of Italian chicken into her mouth. Trying new recipes on each other has become one of my favorite rituals.
Although I have plenty of other favorite rituals too.
It takes her a second to realize she can’t just blurt that out without consequence. Although at first I was imagining Evie on her knees, as she was that night, now I want more.
I want to be inside her. I want to love her.
Now.
“Tris,” she warns.
Too late.
I’m already up and walking toward her. She hops off the stool just as I spin her around. I know what she likes now, and am fully prepared to give it to her.
As she grips the railing in front of her, we both face the lake and its dotting of lights in the night sky.
