It took a moment for her to remember Ryan’s question. “Yes, it’s the curse,” she said, telling him what she suspected he wanted to hear. “I can’t risk falling in love with you.”

He smiled, looking pleased that it was a possibility. “We wouldn’t have to get married. We—”

This was why she didn’t get involved with a man. She was up for a good time, not a long time. Lately, as today had clearly demonstrated, she wasn’t even up for a good time. What a depressing thought. She really had enjoyed sex.

“I’m too old for you, Ryan. Fall in love with someone closer to your own age, someone to have babies with, someone to marry,” she said, even though she didn’t believe in marriage, and it had nothing to do with the Rosetti curse. There was a reason the divorce rate was so high. In her opinion, women would be far happier living the single life, as she and the other members of her family did.

“Is there anything I can say or do to change your mind? I really like you, Eva. I want to be with you.”

“I really like you too, which is why you have to trust me when I say it’s better this way.” She cupped his face between her hands and kissed him. “I have to get to work. Why don’t you come for dinner tonight? The special is lobster tagliatelle. On the house.” It was the least she could do. It was because of Ryan that they had enough lobster for tonight’s special.

When she’d arrived at the market to pick up their orders of fresh seafood earlier today, she’d discovered that the chefs from Windemere had offered above the going rate, leaving the bare minimum for everyone else. Eva had been worried about the impact the recently completed high-end restaurant and inn would have on La Dolce Vita, her family’s fine dining establishment. But never in her wildest imaginings had she dreamed they’d be fighting against them not only for customers but also for seafood and produce.

Ryan scooped his board shorts and T-shirt off the hardwood floor. “Can I take a rain check? My sister and her boyfriend are in town, and they’re taking the family out to dinner.”

Eva noticed the way he avoided meeting her eyes and crossed her arms. “You’re going to Windemere like everyone else, aren’t you?” Tonight was the grand opening, and it was all anyone in town could talk about.

He winced as he fastened the button on his shorts. “Yeah. But I wouldn’t worry about it, Eva. You know how people are. The novelty will wear off.”

He didn’t look as if he believed that any more than she did.

“We’re not worried about it,” she said as she walked to the bathroom, turning as she reached the door. “Ryan, what was it you were going to say that you thought would offend me?”

“Just that after my mom started working out and lost fifteen pounds, her hot flashes disappeared.” His voice was muffled behind the T-shirt he pulled over his head, so he missed her jaw dropping.

An hour later, Eva stood behind the stove in La Dolce Vita’s kitchen. She’d been running the restaurant with her sister Gia and their mother, Carmen, for twenty-five years. Before that, their mother had run the restaurant with their grandmother and great-aunt. The sisters had opened La Dolce Vita in 1936. It was one of the oldest restaurants on the cape.

Not much had changed at La Dolce Vita, Eva thought as she sautéed chopped onion and celery in bacon drippings. But they’d have to make changes if they were going to survive. Now, if only she could convince her mother. Carmen had shut Eva down every time she’d brought up the subject.

Eva added minced garlic to the drippings, looking over as her sister walked into the kitchen and said something to Mimi, their sous-/line chef. She’d been with them for eight years.

Gia joined Eva at the stove. “Sorry. I forgot to make the clam chowder. Probably for the best anyway. Mr. Santos can always tell when I’ve made it and not you.”

For the past ten years, Mr. Santos had been coming in every Friday night for his clam chowder. He said it reminded him of his late wife’s. The first time he’d eaten it, he’d gotten tears in his eyes. It was a memory Eva cherished. She loved that food had the power to move people—her food, her family’s food.

Eva was usually there to prep for the dinner service, but she’d had a depressing meeting with their accountant earlier in the afternoon. She’d met up with Ryan on her way back to the restaurant.

“It’s because you always forget to add the secret ingredient,” Eva told her sister as she stirred in the cubed potatoes, chicken broth, and clam juice, adding a pinch of pepper and thyme.

Her sister rolled her eyes. “Love isn’t an actual ingredient, you know.”

Gia was an excellent cook, but she wasn’t passionate about food, not like Eva and their mother. As devoted as Gia was to the restaurant, her first love was her art, even if she wouldn’t admit it. In that, she was like her father. He’d been an artist too.

Eva and their baby sister, Camilla, shared a different father. Gia’s father had died a week before he and Carmen were to marry. A month later, their mother had discovered she was pregnant. Gia had inherited her father’s caramel-streaked brown hair and honey-brown eyes as well as his artistic talent. She must’ve inherited his temperament too. She was sweet and easygoing, the diplomatic one of the family. Eva, the Madonna help them all, had inherited their mother’s temperament. Her ebony hair, green eyes, and tanned skin tone she’d inherited from her father.

He’d left Carmen a month before Eva was born, returning for a two-week reunion with their mother when Eva was three. Camilla had been born nine months later.

“Ma’s at the bar. Come join us when you’ve finished up in here,” her sister said.

At the beginning of every dinner service for as long as Eva could remember, the three of them had had a glass of wine together.

Eva nodded and brought the soup to a boil and then lowered the heat. Once it had simmered for twenty minutes, she’d combine the flour with cream and slowly add it to the soup, bringing it back to a boil until it was thick and creamy. Then she’d add the clams and the rest of the cream. She covered the bacon bits with plastic wrap. She’d sprinkle them on Mr. Santos’s bowl of clam chowder before serving it to him.

Wiping her hands on the apron she wore over her black wraparound dress, Eva looked around the kitchen. It was unusually quiet for a Friday. The kitchen staff had filled only five orders while she’d been there.

“Keep an eye on the clam chowder for me, Mimi?”

The older woman shooed Eva away from the stove. “I’ve got it. Your momma needs cheering up. You’re good at making her laugh.”