by Cara Dee
Gideon squeezed my leg under the table. “To be honest, I’m not as worried anymore. If there’s one thing I’ve learned lately, it’s to focus on what matters. Your family is accepting, regardless of how boisterous they might be. I’ll be fine.”
Fuck. I slipped my hand into his and squeezed back. I knew he was bothered by his “coming out” to his family. Among those he worked with, it’d been an anticlimactic affair; his cousin’s son—who Gideon referred to as a nephew—had even mentioned he’d suspected Gideon was gay. Or bi, in his case. But there’d been some “concerns” raised by other family members. The kind that went, “We support you no matter what. We’re just worried about how this might affect your life.” Then some self-appointed patriarch of the family had suggested that they “keep this development private.”
I couldn’t blame Gideon for never having felt close to them. They seemed frigid, the bunch of them. And fuck them. Most of them weren’t even in direct line to the Grant fortune; they just acted superior with all their gold sticks shoved up their asses because they felt entitled.
“I love you.” I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his fingers.
He smiled, and it reached his eyes, thank God. “I love you too. Please don’t be worried, Nicky. I’m finally happy.”
Good.
Anthony returned to the table with his coffee and a scone, not to mention a rant about how people in the city couldn’t behave for shit. I didn’t ask why. It was always some small thing. Like the other members of my family, Anthony would always find a reason to complain about Manhattan.
“Speaking of absolutely not that,” I drawled, “Gideon has a question.”
“Yeah?” Anthony faced Gideon and sipped from his coffee.
“Yes.” Gideon cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping me finding a Christmas present for Nicky.”
Nothing like bonding over shopping for me…
I smiled around a forkful of cake.
“I don’t mind. That one’s easy to shop for,” Anthony replied. “If you haven’t noticed already, he tends to post pictures on Instagram of shit he wants. Kid can’t spell subtle.”
“And that’s a good thing!” I insisted.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Gideon chuckled.
Anthony shook his head in amusement at me before giving his attention to Gideon again. “We can meet up one day when he’s got work,” he said. “He works later than I do on Thursdays.”
“Terrific. I appreciate it,” Gideon said. Then he flicked me a hesitant look. “Was that why you posted a photo of that cast-iron skillet?”
I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You catch on quick, papi. I wanna cook for you, and we’ll need new shit when we move in together.”
He loved it whenever I brought up us moving to Brooklyn, and I loved making plans for it. Other than instruments and the occasional clothing item, I didn’t shop much. Now, suddenly, a whole new world had opened up. I was looking at inspiration online for kitchens and bathrooms and bedrooms and home offices—his demand—and home studios—my down-the-road wish.
I’d yet to venture into the universe of interior design for kids’ rooms, ’cause I had a feeling I’d spend money prematurely. Maybe things we wouldn’t end up needing. I already had family who did that. Pop’s sister, for instance, who bought a bunch of pink stuff for her granddaughter who turned out to be a grandson.
“Do you know when you’re moving yet?” Anthony asked around a mouthful of food. “I don’t mean to rush you, but you know Nonna’s gonna ask tomorrow.”
I scratched my nose. “Well, we talked about it…” I glanced at Gideon, because he was in charge of all that.
“We’re hiring a Realtor after the holidays,” he said. “I’m doing my best to pace myself, but I’m not very good at it.”
I laughed and kissed his shoulder. “You know I’m not-so-secretly thrilled that you’re impatient, right?”
“I do, it’s just frustrating that you’re the mature one,” he joked.
Anthony let out a laugh. “There’s a first time for everything.”
“Ay.” I flipped my fingers under my chin.
Anthony gave Gideon a “You see what I mean” look, and my man boarded the train to Mock Nicky Town.
I couldn’t say I minded, though. It was a good way for them to grow closer as buddies.
A few months later
Gideon quickly learned the ropes around Nonna’s house, and he discovered the way to their hearts was to be interested in Nonna’s cooking and listen to Pop when he talked engines and cars. In a family full of loudmouths, a listener could go far doing nothing. ’Cause wasn’t that what we loudmouths wanted? Someone to listen to us?
That said, I didn’t expect Gideon to grow so close to my grandmother. Anthony? Definitely. And they did meet up from time to time to chat and watch old baseball games—while waiting for the next season—and they had a friendly rivalry going on, what with my brother rooting for the Mets and Gideon being a Yankees fan. But it was Nonna whom Gideon formed a special attachment to, and it was hella mutual.
