“You two are like Barbie and Ken,” Wren says, lounging in a beach chair, her toes buried in sand. Baby Maeve sits in her lap, trying to pull off the white lace hat her mother snugly secured under her chin a minute ago. Tufts of bright orange hair stick out from beneath it and her chin is slicked in shiny drool. “Malibu dream house and everything.”
Chauncey and Enzo are down at the water’s edge, looking for seashells.
“The house was Ace’s idea,” Aidy says, returning from the bar patio with icy cold beers in hand. “He’s the one who wanted to put down some roots.”
“Kind of had to,” I say, defending myself. Six months ago, I signed a five-year contract with Satellite XFM, hosting a sports radio show. “My job is here. And the woman I love.”
Aidy peels her cover-up off, revealing a sparkling tangerine bikini that plays off her golden California tan. The West coast looks good on her, and as much as I hate to admit it, it looks all right on me too.
Aidy wasn’t kidding about the traffic, but the people here are so damn happy, and it’s always sunny, and there’s so much to do.
“Let me see that ring again.” Wren reaches for Aidy’s left hand, yanking it closer. Maeve places her hand out too. “Damn, that thing shines.”
Aidy smiles, glancing back at me and then placing her hand over her heart. Three months ago, I popped the question over a private dinner on a rented yacht off Coronado Island. I even presented the ring in that antique jewelry box I bought for Aidy after that weekend we spent together at the lake house. Maybe it’s a little soon, but I don’t care. When you know, you know. And I don’t want to lose her. I’ve got to lock her down before she realizes she can do better than me. I’ve told her that too, and she always reassures me there’s nobody else for her. I guess we agree to disagree on that.
I’m not sure what I did to get so lucky, but I won’t screw this up. I swear on everything I am, I’ll be exactly the kind of man who deserves a woman like Aidy Kincaid.
“Still planning a June wedding?” Wren asks.
“Yep.” Aidy reclines in her lounger, crossing her legs.
“Perfect,” Wren says. “They say when you marry in June, you’re a bride all your life.”
“Who says that?” I ask.
Wren shrugs. “No clue. It sounds nice though.”
The back patio door slides open and shut, and I veer around to spot my mother coming down, carrying a plate of hot crostini and caponata. She flew in two days ago, and she’s made it her mission to keep us well fed during her stay. She thinks we’re too thin, but we’ve told her, we’re just a little more active out here than we used to be.
“Thank you, Valentina!” Aidy says, taking a napkin and a slice of crostini. “These smell amazing.”
Wren grabs one as well. “I love you, Valentina. We’re here relaxing on the beach and you’re slaving over a hot oven, making sure we don’t go hungry.”
Mom glances at me, smiling, and then takes a seat across from me under the umbrella-covered table.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say.
“Prego,” she says.
Wren whips around. “Prego? Did she say prego? Aidy, are you pregnant?”
Laughing, I wave her off. “It means ‘you’re welcome’ in Italian.”
“Oh.” Wren shrugs, lips jutting out.
“You look disappointed,” Aidy says to her, placing her hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll happen one of these days. That one back there thinks he needs an entire baseball team’s worth of Amato kids.”
I rest my hands behind my neck and smirk, nodding. It’s true. I want a loud house, like the one I grew up in. I want chaos and laughter and memories. And I want all of it with Aidy by my side.
I’ll never leave her. I’ll never leave the family we create together.
After my career ended, I had no idea what was next for me. Most of the time, I didn’t even want to think about it. But meeting Aidy solved everything. She was the antidote to the shitty hand I’d been dealt.
At first, I wasn’t sure why we kept running into each other.
Now I know it was some kind of divine intervention.
That woman saved me.
She saved me from myself.
“When does Matteo get here?” my mother asks in her thick, Italian accent, her brown eyes lighting. “I’ve missed my dimpled smartass.”
“Tonight,” I say. “He’s finishing up a deodorant commercial.”
Mom bats her hand. “Why is he wasting his time with commercials? He should be doing movies. Blockbusters. Matteo should be the next Batman.”
“I’m afraid that’s not how it works,” I say, stifling a chuckle.
Mom huffs, staring out at the ocean like she’s got a vendetta against it. “One of these days, those dimples will make him money. Mark my words. God willing.”
She mumbles a small prayer in Italian and makes the sign of the cross.
“Dante flies in from Seattle tomorrow morning, and Cristiano and Fabrizio land tomorrow night,” I tell her. We’re celebrating Thanksgiving early this year, and with my brothers being so insanely busy and Chauncey’s restaurant getting crazy around the holidays, we all decided on the second weekend in September. Aidy’s mother, Julie, is coming as well, arriving Saturday. They’re all staying here, at our house. Even Topaz will be here, at least via Skype. It’s going to be an insanely long weekend, but I’m actually looking forward to it.
Mom rubs her hands together before leaning across the table and cupping my face. “I haven’t had my boys all together in a long, long time. You have no idea how happy you’re making your old madre.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say.
“Mom! I found something! Come look!” Enzo yells from the shore.
Aidy rises before bending to scoop her baby niece in her arms so Wren can tend to her son, and then she moves to the table, taking a seat beside my mother.
“You’re so natural with her,” my mother says, watching Aidy and Maeve intently. “I’m not going to beat around the bush with you two. I’m getting older, and I’m going to want grandkids sooner than later, and your brothers are all too busy living la dolce vita to even think about that stage in their lives.”
“Yeah, yeah, Ma. We know,” I say, giving Aidy a wink. “It’s on the horizon. Believe me.”
“All right.” My mother sighs, rising from the table. “I’m going to head in and check on the rest of dinner. Are we dining al fresco tonight?”
“We dine al fresco every night, Valentina,” Aidy says. “We’re Californians now. You might want to consider joining us one of these days . . .”
“Cara mia, you give me a grandchild and you’ll never see the end of me,” my mother says, laughing as she heads in. “I’ll pack my bags before you can say Pacific Coast Highway.”
My mother heads inside, and I watch Aidy bounce Maeve on her lap, listening to the baby cooing and giggling as Aidy makes all kinds of silly faces and blows raspberries on her belly.
Mom was right. Aidy is a natural with kids. But I already knew that.
“Why are you staring?” Aidy asks me, her attention still focused on the baby.