Page 34 of True North

“Seven okay?”

“Perfect, see you then.”

“Yeah, sure.”

I stay low, hanging in Brad’s car as the rumble moves past and fades. I’m a coward. I know. But the one thing I won’t do is start something I can’t finish. Harry’s been through enough. And a huge part of it is my fault.

I stand tall and shut the car door before pivoting and heading inside. Mama Mancini waits for me, sitting at a front table. I’m not three steps into the restaurant before she waves for me to sit.

“Bella, what are you doin’ with that poor boy?”

Boy?

Guess I’m not the only one who has noticed it, then.

“Just hanging out.” I look out the window as Brad’s car pulls away from the curb.

“You want to know a secret,bambina?”

I chuckle at the way she refers to me as a baby. “Of course.”

“Al cuore non si comanda.”

“What does it mean?” I ask.

She pats my hand. Her focus wanders toward the kitchen. The sounds of Papa Mancini still cleaning up drift through the restaurant, tangling around us as if to drive home the point I am sure she is about to make. I can tell by the look in her eyes.

“It means love will not be commanded. You cannot control your heart, bella. It is boss.”

Is that what I’ve been doing? Trying to tell my heart what to do, to feel something it doesn’t, trying to change its mind? I guess I was. Trying to protect myself and Harry. It’s the only thing I can do for him, if he won’t even talk about it.

“I want to keep things simple, Mama. I just came home, it’s not?—”

Her hands land on one of my own, gripping it tight. “Time does not matter to the heart, it skips ahead and it falls behind. You have to work on its terms when things arethis big.”

I swallow, dragging in air. Harry and I have always been too big. That’s why I ran in the first place. Scared of the monumental force that is Harry and Louisa.

I still am.

ChapterNine

HARRY

Ma’s been humming’ all damn morning. I swing the axe into the split post, splintering it into pieces. The smells coming from the kitchen are divine. I knock the wood from the block and set up another log. Sweat flies from my arms and forehead as I bring the axe down again. I know who’s inspired all the cookin’ Ma’s been obsessing over.

Louisa.

“Harry!?”

I drop the axe into the chopping block and wipe my brow.

“Harry, Louisa is pulling into the driveway. Can you help me move the table?” she calls, moving down the hallway toward the back door.

What? Why?

“Why we movin’ the table, Ma?”

I stand, hands hanging by my sides, arms buzzing from the exertion, veins popping along my forearms. My bare chest is covered in sawdust from an hour of chopping and splitting wood.

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