Page 32 of All's Fair in Love and Pizza
I froze with my hand on the doorknob.Shit.That was why I was here. I knew I’d forgotten something.
“What did you say?”
“Yes.”
I groaned in defeat and slumped toward Rob’s desk, flopping onto the chair across from him. “Why? Why? Why?”
“Because she asked what I was doing this Sunday evening, and I answered honestly—nothing. She said she was makingputtanescawith halibut and she went into great detail about how meatier fish holds well with the sauce, and even though I don’t know what that means, it sounds amazing.”
“For fuck’s sake, it’s pasta, Rob. Lots of pasta and so many Cavarettis you’ll go bonkers within ten minutes. Everyone talking over each other…for two hours straight. Sometimes longer. Trust me, you don’t want to do this. Make an excuse. Save yourself.”
Rob pursed his lips, but he couldn’t hide his grin. “I’m not lying to your mother. She caught me off guard, but I thought it was nice and?—”
“Nice,” I huffed. “Well, maybe a little. My mom is cool…but she’s also nosy. And I think my family knows about us.”
That wiped the smile off his face in a hurry. “What? How?”
“I mentioned our marinara meeting and they…drew conclusions.”
“Still confused here. You didn’t tell them that we?—”
“Hell, no! They just…inferred. My cousins first and then Ma and…well, in a twist, they’re smarter than I thought they were. Or I’m a whole lot dumber.”
“Hang on. Do they think we’re…together?” Rob motioned between us meaningfully.
“No. My guess is that they think…”
“Keep talking.”
“That I have a crush on you.” I hung my head in abject mortification as heat flooded my cheeks. In doing so, I lost a couple of key seconds that I should have spent assuring him he had nothing to worry about on that front.
“And do you?”
I caught the teasing lilt in Rob’s tone and immediately decided I didn’t like him at all.
“Fuck, no!” I exploded. “I like your dick, but don’t let that go to your head.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Good.”
“But I’m still coming to dinner on Sunday,” he said smugly, his eyes alight with humor.
I deflated theatrically. “Fine. But I gotta warn you about a few things.”
“Go on. I’m listening.”
I raked my hand through my hair. “I’m gay, and they know it. They don’t know about you, but that won’t stop them from playing matchmaker. It’s like they think they can turn eligible bachelors to the gay side with some wishful hocus-pocus and a home-cooked meal. If you seem too straight for me, they’ll introduce you to one of my unattached cousins, like Jess or Sabrina. They’re both cool, but let them down easy. Also, there’s no subject off-limits at a Cavaretti dinner. Our religion and politics align, so that’s not a problem. It’s getting the blow-by-blow of the side effects of Aunt Sylvie’s thyroid medication that should scare you off. If that doesn’t do it, maybe a boring soliloquy on a new hybrid of tomatoes by Cousin Francesca’s husband, Cliff, will do the trick. See, it’s a mine field or a box of Cracker Jack’s—you never know what you’re gonna get. So the real question oughtta be…is all that really worth a bowl ofputtanesca?”
Rob’s grin could have lit Times Square. “How good is theputtanesca?”
I sighed heavily. “Pretty fuckin’ amazing.”
“Excellent. I’ll be there. You can help me choose a bottle of wine.”
“Hmph.”
“Hey, look at it from my point of view. I’m a new business owner and neighbor. Refusing a dinner invitation issued by the matriarch of the family would be rude. And if the shoe were on the other foot, and my mother invited you over…you’d do the same thing.”
