Page 74 of The Magic We Made

“That’s a long time,” Ash says with adorable solemnity.

“Please,Dad?” Portia begs.

“We’ll see what your mother says.” Troy is grinning at me over the tops of his kids’ heads. “Maybe if you’re very, very good, she’ll say yes. Have you washed your hands for dinner?”

The girls nearly run over one another in their haste to comply with their father’s wishes, while Troy sets down the stuffed mushrooms, then looks up with a huge smile on his face. But the smile is for Ash, not me. It’s the same knowing smile Mark had been wearing outside. Even Troy knows what Ash and I did last night. And probably even what we did this morning, too.

“So you must be liking West Harbor to spend this much time here,” Troy says conversationally to Ash. “Place is starting to grow on you, huh?”

Ash grins back, but his gaze is on me. “The place is growing on me, all right. The place and... other things.”

“Other things,huh?”

Fortunately Troy’s plan to interrogate Ash about our sex life is ruined by Mark, who saunters back into the dining room from the den.

“So, Ash,” Mark asks. “Are you a Jets or a Giants fan?”

There is only one right answer to this question in my family. Fortunately Ash gets it. “Aw, Jets all the way,” he says, earning both slaps on the back and commiseration from Mark and Troy.

They aren’t the only ones who are welcoming Ash with open arms. Dina’s dark eyes light up when she sees I’ve arrived with him in tow. She barely waits long enough for Troy and Mark to drag him into the den before she grabs my arm and whispers, “So? How was it?”

This is exactly why I did not want to bring Ash to Sunday Gravy. “How was what?”

Dina smacks me in the shoulder. “You know exactly what I mean.”

I give up and grin. “Amazing.”

“Frankie!” she squeals. “I’m so excited! Iknewyou two were going to hit it off.”

“You did?”

“Sure. When someone hates another person as much as you claimed to hate Ash, it’s usually only because they’re secretly attracted to that person—”

“Dina!”

“Well, it’s true.”

“No, that’s not true. Where is Angie really?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject. “She never misses Sunday Gravy.”

Dina shrugs. “I don’t know. I figure some client got a bad dye job in the city, or something, and needs her to fix it.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Maybe. Who knows?Youhave emergency appointments with your clients on Sundays sometimes.”

“True, but—”

“Mangiamo!” Mom cries, emerging from the kitchen with a sizzling platter in her oven-mitted hands. “Tutti a tavolo! Come on, guys, time to eat, come to the table, please.”

Ash’s eyes light up when he sees what’s on the platter.

“Grapes and sausage!” he cries. Troy has pressed a bottle of beer into Ash’s hand, and Mark has mischievously steered him toward the empty chair beside mine. Not that I mind. “Mrs. G, you shouldn’t have.”

Mom beams. “Of course I should have. It was my pleasure. Only the most sophisticated palates appreciate mysalsicce all’uva.But don’t you worry, there is plenty more to eat besides that. When Francesca called this morning to say you would be coming, I was already making a nice gnocchi, as well as myparmigiana di melanzane. So sit, sit and eat. And please, call me Mama.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ash sits, but not before giving the table a look I recognize: it’s the same look he gave me last night right before we kissed. Ash is going to devour this meal the same way he devoured me.

“My turn to say grace,” Portia says, and reaches for Ash’s hand. There’d been a slight struggle between my nieces over who got to sit by the guest of honor, from which Portia, older and more ruthless, emerged the victor.