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“Yeah, mine are straight off the boat. They met here, though. Dad is from Sicily, Mom is from Salerno. How about your ancestors?”
“Calabria.”
“Ahh, so southern Italy.” He pushes the chopped tomatoes toward me and begins to work on the basil.
“I’d love to go someday. And to Sicily too. I’ve heard Taormina is incredible.”
Our shoulders brush, and I pretend to ignore the fact that I not only noticed it, but maybe moved toward him to make it happen.
“It’s beautiful. We were there for one night on the way to Caltabellotta. That’s where my dad is from originally. It was wild to see him run into people he knew.”
“So you went with your parents?” I grab the chopped garlic, tossing it into the heated oil.
“A family wedding. My cousin was married on the Amalfi Coast. After the wedding, we took a second week to visit Sicily.”
As I stir the garlic, Tris doesn’t miss a beat. He finishes prepping and then grabs the pasta I set out earlier. We work silently, ignoring the fact that there’s more sizzling coming from us than the bits of garlic in my hot pan of oil.
“A family wedding in Italy,” I murmur. “Sounds amazing.”
After I put the tomatoes in my pan, stirring and breaking up the tomato pulp, there isn’t much left to do. Tris turns around, leaning against the prep counter, and folds his arms.
If there has ever been anything sexier in my life than Tristano, fresh off helping me cook this quick meal, lounging casually in my kitchen, I don’t know what it is.
“It was.”
The welling in my chest is so unexpected, I panic for a second. It’s like a field of White Walkers rising suddenly out of nowhere. And they’re coming for me. I didn’t expect them, and don’t want them. So I retreat, or try to at least.
Tris lays his hand on my arm.
I take a deep breath.
If I speak, I’ll break down completely. So I nod, and as usual, busy myself with my work. My hands move automatically to finish the sauce.
But Tris won’t be ignored.
He never moved his hand.
“Evie?”
Somewhat more in control, I attempt a smile. “I’m fine. I just . . . imagined what that must be like. Having a big family like that, traveling together.”
To a wedding. When I do get married, I’ll have no parents at my side to celebrate.
“Hey, come here.”
He takes the pan off the heat with one hand, reaches past me to turn off the burner with the other. And just like that, I’m in the arms of a man I barely know. He’s wrapped me up completely into him.
And it feels good.
“I can’t imagine what you must be going through,” he says.
I try to push away, embarrassment bubbling up, enflaming my cheeks. “I’m fine.”
“Uh-uh, not so fast.” He holds on tight.
This time, I give in. Let myself be held. Comforted.
Loved.