In retrospect, it made more sense. Gideon had missed having a motherly type who fussed over him, and apparently Nonna loved having someone around who wasn’t just there to fill their stomach. Anthony and I were bad, bad grandsons.
“When are youse leavin’?” Pop asked, never taking his eyes off the TV.
“Still three weeks to go,” Anthony replied patiently.
I was less patient. Pop had asked the same question the last four Sunday dinners. I guess it proved that we didn’t leave New York very often, because us going to Nashville next month was a huge deal to Pop.
“Nicky, get me another beer, will ya?”
“Yes, sir.” I got off the couch and trailed into the kitchen where Nonna and Gideon were finishing up the preparations for dinner. Okay, Nonna cooked, and Gideon listened to her talking about…something.
“Try this, tesoro.” Nonna held up a spoon. A regular spoon. At some point, she must’ve found out that Gideon was uncomfortable tasting from the wooden spoon used for stirring.
“Oh, that’s delicious.” Gideon wiped his mouth. “Best marinara I’ve ever tasted.”
“You’re so sweet!”
I shook my head, more than a little insulted. “Nonna, he gets to sample, and I don’t?”
“Pshh-taa!” She completely waved me off. “He helped me buy the ingredients earlier this week. Were you there? Huh? I don’t think so!”
I mock-scowled at Gideon, who looked way too smug, and then I opened the fridge to grab another can of beer.
Dinner smelled amazing. I was so hungry. Practically starving. Gideon and I had been to four freaking open houses today, and nada. I’d thought they were all beautiful houses, but Gideon, man…so goddamn picky. It had to be perfect. And when he listed his reasons, it was impossible to be annoyed with him. Big kitchen so we could cook together and host dinners, rooms for future children, a master bedroom close to aforementioned future children’s rooms, preferably close to a good school too, there had to be some type of yard…
At this rate, we were never finding a place.
“Where were we?” Nonna mused. “Oh! Right, you were wondering about staying at home. So, I gave up my job, and you know—best decision I ever made. I got to watch my babies grow up. That’s time you can never get back.”
I paused in the doorway and wondered why they were talking about such a thing. Was Gideon thinking about being a stay-at-home dad? He’d mentioned being willing to walk away from it all before…
“And Frank—God rest his soul—” Nonna made the Sign of the Cross, referring to my grandfather, who died years ago “—he worked hard for us. Never complained.”
Funny how dead people became saints. Nonno had been a funny old dude who’d once taught me how to cheat at street craps, and he used to sneak beers to Anthony—oh, and one more thing. He’d loved to complain!
I lifted a brow at Gideon.
Nonna was still rambling, so Gideon smiled faintly and shook his head at me, indicating he’d tell me later.
Fine. Just ignore me, then!
I went back to the living room and handed Pop his beer.
“We’ve been replaced, haven’t we?” Anthony asked.
“Yup.” I sat down with a sigh. “I’m a little jealous.”
Pop laughed gruffly. “You poor schmucks.”
“Uh, yeah.” I widened my eyes at him.
“Bah!” He waved me off too. Great.
I rolled my eyes and folded my arms over my chest. I supposed there was nothing to do but watch the goddamn Weather Channel with Pop and Anthony while Gideon got to try the marinara and the meatballs and maybe even dessert. She was making her lemon ricotta crostata with cherry sauce today, and it was one of my favorites.
Bored, hungry, and a little moody, I leaned back and let my eyes wander. Nonna’s apartment hadn’t changed much in the last two or three decades, from the floral patterns on the wallpaper and the lace tablecloth on the coffee table, to the yellowing pictures on the walls and the old TV. Much was homemade or hand-me-downs or stuff she’d bought at flea markets, and despite that, coming here was invaluable to me. Even more so lately, because her home had always lived and breathed family, and it was something I wanted to capture in my future home with Gideon.
“I’m telling you,” Pop exclaimed, “that storm’s coming here. Mark my words! Maybe it’ll flood again.”
Anthony and I exchanged a look.
After Hurricane Sandy, Pop thought every rainstorm was gonna turn into a biblical event with its destruction. We felt a little bad for him, so we didn’t say anything, but it was getting tedious. He was obsessed with checking the weather.
“Mangia!” Nonna finally hollered. “And I don’t wanna find any empty cans and glasses in the parlor later!”
First real Italian word I’d taught Gideon. When he heard mangia, and he heard it a lot nowadays, it meant eat, eat, eat. All the eating.
Pop pushed mute on the TV, and we abandoned the living room with our sodas and beers.
