Page 123 of Boss of the Year
“Ces doesn’t know your nonna’s recipe, but I’m betting you do. I’ll save the squid ink for another night if you teach it to me now. I’ll make the pappardelle. You make the sauce. Can you keep up?”
I grinned. “You’re on.”
For the next hour, I lost myself in cooking. Xavier was a demanding kitchen mate, occasionally correcting my knife work and critiquing my technique with blunt honesty that reminded me of Ondine and my teachers at the Institute. He was also generous with praise when I got something right, and I relaxed in a way I hadn’t all day long.
Nonna’s bolognese was a Zola family recipe that had evolved over generations—a great-great-grandmother’s version that required slow cooking and patience. As I browned the meat while Xavier made pasta from scratch, the kitchen filled with the rich, complex aromas that reminded me of home.
“Yep, that’s it,” Xavier said as he tasted a bit of the sauce, now bubbling away in the pan. “It was the pancetta I was getting wrong. I didn’t realize she used two types in the same recipe.”
“Just a tiny bit of the smoked,” I instructed. “Otherwise, it overpowers the whole thing. We’re lucky you had it.” I grinned. “I actually added that part by accident when I was twelve. Nonna was so mad until she tasted the sauce and realized I’d made her family’s hundred-year-old recipe better. She stayed mad, but she kept doing it my way from then on.”
On the other side of the kitchen island, Lucas sat on the floor with Sofia, helping her with a pop-up book. Lucy was crawling around, babbling happily while Frankie supervised from the sofa and folded yet another basket of laundry.
“Hold on there, kiddo.” Lucas grabbed Lucy just before she ripped a piece of the art off the page. “You touch that, and your sister will eat you for breakfast.”
“I wouldnevereat my sister for breakfast,” Sofia promised solemnly as she glued a foldable stairway into place.
“Lunch, then.” Lucas plopped Lucy in his lap with surprising ease.
Sofia eyed him from the side, clearly unsure about whether or not he was joking. When he winked, she burst out laughing.
Something in my heart squeezed.
“He’s good with them,” Xavier observed as he folded the final piece of pasta dough for the last time before he sliced it into ribbons.
“He is,” I agreed. “I’d have thought children would make him uncomfortable. I doubt he has much experience with them.”
I didn’t think I’d ever seen a child at Prideview the entire time I’d worked there.
“Kids have a way of seeing through rubbish,” Xavier said. “I don’t know your man there, Marie, but he’s not a fake, I can tell you that.”
Lucy started squalling loudly enough that Lucas handed her to Frankie, then stood up and wandered over to the counter. He looked delightfully rumpled, having shed his suit jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, and ignored the bits of cut paper and art debris now clinging to his wool pants.
“Need any help?” he asked as Xavier finished cutting his pasta and was able to take Lucas’s spot on the floor.
I tipped my head at him. “Would you even know what to do?”
“I do actually prepare my own meals from time to time. I can boil water. Scramble eggs. Um…”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s all right; we’re nearly done.”
I tasted the sauce one final time. It needed just a touch more salt. As I reached for the sea salt, I turned to find Lucas standing impossibly close, his eyes focused on my cheek.
“You have a little…”
His thumb brushed across my cheek, ostensibly removing a bit of sauce. Then, with a brief glance toward my family, who weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention to us, his mouth followed.
The kiss was brief, innocent. Only slightly drifting toward my mouth, but not quite making it there. When he pulled back, his eyes had darkened with something much more intense than the bright red sauce.
“Couldn’t help it,” he said softly. “I like who you are with your family.”
“Lucas…”
“I like them too,” he continued. “I didn’t know families like this existed. Mine is, well, you know. Not like this.”
I glanced again at Frankie and Xavier, and for the first time, saw what he saw. What felt like such a normal scene to me—bickering of devoted parents, squirrelly children, messy house—would have seemed alien to someone like Lucas. Prideview waspractically a museum, and Clifford and Winnifred Lyons were a pair of icicles.
Before I could respond, Xavier’s voice cut through the moment. “I think it’s time to eat.”
