Page 71 of The Magic We Made

“You don’t owe me anything,” she says. “You fixed my fuse box, remember?”

I glance at her sheepishly. “You heard that, huh?”

“I did.” She’s grinning. “Thank you for attempting to protect my honor. But it’s not necessary. Mrs. DeLong is a friend, and I honestly don’t care what the other neighbors think of me—you’ve seen my yard.”

“Yeah, I have. And I like it a lot better your way. So... dinner tonight?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. On Sundays I have to have a late lunch with my family.”

I’ve been wanting to go to Sunday dinner at the Giovanni household since I first heard Dr. Dick lying over the phone about why he couldn’t go. The multicoursepranzo della Domenica, an all-day affair starting just after brunch, is one of Italy’s most enduring customs.

But Dr. Dick never wanted to do anything remotely interesting or fun with his lawnorhis personal life.

Not me. I love fun, so I’ve been dying to go. The only problem is that Frankie doesn’t ask me.

“Oh,” I say when it becomes clear she has no intention of issuing an invitation. “Okay. Maybe tomorrow night for steaks, then?”

“That sounds great,” she says brightly, standing and lifting her empty plate, then reaching for mine. “You all through?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m all through.”

Look, I’m not a quitter. My dad often accused me of giving up when things got rough—lacrosse, tennis, sailing—but that was never the case. I only give up when things are boring. Why am I going to waste time on some boring activity I don’t want to do when I could be spending it doing something I like—or even trying something new?

Dad never got that.

But I didn’t get to where I am today by giving up.

“So are you not inviting me to Sunday dinner with your family because it’s too soon, or because I embarrass you?” I ask.

Frankie spins from the sink to face me, her expression shocked. “What?No!What on earth would make you think that?”

“Because I know I’m not the type of guy you’ve been with in the past. I met Dr. Dick. He’s supersmart.” I’m being generous. I don’t think Dr. Dick is that smart, or he’d be sitting here with Frankie instead of me. “I know I’m smart, too, just in a different way. And I recognize that this is all new, and if you’re not ready to introduce me to your family, I get it, I can wait. But I want you to know...”

I take the plunge, because I’m never going to let what happened with Nicole happen again. I’m glad now that Nicole and I broke up, because she’s got Henry and the kids, and that’s left me free to get to know Frankie.

But this time, I’m going to do everything right.

“Ireallylike you,” I tell Frankie, who is staring at me like I’ve suddenly grown a second head. But I don’t let that deter me. “And when I like someone, I go all in. I don’t like playing games. I had enough of that growing up. Maybe that’s not the most mentally healthy way to be, but that’s just how I feel. I know I can be clueless, like with Mrs. Baumgarten and the speakers and the muffler on my truck, but I swear to you that I’m trying to be better, and I think if you’d just give me a chance, you’d see I can do more than lower your risk for heart attack through sex—although I’m more than happy to provide that service to you. But when you’re ready, I’d love to meet your family, and maybe even introduce you to mine, if that’s something—”

She’s already crossing the kitchen to put her arms around me.

“Oh, Ash,” she says with a laugh, nuzzling up against me in a manner I could really get used to. “I’m sorry. I’d love to meet your family. I didn’t ask you to Sunday Gravy because I didn’t think you’d want to go. Richard never wanted to go—”

I keep my opinion about that to myself, but it takes effort.

“And you’ve met my family,” she goes on. “They’re amazing, and I love them so much, but they’re... a lot. A whole lot. Especially Mark. And my sisters. And my mother.” She takes a step away from me, then drops her face into her hands, embarrassed again, just like with the DeLong kids. “Oh my God, my mother last night, with the grapes and sausage?”

I reach out and drag her back into my arms. “I loved meeting your mother last night. And I would be honored to go to Sunday dinner with you. But only if you want me there. I’m happy to wait, if you’d rather.”

She looks up at me, and I see tears gathered beneath her long, dark eyelashes.

“Hey,” I say, alarmed. “Are you okay? Why are you crying? What did I do?”

“Nothing.” She’s shaking her head and smiling, but tears are sliding down her cheeks. “You didn’t do a thing. I’m not sad. I’m happy. Maybe it’s the kittens. Maybe it’s oxytocin. But... Ash, I can’t believe howhappyI feel.”

So what choice did I have then? All I could do was pull her close and kiss her.

Frankie