We were met by a fresh waft of garlic from the bread coming outta the oven, and my stomach snarled with want.
This was what Sundays were all about.
Food and family.
A few years later
I grinned and pinched my lips together, willing myself not to get mushy.
It was probably a good thing I wasn’t in the rehearsal room, but no one could stop me from watching through the window. Anthony had already spotted me. His patience was out of this world, and he was making such progress with Hannah. She finally trusted him completely.
She bobbed her head unsteadily and tinkered on the little pink guitar, a gift from Anthony when she turned six earlier this year. Whenever he praised her, she became so excited she couldn’t sit still. Maybe she didn’t always express herself verbally, but the girl had no issues getting her message across anymore. She did talk a lot more now too.
Anthony smiled widely when she’d done something, and I wanted to be in there; I wanted to hear them.
The door opened next to me, and Gideon hurried in and removed his gloves. “Did I miss it?”
I shook my head and extended my hand. “She’s doing so fucking well.”
He grabbed it and peered through the window. Then he released a breath and looked like everything was right in the world.
And it was.
We’d started out as foster parents to a three-year-old who hadn’t been diagnosed yet. She’d also never spoken a single word at that point. But Gideon had walked away from most of his responsibilities at the family corporation to stay at home with her, to connect with her, to tutor her, and we’d started building our family around us. Around Hannah.
“Good job, Hannah,” I read on Anthony’s lips, and she shimmied in her seat.
“Can we go in?” Gideon murmured.
“I was thinking we don’t wanna distract her,” I said, but I left it up to him. With Hannah, I let Gideon set the pace a bit more, ’cause he was so in tune with her needs.
“I think she’ll be fine,” he replied. “She’s been doing better with her discipline exercises.”
True, and definitely no need to twist my arm. I reached up and kissed his cheek, then opened the door to the rehearsal room, and Hannah’s mouth popped open before her green eyes lit up.
“Daddies! I’m playing.”
“That’s amazing, baby girl,” I praised. “Daddy and I are just gonna sit here and watch, okay? You concentrate on what Uncle Anthony’s teaching you.”
She nodded and put on her serious face as Gideon and I sat down in two of the chairs along the wall.
Gideon threaded our fingers together and didn’t take his eyes off Hannah. “By the way, whatever it is you’ve got cooking in the Crock-Pot at home smells a little too good.”
I chuckled silently and kissed his knuckles.
The clock on the wall struck six, and I asked him if we were picking up Sammy or if Ruby was bringing him over. My party-loving best friend was terrified because she was expecting her first child, so she’d volunteered to watch our hellion some afternoons.
I wasn’t sure it would make her any less scared, to be honest.
“She’s dropping him off here,” Gideon replied quietly. “Apparently, Sam was a great little helper with the dishes.”
I quirked a brow. “Actually helping or…did he throw plates on the floor again?”
With our toddler, you could never be certain.
“Actually helping,” Gideon laughed softly.
Good. Sammy may not share my genes, but Pop liked to point out how our boy was as rambunctious as I had once been.
If Hannah and Gideon had their extra special bond, Sammy and I had ours. He loved sitting with me when I played whatever instrument, but he also required a firm hand that Gideon was less happy about providing. The husband was a sucker, in short.
I didn’t mind. Before meeting Gideon, before having kids with him, I’d never thought I would find my dream in the very moment I came home from work, kissed a tired Gideon hello, got an update on everything, then spent some time laying down the law to our son because Gideon hadn’t been able to. I just fucking lived for it. Then I’d make us dinner while my man got some rest, and we’d eat together and swap stories about our day. Starting next year, it would involve homework for Hannah, which was nuts. She was growing up too fast.
Part of me wanted one more—three was a good number. Another part of me really fucking enjoyed arranging for babysitters within the family so Gideon and I could fuck off for a weekend here and there.
Maybe when Sammy got a little older.
Either way, I was ready for whatever life might throw at us, as long as we maintained our tradition of stopping for fries at Gideon’s favorite place on Saturdays. Otherwise, he got crankier than Sammy on an empty stomach.
But for now, we were going to sit here and feel ridiculously proud as our daughter played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” on her very own guitar.
Nicky and Gideon will be back in Anthony’s story, We Have Till Monday, where the gang is off to Nashville.
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Check out Cara’s entire collection at www.caradeewrites.com, and don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter so you don’t miss any new releases, updates on book signings, free outtakes, giveaways, and much more.
About Cara
I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.