Love was the only gift I needed.
“I wish you didn’t have to go to Mangia tomorrow. Mike should find someone else,” Frisco grumbled, and I smiled to myself.
“Meet me there.”
He sat up and slipped out of me. “What? Why?”
I chuckled. “Because you love me. But seriously? Come meet me, and we’ll go for a drink after.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why do I need to go to Brooklyn to have a drink with you?”
Damn him. The man was too sharp.
“Because it might be fun. Whenever we do go out, it’s only in the city. Mike mentioned there are some new places that opened nearby that sound good. We can have a late-night date. Like the old days.”
That intent, blue gaze probed my face, but I hadn’t lived with the man for almost a year to not have learned some subterfuge of my own, and I returned an innocent smile his way.
“Hmm.”
I swung my legs over the side of the sofa and stood. “I need to shower. Are you going to come wash my back or sit there contemplating your navel?”
Without waiting for an answer, I walked away only to hear Frisco’s quick footsteps behind me. His arms slid around my waist as we mounted the steps to the bedroom.
“So bossy. You know what I want to do with that smart mouth of yours?”
A shiver rippled through me, but I kept it together. Somehow.
“Actions speak louder than words.”
“Oh, it’s going to get very loud in here. Don’t you worry.” Frisco pulled me into the bathroom and several minutes later, neither of us was laughing.
At nine the following evening I was inside Mangia, the restaurant my brother now co-owned with Frisco. White lights twinkled from the walls and ceilings, and a tall Christmas tree dominated the rear of the restaurant, where the old gas fireplace once existed. With the restaurant now comfortably in the black and busy enough to turn away reservations, Frisco had insisted on renovating the space. He and Val had transformed Mangia from the standard rustic decor attempting to emulate old-time Italy to a chic yet comfortable modern restaurant.
The table was set, and the menu was ready. Everything had gone perfectly, exactly as I’d planned. I’d spent the day with Jasper, perfecting the menu, and all that awaited was Frisco’s presence. He’d texted me that he’d left the loft, and I expected him at any moment.
Mike entered the restaurant from the kitchen.
“You ready?”
His smile stretched from ear to ear, and I was tickled that he was almost as excited as I was.
“Yeah. I hope Frisco doesn’t think it’s corny.”
“Oh, I have a feeling he’ll understand what you’re doing and love it.”
I sent him a sharp look. “What? Why? Have you said anything to him?”
In the process of pulling down a wineglass for himself, Mike met my gaze. “Of course not. Just a feeling I have.” His brow scrunched up. “Why are you so nervous?”
“I don’t know.” I felt helpless. “My stomach’s been in knots all day.”
Mike set the bottle of wine on the bar top and took me by the shoulders. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’ve seen how well you two mesh. You’re not making a mistake. He’s the one.” His lips twitched. “Who woulda thunk it? Me standing up for Frisco?”
My nerves settled and I hugged Mike. “Thanks. I don’t know why I’m so uncertain. But that’s the way life’s been with Frisco. You never know what’s going on in that head of his one minute to the next.”
Mike squeezed my arm. “Pops would’ve loved him.”
Stunned, I felt tears rush to my eyes. “I always wonder what he’d think.”
“It made me nuts when I’d see you wasting yourself on guys who didn’t deserve you. Crazy as Frisco might drive me, you’re the most important thing on his mind. Trust your gut, bro.”
He took his drink and disappeared into the kitchen.
My glass of red wine in hand, I leaned against the bar, thinking back to the night I met Frisco. It was a late spring evening when he walked in to review the restaurant for Ultimate NYC, the magazine he worked for. As Francisco Martinelli, the despised food critic I’d been battling online for several years, he’d kept his identity a secret when he’d made his reservation, and he only knew me as his waiter, Torre Rossi, not the blogger he hated, Salvatore Grant.
Mr. Evans, as he’d called himself, flirted with me subtly at first, then outrageously, blatantly letting me know he wanted me and after some resistance, I’d ended up taking him home. Totally out of character for me, but everything had been on a crazy tilt-a-whirl since he’d burst into my life.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Frisco brought excitement and a renewed adventure for life and taught me about taking chances and risks, with the greatest risk not only losing my heart but willingly giving it over to him.
Ultimately, that was why I decided to take this leap of faith. My hope was that he would see my gift as my way of showing him our life together was the start of a new life for him as well. I wasn’t going to leave him like his parents did. I was going to be there in the morning and at night. We’d always be together.
Jasper waited in the kitchen for me to give him the heads-up. The bottles of Campari, gin, and vermouth sat on ice. Everything was ready.
Except, maybe me.
I still had doubts. Not about my love for Frisco or that he loved me. Each morning and night he left me physically wrecked and emotionally overloaded from his lovemaking. Every day I loved him more.
But was he ready to make it—make us, forever?
Presley understood. I saw in the guilt in his face when he couldn’t give me the reassurance that Frisco, even with us being together over a year, hadn’t ever talked about making our relationship permanent.
I finished my wine and set the glass down with a decisive smack to the bar top. Not tonight. I refused to allow old insecurities to wiggle their way into my head and sabotage my plans.
Frisco and I were happy, and we loved each other. Nothing was going to change that.
My phone buzzed. Be there in five minutes. Are you finished with the party?
I’m waiting for you. I smiled to myself. Little did Frisco know, the party was about to start.
Chapter Five
God, I could puke from the nerves.
I never thought I’d be in this position, but here I stood, outside Mangia, ready to do something I’d never imagined.
Something I’d always scorned and laughed at others about.
But that was before Torre.
Everything in my life since I stepped over the threshold of this unassuming restaurant had become caught up in a pair of velvety brown eyes and a stubborn mouth that refused to let me make excuses or run away.
My phone buzzed, and I saw Val had texted me.
You got this. We’re ready on this end.
I love you.
A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Who would’ve thought Val Rossi, Brooklyn mother and housewife, would’ve become my greatest champion? I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
Torre waited for me at the front, his cheeks flushed. Something was different about him tonight, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.