your life is so much more interesting than mine.”
“Because I get out and meet new people.”
“I met someone tonight,” Jordyn said.
“Your date from hell doesn’t count.”
She should have nodded her agreement and let the topic slide—but she wasn’t thinking of Cody. She was thinking of Marco. In fact, she hadn’t stopped thinking about Marco since she’d seen him standing behind the counter at Valentino’s with her phone in hand.
She should have been outraged by his audacity—instead, she’d found herself intrigued by the man. And because her sister had a lot more experience with the opposite sex than she did, she wanted her assessment of the brief interaction.
“Actually, I met someone after,” she said now. “When I was at Valentino’s.”
“Really?” Tristyn somehow managed to sound both skeptical and intrigued. “Who did you meet at Valentino’s?”
“Marco.”
Her sister’s lips curved. “Ahh—the sweet and sexy bartender with the melted-chocolate eyes and the dimple at the corner of his mouth?”
Now it was Jordyn’s turn to be surprised. “You know him?”
“I’ve seen him at Valentino’s,” Tristyn admitted. “Shared some conversation.”
“Along with lingering glances and fleeting touches?”
“I might have flirted with him a little,” her sister acknowledged, because flirting was as natural to her as breathing. “But it never went any further than that.”
“Why not?”
Tristyn shrugged. “No chemistry. Although I’m guessing you had a different experience, or you wouldn’t have mentioned his name.”
“I’ve always thought chemistry was overrated,” she hedged.
“As a woman with much more dating experience than you, I have to disagree,” Tristyn said. “I don’t think a relationship can work without at least some degree of chemistry.”
Jordyn wasn’t sure what she believed when it came to matters of the heart, since her own had been shattered more than three years earlier.
“So—what did you feel?” Tristyn prompted. “Butterflies? Tingles? Heat?”
“Just...curiosity.”
“Considering that’s probably more than you’ve felt in a long time, I’d say it’s a good start.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t see how a three-minute conversation with a guy is the start of anything.”
“That depends on what you plan to do next.”
“My only plan right now is to take my glass of wine into the living room to watch the Ryder to the Rescue episode that I missed last night.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” her sister agreed.
* * *
Marco rapped his knuckles against the wood before he turned the knob and opened the door of his sister’s two-story colonial in western South Meadows, only a few blocks from where they’d grown up and where their parents still lived.
His mother always chided her kids for knocking before they walked into the house that she insisted was still their home, despite the fact that none of them lived there anymore. Renata didn’t subscribe to quite the same open-door policy, but she usually made sure the front entrance was unlocked when she was expecting company. With two busy kids, it was hard to predict what she might be in the middle of when the doorbell rang—or how long it would take her to answer the summons.
Five-year-old Anna’s face lit up when she saw him in the doorway. “Uncle Marco!”
“Unca Mahco!” Bella, her three-year-old sister, echoed the greeting.
He set the paper bag containing the desserts on the seat of the deacon’s bench inside the door so that he could catch the two little girls who flung themselves at him. As Renata had said, they were both in their pajamas—coordinating outfits with ruffled cuffs and hems: Anna in purple and Bella in pink.
“We haven’t seen you in forever,” Anna lamented.
“Fo’eva,” Bella agreed.
He squeezed them both tight. “Has it really been that long?”
“Uh-huh,” Anna said solemnly, and her sibling nodded.
He usually stopped by to see his sister and her family at least once a week, but he’d been so busy working on plans for the new restaurant that he’d been unaware more than three weeks had passed since his last visit. Until now. And he felt a sharp tug of guilt to realize his nieces had noted the absence.
“What’s in the bag?” Anna asked. “Did you bring us a surprise?”
“A ’pwise?” Bella echoed, looking at him hopefully.
“It’s tiramisu for your mom,” he told them.
His nieces wrinkled their noses in identical expressions of displeasure.
“And a cannoli for each of you—if you go sit up at the table.”
They raced to the kitchen to comply with his request.
Nata took two small plates out of the cupboard, setting one in front of each of her daughters so that Marco could distribute the pastry.
“I wike cannowi,” Bella told him.
“I knew that about you,” Marco agreed, kissing the top of her head.
“Your uncle Marco spoils both of you,” Renata said.
He lifted his brows as he handed her the bowl of tiramisu.
“Uncle Marco spoils all of us,” she amended.
“Sit,” he told her, nudging her toward a chair.
“I was going to get you a cup of coffee.”
“I can get it,” he said, moving over to the counter. He selected a pod, inserted it into the machine, then pressed the button to start it brewing.
“Can we have milk?” Anna asked her mother.
“Of course.” Renata started to rise from the table.
“I’ve got it,” Marco told her, easily locating the girls’ favorite plastic cups and filling them with milk, then pouring a glass of the same for their mother.
“Thank you,” they chorused, when he set the drinks in front of them.
Marco carried his mug of
