Page 15 of Love to Hate You

“Now, why don’t you sit next to me and tell me why you’re arriving before the sun’s awake.”

Summer rested her head on her dad’s shoulder. She had so many questions, but she knew that they would only bring up buried hurt, and the last person she wanted to have to relive that time in their lives was her dad.

“I can hear you thinking in that big noggin.”

“When did you know that your business was going to go under?” she asked, and she felt her dad still. She looked up. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

“I’ve always told you girls that no question was off limits.”

“Not even that one?”

“Especially not that one,” he assured her.

“I just know you don’t like to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind talking about it. As difficult of a time as that was, it was also one of the defining moments of my life. Aside from marrying your mom and having you girls.”

“Why?”

“Because it reconfirmed just how lucky I am. I figured if your mom and I could be as happy and in love in a nine-hundred-square-foot apartment with bills piled sky-high, then nothing could beat us.”

“Families who dance together thrive together,” Summer said, referring to their family’s motto.

“And I’ve still got some dancing left in these shoes. So why don’t you tell me what this is all about, so your dad can impart some very impressive wisdom.”

“I think I might have taken on too much debt for the remodel, and now with BookLand opening up next door I’m afraid that my income won’t match my overhead.”

“Do you need money?”

Because while the Russos had been bankrupt once upon a time, Frank had paid off every debt, and then earned back every penny he’d lost when his equipment rental business was gobbled up by a larger corporation. Her parents weren’t rich by any means, but they had a nice little nest egg that allowed them to travel and enjoy their retirement.

“No, I guess I just needed a reminder that when I set my mind to something, even with two left feet, I’m a pretty good dancer.”

Chapter 6

that wtf moment

Summer blinked up at the clock over the fireplace and rubbed her eyes. It was nearly noon. Her twenty-minute nap had turned into a three-hour marathon.

She could hear muffled voices in the distance. It sounded like her auntie and mom arguing about how to properly pinch the gnocchi dough so that the potato dumplings were fluffy. She could also hear Buttercup snoring at her feet.

“Time to get up and take a walk,” she said, but Buttercup didn’t move. “I know you’re faking.” When Buttercup merely squeezed her eyes tighter, Summer said, “I think Nonna has some bacon in the fridge.”

Like a bull out of the pen, Buttercup was off the couch and halfway to the kitchen before her feet touched the floor.

Summer sat up and rolled the kinks out of her neck. After a heavy breakfast of bacon and cheese frittatas, homemade shortbread with a jam shop’s supply of options, and espresso, she had succumbed to a food coma. Thanks to her inconsiderate neighbor, even the power of two espressos couldn’t combat the sheer exhaustion from too many sleepless nights. But she wasn’t going to waste another second of her vacation thinking about Wes Kingston and his empire, not when there was a beach chair and rolling waves calling her name.

With a yawn, she stood and shuffled to the kitchen.

“There’s my summer breeze,” her mom said.

Even with an apron on, Blanche Russo looked fashionable in a pair of white linen palazzo pants and a navy-and-white striped shirt. Her hair was pinned up, her makeup was flawless, and her face was warm with love. Blanche might be sixty-eight, but she didn’t look a day over fifty.

“How was the nap?” Aunt Cecilia asked.

After four decades of being married to the Russo brothers, Aunt Cecilia and Blanche acted more like sisters than in-laws. They were competitive, gossip hounds, and pranksters. One year both families had rented separate houseboats on the Connecticut River. On day two an argument had ensued over whose pesto was superior. Blanche had secretly swapped out the olive oil in Cecilia’s houseboat for canola, and Cecilia had retaliated by hiding two trout in Mom’s cupboard. It took three days to find where the stench was coming from.

“I didn’t mean to sleep so long. You should have woken me.” Summer didn’t hesitate, just walked over to the cutting board and began rolling out the dough. The three women fell into an easy rhythm, but something still felt off.

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