Now it was Torre’s turn to smile. “Oh, I’m sure Uncle Frisco would love to make pasta with you.”
“Uncle Frisco is going to take a nap,” I said.
“Oh.” Her little shoulders slumped, and her smile faded. Big, sad brown eyes gazed up at me.
Dammit.
“After we make our pasta. It doesn’t take long, remember?”
Her bright smile beamed at me, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d brought someone such unfettered happiness. Something tight squeezed in my chest.
“Yay.” She jumped up and down again, and I winced.
“Okay, come with me.” We crossed the living room to the kitchen, where I picked her up and set her on one of the high stools in front of the large, custom-built island spanning almost the entire length of the kitchen. “We have to wash our hands. That’s the first thing every professional chef has to do.” We rinsed our hands in the small prep sink; then I handed her a big mixing bowl. “Now, do you remember how we make it?”
“Uh-huh. I think so, ’cause I watch Mommy and Daddy do it too.” She scrunched up her face. “Flour, eggs, water, an’ salt.” She ticked off on her fingers.
“Good girl. Now I’ll measure it out, and you stir. How’s that?”
“ ’Kay.”
I took the flour out of the cabinet. Torre was there to hand me the eggs and gave me a kiss when I took them from him.
“Thank you for doing this.”
“Don’t think I’m not keeping score. At this rate, you may not sleep for a week.” But I kissed him back, and his tongue tasted sweet from the syrup we’d had on our waffles for breakfast. I could feast on him all day long.
“Challenge accepted, but first, focus.” Torre said, breathing heavily and a bit pink in the face. He touched my cheek. “I know you’re not really into having her here.”
“Well, I was planning a different kind of afternoon, but the wait will make it all the better, bello.” I kissed him again. “And it’s not a big deal. She’s a sweet girl.” I left him and returned to the large island, where I measured out the flour and the water. “Go ahead.” I pointed to the large, clear space on the marble top I’d had set in specifically for pastry and dough. “Do you remember how?”
“Yeah.” She dumped out the flour and giggled. “It’s like a big mess.”
I tenderly stroked my beautiful Gaggeneau stovetop.
God help my poor kitchen. I’ll make it up to you, my darlings. I promise.
“Let’s hope not. But we’ll let your Uncle Torre clean it all up.” I said in a pretend whisper. “Because you and I are doing all the work, right?”
“Yeah. Me ’n you. We do everything.”
I raised a brow and smirked at Torre. “I stand corrected. Not just sweet. A brilliant child.”
He returned my grin with a glint in his eye I didn’t like.
“Okay, well, since you two are getting along so famously, I have a few last-minute presents to get, so I’ll see you later.”
My jaw dropped when he blew me a kiss and ran out the door.
I was so going to kill him.
Chapter Two
What do you get the man who has everything?
I entered Presley’s antiques store and browsed around while he waited on several customers buying some estate jewelry. If anyone would know the perfect thing to get Frisco, it would be his childhood best friend.
“Sorry you had to wait.” Press hurried over and we hugged. “Last-minute shoppers.”
“Not a problem. I understand. It’s that time of the year.”
His grin was rueful. “I for one, am over it. Ho-Ho-No. Ugh.” He stretched. “I can’t wait to close for Christmas. I’m taking the day after off as well. Nate and I are going to be at his brother’s house on the Island for the holiday. What are you guys doing?”
As he talked, Press made us cappuccinos, and I wondered how many he’d made over the years, knowing Frisco used this store as his escape.
“Thanks,” I said when he handed me the cup. “We’re going to my mom’s starting Christmas Eve. We have the big traditional Italian Feast of the Seven Fishes. Everyone will cook something. Then Christmas will be all about Tina, but Frisco and I are surprising my mother with a trip to Italy.”
Press’s eyes glowed. “That’s fantastic. Are you going to go with her?”
“Yeah. Neither of us has ever been, so Frisco will be our tour guide.”
Presley’s eyes danced. “I can’t wait to hear the stories.”
“I don’t know if we’ll be meeting any of his relatives. We haven’t discussed anything about the trip yet, since it’s in the springtime.” I stared morosely into my cup. “Right now I’m having a hell of a time figuring out what to get him for Christmas.” I’d had a crazy idea but wasn’t sure it was the right time. If it ever would be.
“I can imagine. It’s always been a struggle for me. Half the time I just get him a gag gift, or I take him out to dinner, but I understand you’d want something more personal.”
“What did you get Nate? You must be in the same boat as me. He has everything.”
Color rose to Presley’s cheeks. “Well, yeah, but I can do things that are special to us. I’ll cook him breakfast, or we go away someplace that holds memories for us. Why not something like that?”
I sighed. “It’s nice, but I wanted something…different. Special.”
Presley took a seat next to me. “Okay, I’m going to stick my nose in your business, but we’re good friends in our own right. Have you and Frisco ever talked about getting married?”
Presley was probably the only person I could talk so candidly with. “I’d marry him in a heartbeat. I love him to pieces, as does my whole family.” I paused. “Do you know where I left him right now?”
“No.”
“He’s with my six-year-old niece, making pasta. Then, when I get back, we’re going to trim the tree and maybe make cookies.”
Presley whooped with laughter. “Pictures. I need pictures, man.” After a few minutes, he settled down. “But see? That man loves you. The Frisco I knew before he met you would never do that. Why are you still so hesitant?”
My old insecurities had wiggled their way to the surface, but Presley was right; he’d become a close enough friend with whom I could share my secrets.
“Sometimes…I wonder if he misses his old, carefree days. I love him so much, and I don’t ever want him to have regrets.” Presley opened his mouth and I put up a hand. “No, wait. Please. Hear me out.”
“Okay.” He focused those penetrating dark eyes on me.
“I’m not doubting he loves me. And God knows I’m crazy about him. But I feel like he’s not always with me, but somewhere else in his head. I don’t know. I wonder if it’s because he misses the crowds, the glitzy parties, and the opening nights. It has to be a culture shock coming from that life to being with me, staying at home or working at his restaurant. I knew going into this that I wasn’t his usual type, but I’d hate for him not to be out doing what he loves. He might be saying he’s fine but only because he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.”