Page 210 of Love Me Stalk Me
"You worried about me, pretty girl?" Cal teases, brushing dirt off his arms.
"I was worried about you," I say, pointing at him. "Now, I'm worried about my brothers."
I watch my mother’s expression shift into one of annoyance as Luca tackles Nico into the mud. "Are you kidding me?" she yells. "You're getting all dirty before dinner?!"
"Relax, Mama, it's fine?—"
"Luca!"
Luca flashes a grin. "Yes, dearest mother?"
"I swear to God, if you get mud on my tablecloth?—"
"Then I'll clean it!"
"You never clean anything!"
Nonna claps her hands. “Basta!Ragazzo! Origano.”
Cal jogs over, shirtless and sweaty, with grass stains on his knees and that same smug glint in his eye like he just walked off a cologne commercial calledBlood & Basil.
Nonna hands him the tiniest wicker basket known to man and gestures grandly to the herb garden. “Origano.”
And then we all just... stand there. Watching.
Mama. Me. Nico. Luca. Nonna. I turn back around to see my dad and Matteo looking through the window. I hold back the groan.
All silently judging as this tall, shirtless, ex-military golden retriever of a man holds a baby basket and crouches near the herbs with the seriousness of a man defusing a bomb.
I brace myself for the inevitable mistake—but then, without hesitation, he plucks a sprig from the correct plant and walks back like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Nonna gasps. “Ha capito! Eccelente!”
Nico and Luca scowl like he just passed some sacred trial they didn’t even know was happening.
Mama raises an eyebrow. “You garden?”
Cal shrugs, handing over the herbs. “No, ma’am. But I know my way around plants.”
There’s a pause.
Then my mother smiles. Not politely. Not vaguely.Warmly.
“Thank you, Callahan,” she says.
Nonna beams, practically vibrating with approval. He throws his shirt back on just in time for her to latch onto his bicep like she’s just won a prized ox at auction and starts leading him back toward the house.
“Bravo ragazzo,” she croons. “Bambini forti.”
My lungs seize. “Nonna!”
Cal’s eyebrows shoot up, but there’s that cocky little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Of course there is.
Nonna's eyes sweep over me, sharp but approving. Then she launches into a string of animated Italian, gesturing with both hands, one still gripping Cal’s arm like he might float away if she lets go.
“Era così magra da bambina—come un fagiolino! Non si poteva nemmeno distinguere dai maschi. Ma ora… guarda! Buone anche per fare bambini.”
