Luca picked it up and tossed it back, a steady arc that made it directly to his little girl.
“Throw it to Brooke,” Luca coached.
Putting her entire body into it, Franny tossed it.
Brooke didn’t need to worry about catching Franny’s throws. So far all of them had hit the ground rolling.
Holding the piece of plastic in her hand, Brooke leveled it a couple of times before attempting to toss it back to Franny.
Her throw was completely off and hit the ground as well. “I can see how this is going to go,” she announced.
A few more attempts and Luca stepped up beside her, placed the Frisbee in her hand, and walked behind her. “It’s all in extending the arm and the wrist in one motion and letting go.” His body pressed close to hers as he showed her the movement.
Not that she was paying attention.
The feel of his body molding against hers was right up there with turning on a light switch inside of her. His left-hand fingertips rested on her shoulder, the right hand held on to her as he guided her arm.
He smelled of an exotic blend of spice. Not cologne, or something fake . . . but spice. Maybe working in the kitchen all night long did that, or maybe it was simply the man.
“Brooke?” he called her name, breaking her out of her spice man thoughts.
She shook off the images in her head and made a couple of motions with her arm before Luca stepped back.
With him gone she could think.
Barely.
She tossed the Frisbee, following through, and the thing flew.
“You’re a quick study,” Luca announced.
“Sadly.” The word came out of her mouth without invitation. And as much as she’d hoped Luca hadn’t caught it, his grin said he did.
“Forget I said that.”
He shook his head. “Not possible.”
“Sh—”
Franny ran up, stopping the expletive midword.
“Are we playing, or what?”
Brooke’s eyes found Luca’s and they both smiled. “Oh, we’re playing,” he said.
She squeezed her eyes closed and couldn’t help but smile. God, it was good to just blush, flirt, and be a girl.
Brooke rubbed her hands together. “Okay, Franny. Let’s give your dad a run for his money.”
The girl wrinkled her nose. “What does that mean?”
Brooke laughed. “Let’s show him how well we can play.”
Franny understood that and ran back to where she’d been standing.
“No more lessons?” Luca asked.
Brooke pointed away from her. “Get on your side of the park, Machismo.”
She heard him laughing as he walked away.
Mari pulled in a long, deep breath.
The past few years had been some of the hardest she and the children had endured, outside of those that followed the death of her husband, Paolo D’Angelo.
Still, she was optimistic.
Her children were itching. All of them in their own way.
The one she worried the most for was her Luca.
She never liked Francesca’s mother. A woman whose name seldom passed her lips.
She’d proven her true colors soon enough, and Luca was left picking up the pieces of his heart and taking on the challenge of bringing up a child alone. Though in truth, they were all better off that Antonia wasn’t a part of their lives.
Francesca most of all.
But Luca needed more.
Each year he grew further apart from the world.
Yes, he took care of his daughter, his family.
But he didn’t smile as much, or as wide when he did.
Never once did she find a little white lie in his answer to where he’d been or what he was doing when she asked.
Her firstborn needed someone to share his life with. And Francesca needed brothers and sisters.
“Amore mio,” she whispered to the shadows in the room. “If you can help me out here, I’d appreciate it.”
Mari brushed off her thoughts and worked her way outside.
A coffee with Rosa, a little gossip . . . that’s what she needed.
Mari stepped out onto the busy street in front of the restaurant and felt a cold draft pass in front of her.
She turned.
Luca and Francesca were walking her way, hand in hand.
And on the other side of her precious granddaughter walked Brooke.
Mari stood still and watched as the air grew cool around her.
Francesca glanced up at Brooke and reached for her hand.
Mari held her breath.
Brooke accepted Franny’s hand instantly, and her questioning gaze looked over at Luca.
Mari’s son offered a brief smile, but worry sat squarely between his eyes.
Then, Francesca said something, and they both looked down and together they smiled and laughed.
Mari held a hand to her chest and sent up a prayer to whoever was listening.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
A sharp knock on her door interrupted Brooke’s concentration. “Come in,” she called, thinking it must be close to dinnertime and the food fairy . . . aka Luca, was sending something up again.
She’d forced herself to stop thinking about him most of the afternoon to get some work done and had been somewhat successful. It helped that she was way behind and if she didn’t finish the revisions on the soap campaign by the weekend, she’d have some serious problems at work.
Instead of a runner being at the door with a to-go bag, Chloe walked in with nothing more than a smile. “Hi.”
“Oh, hello. This is a surprise.”
“I know. I thought maybe I could pull you away for a happy hour drink. A little one-on-one time to get to know each other.”
Brooke glanced at her computer, at the work in front of her. She should say no. “That would be great.”
“Perfect.”
A few minutes later they were walking down the stairs and out the back door.
They walked into Little Italy’s main piazza, which was peppered with tables and people spilling out from restaurants. Some with to-go food containers, others with drinks for their meals.
“Did you want to find a seat out here?” Brooke asked, searching the square for an open table.
Chloe shook her head. “Not necessary.”
They ascended the stairs of one of the busier bars on the street and stopped at the hostess.
Chloe and the woman spoke, in Italian, and hugged like old friends. Then they were escorted to the far end of an upstairs bar where they could actually hear each other and not have to hang off their barstools.
The place was crazy busy, a lot of young people enjoying happy hour.
“I take it you know the hostess.”
“I know everyone in this town,” Chloe said without apology.
“Is that a good thing?”
“It was fine until I hit puberty and started dating. Then everyone became a mama, a nonna, or just a meddling neighbor.”
“Matchmakers everywhere?”
“Oh my God, yes. I’m twenty-five and you’d think my uterus is drying up from the way they talk.”
If Chloe’s was drying up, Brooke’s was mummified.
The waitress arrived and greeted Chloe with a hug. “Salena, this is Brooke, she rents the apartment upstairs from us.”
Salena was older than Chloe by a couple of years, but just as Italian and just as beautiful.
“Yes, your brother told me your mama had rented the place. Welcome,” Salena offered to Brooke.
“Thank you.”