Chapter 12

The next morning she woke up hot, sweaty, and pinned down against the bed. Tony’s heavy thigh was splayed over the lower half of her body, his strong arm around the other half and his soft snore tickling her neck. Slowly she untwined herself from him and snuck out to the bathroom, careful not to wake him. She stretched her long arms up and looked at herself in the mirror. Her lips were still swollen, her body was sore, and her hair was a mess. She’d never felt better. Quickly she finished up in the bathroom and dressed for an early morning jog on the boardwalk.

Ten minutes into her jog, she heard a familiar voice calling her name. “Frankie!”

She stopped moving and saw Rodrigo crossing the street toward her. “Hey, you were going pretty fast there.”

Slightly breathless, she wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. “Rodrigo? What are you doing here?”

“I came into town early. You know…to acclimate myself to the city before the match. I’m staying there.” He gestured over his shoulder to the hotel behind him. “It’s close to the stadium and the gym. I thought I’d go for a run on the boardwalk.”

That made sense. Most fighters did arrive early in the town they were fighting in to get used to their surroundings and finish off their training there. “Coffee?” He pointed toward the hotel area to a small diner on the corner of the block, interrupting her musings about the coincidence of running into him in such a big city. When he noticed her hesitation, he added, “Come on. I won’t bite. It’s just coffee. We need some sort of closure, don’t you think? At least I do. Come on…please.” She considered what he was saying. Every time she took a step forward with Tony, something happened and she ended up at the starting line again. Some of it was Tony’s insecurities—his temper and jealousy—but the bulk of it was her hang-ups. Her inability to trust. Maybe closure was just what she needed. “Okay,” she said, and followed him down the boardwalk and inside.

Once they were seated at a booth and served coffee, Rodrigo was the first to speak. “So Tony’s already in Miami?”

“Yep. He’s already here.”

He took a sip of his coffee. “Training hard?”

She sat back, crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow. “You lured me in here to get some intel about Tony’s fighting?”

He barked out a laugh. “There’s the Frankie I remember.” He reached for her hand and patted the top of it. She could tell it wasn’t anything other than friendship. “I’m just trying to make small talk. We used to be friends, Frankie. I missed you when you left me. Talking with you, even after all these years, shouldn’t be this awkward, should it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the only ex-husband I’ve ever had. Aren’t we supposed to hate each other? Isn’t that the protocol for exes?”

“We don’t have to hate each other. We could be the exception. Tell me, how are you doing?”

“I’m good. For the first time in a long time, I’m good.” She sipped her coffee, thinking about her statement. Yes…she really was good.

“I’m glad I ran into you. Since the press conference, I’ve wanted to talk, explain things. Apologize.”

“You don’t have to apologize. What you said…you were right. We were too young and I was closed off. Actually, I’m still closed off, but I’m working on it. I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive last time. It’s not even like I’m still pining for you or anything.”

He clutched his chest in mock agony. “Ouch.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.” She smiled. “I guess I am over you. I just wasn’t ready to get over all the issues.”

“I loved you, you know. I wish…oh, I don’t know.” He looked over her shoulder, deep in thought, then focused on her again. “I guess I wish that we hadn’t met so young. Maybe if we’d met now, it would’ve been different.”

“Yeah, but we can’t change the past, and there were too many hurt feelings and ugly words.”

“I hope you believed me when I said it was just that one woman and that one time. I don’t know if that makes it better or anything but it’s important that you know that. I wasn’t out there cheating on you with every girl. And I regretted it immediately. I never meant to hurt you. Never.”

“I do believe you. Thank you for telling me.”

“Can I ask you something?” he asked. “How badly hurt were you?”

“There’s no point in rehashing that. It would just make you feel bad, and I don’t want to do that to you, at least not any more than I probably already have. I was sad, Rodrigo. If you thought I was closed off before, well, it got even worse.”

“But now you’re good, right? Tony and you? You’re good?”

“We will be.”

“I’m glad. I want you to be happy.”

“You too, Rodrigo. I want you to be happy. How have you been doing?”

“I’ve been traveling a lot. I’m ready to find a place and settle down.”

“You thinkin’ about retiring?”

“No, not retiring so much as just slowing down a little.” He finished his coffee. “I’m tired of fighting, of traveling, of never being able to relax and…I don’t know…have a donut.” They both laughed. “This fighting business, it takes its toll.”

“Well, if you ever wanted to settle down in Tarpon Springs, I’m sure Slade wouldn’t mind taking you on as a trainer or something.”

Rodrigo laughed. “I don’t think your boyfriend would like me hanging around your gym.”

He was right. Tony would have a fit.

