Page 159 of Until August
His eyes darted from my face to the bag in my hand and then back to my face. “You still owe me for the pound of pistachios you stole.”
I almost laughed.
Guess the chances of him recognizing me were pretty good.
“I’m happy to settle my debts.” I reached for my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Stay away from my daughter, and we’ll call it even.”
“She’s not sixteen anymore.” Not to mention this was the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth century.
“No, she’s not.” He gave me a knowing look. “She’s a grieving widow. He was a good man.”
The implication was clear. He was good, you’re not. “I’m sure he was.” I brushed past him and reached for the door, but he stopped me with his words.
“I saw you with my daughter. Back in September.”
I turned, hearing the accusation in his voice. “I used to work for your daughter, so we spent a lot of time together.”
“Kissing in pickup trucks? Is that what you did with my daughter when you were supposed to be working?”
I stopped myself from telling him that we’d done a hell of a lot more than just kissing. Didn’t think that would go over too well. “She’s a grown woman, and what she chooses to do with her time and who she chooses to do it with is none of your business.”
“She was a married woman.”
“Yes, she was. But her husband was no longer here. Was she supposed to stop living? Was she supposed to deny herself just a little bit of happiness? Life is hard enough without you making her feel guilty or judging her for her choices. She’s your daughter, and I’m sure you love her. So just let her be happy. It’s not for you to decide how she chooses to do that.”
I yanked open the door and walked out.
I didn’t end up giving her the pistachios.
I didn’t text or call or do anything to acknowledge that her restaurant had been awarded the Michelin star.
Instead, I drove to Chula Vista. Since I was on a roll, I might as well finish what I started.
After I spoke to Frankie, getting nowhere, might I add, I told myself I was done worrying about Nicola. I vowed to not even think about her.
Yeah, I was delusional.
But bonus points for trying.
CHAPTERFIFTY-SEVEN
Nicola
Dylan and Luca were adamant.Cruz would have wanted a party. So we had a bonfire party at the state beach. We brought coolers of beer and soda. Marshmallows for roasting. Cruz’s favorite foods. Wings, nachos, burgers, and hotdogs. And a tray of tacos, compliments of Rio, who had just arrived with Frankie.
I wasn’t sure she would come. I’d left her voice messages and texts, but she never responded. When she arrived, Dylan took her aside, and they talked for a while. Now they were hugging, and she was smiling through her tears.
I didn’t care if she ignored me all evening. All that mattered was that she was here.
And as I looked around at all our friends and family, the kids running circles around the bonfire, and the adults talking and laughing, I knew that Cruz would have loved this.
It was his kind of party. Good friends. Plenty of beer. And music blasting from portable speakers.
He would have said, “This is what it’s all about. This is what makes life worth living.”
My heart was full when my parents arrived with covered dishes of food.
