Page 32 of Huckleberry Hill
“From your restaurant, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s good.”
The sun had set and dinner was almost ready. Dad was in the sitting room next to the gas fireplace that was currently off. If it had been up to me, it would’ve been turned on, but I ran cold.
I set the table and helped Muddy bring out the food.
Dad came into the dining room as Muddy served me a heaping plate of steak, potatoes and green beans.
“This is too much,” I protested.
“You’re too thin,” she said. “Living off protein bars, am I right?”
“No. You’re not.” But between two jobs, I’d become an expert grazer. A snack here, a snack there. And there’d been far too many nights with my roommates and sister that had been wine and cheese boards for dinner.
“You’d think dating a restauranteur, you would’ve been eating better,” Muddy muttered.
I set my fork down. “Okay, let’s have it.”
“Have what?” Muddy asked.
Dad’s gaze volleyed between us, but he wisely focused on his food and stayed out of it.
“You never liked Gianni,” I stated.
“No, I never did,” she admitted. “Pass the rolls.”
With a sigh, I grabbed the basket of bread and handed it to her.
“It seems my intuition about him was correct, though, wasn’t it? The engagement ended,” Muddy said.
“You know the problem with this family?” I demanded. “No one minds their own business.”
“Business. Mind my—you’re my granddaughter. Do you think I was happy when I heard you were going to marry some slick Italian restauranteur who was going to keep you thousands of miles from home?”
“Well, that’s no longer the case, now, is it?” I said, my tone bitter.
“You dated how long?” Muddy asked.
“Two years.”
“Two years,” she repeated. “And he never once found the time to come meet us. That says a lot about a person. You spent how many holidays with his family?”
“Several.”
So many I’d lost count.
Gianni’s large Italian family were constantly having baptisms, confirmations, birthdays, and anniversaries. It had been exhausting and I’d always been expected to attend.
Our relationship had been completely unbalanced.
“What did Salem think about him?” Muddy pressed.
I clamped my mouth shut.
“Wyn and Poet? Did they feel the same way?”