Out of nowhere Rodrigo blurted out, “The passion was always missing from our relationship, don’t you think? Maybe ’cause we were so young and innocent.”

They’d had first-love tingles. Sweet sex. Beautiful tender moments. But passion? No, definitely not.

“I hope you find that passion with someone, Frankie. I think that you are full of passion and intensity, and any man who can bring that out in you is a lucky son of a bitch.” He lifted her hand from the table gently and kissed her palm.

“You too, Rodrigo. I’m really glad you made me have coffee with you.”

He smiled fondly at her, then stood up and dropped some money on the table.

“I gotta go. I have to get ready to kick your boyfriend’s ass next month.” He winked. “I’m glad we chatted.”

“No hard feelings?” she asked.

“None.” He brought her in for a long tight hug.

“Rodrigo, thank you.” And she meant it. She had needed that closure. She had needed to hear that she wasn’t the only one who’d felt sad back then; he had too. She had needed to hear apologies and truths. And just like that, she was completely certain that she was over Rodrigo, over her anger, over her resentment. All those poisonous feelings just melted away.

He let her go and smiled. “Okay, now I really gotta go.”

Tony stretched his arms and felt around the bed. He opened an eye to see it was empty. The clock next to the bed said it was still early. He looked around the room. It seemed like her stuff was still there. He stood up and immediately felt a crick in his neck and the dull pain in his knees. He bent down and rubbed his knee.

“Looking good, old man.”

“Were you checking out my ass?” He smirked and turned around. Francesca was leaning against the frame of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her body.

“Maybe.” She smiled. “You always walk around totally naked?”

“It’s my house. I’m with my woman.” He moved forward, pulled off her towel, and threw it aside, making her yelp. “I’m invoking the naked-before-nine-in-the-morning rule.”

She looked up to the ceiling as if she was thinking. “You know, that’s a pretty good rule. Good idea.”

“And you thought it was all looks with me?” He smiled and pulled her into his arms.

She gazed up at him with a serious and concerned face. “What’s wrong with your knee?”

“It’s nothing. My body and my mind aren’t on the same wavelength in the mornings. I’ll feel better after a hot shower. You’re up early. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I thought you could use some sleep. I woke early and went for a jog.”

“Already?”

“Yep.” She reached up and kissed him. “I saw Rodrigo.”

It caught him so off guard that his body straightened and he took a step back. “You went jogging with your ex-husband?”

“You need to stop referring to him as my ex-husband. You make it sound like there’s something between him and me. It’s not like that.”

“Anymore. It’s not like that anymore.”

She picked up her towel, wrapped herself in it, and sat on the bed. She was tired of fighting with him. Someone needed to be the one to make the change. She normally got defensive and then the argument would escalate. She reached down, grabbed a pair of shorts, tossed them to him, and then tapped the space next to her. He let out a breath and reluctantly complied, putting on his shorts and sitting down. She couldn’t have a conversation with him naked. It would undoubtedly lead to other things, and then this would never be discussed.

“I was married before I met you. A long time ago. I have a past. But so do you, Tony, and your past is a lot more disconcerting than mine. If I stopped and thought about all the women you slept with before me, I’d lose my mind.”

“I wasn’t married to anyone. Your relationship with Rodrigo meant more than any other woman I ever slept with.”

“I can’t change that. If you can’t let that go, we’ll never move forward, and I want to move forward with you.”

“I told you I would try to rein in my jealousy. I will try, I promise. The crazy thing is…I don’t even dislike Rodrigo. He’s actually kind of a good guy.”

“He is.” She scooted closer to him. “We had a good talk. I ran into him and we had coffee. We were young and naive when we got married. But a lot has happened since then, and you helped me realize that I can try to regain some of my old self and still be my new self.”

“Frankie and Francesca? Shit, I don’t know if I can handle that.” He laughed, and she playfully shoved his shoulder.

“I’ll never be that naive girl again. I will always want to have control. I’m not ever going to be a pushover. But I can be playful and try to have fun. I can loosen up and let you have your wicked way with me in the bedroom.”

“Oh! I like that.”

She stood up and let the towel fall on the floor. “Yeah. I think I like that too.”

And she loosened up and offered herself to him for their pleasure.

The next month went by without a hitch. Tony would wake up early and join her for a jog, and then he’d go train with Cain at the gym. He ate only nutritious food and was focused on his training. The change was noticeable to all. Most evenings they made love, and the naked-before-nine rule expanded to naked-as-often-as-possible. She’d done some research and found an allergist who gave Tony shots for his cat allergies. Eventually, his allergies wouldn’t be as severe. She wanted to keep the kittens and Winston, but not at the cost of Tony being sick all the time.

It was early in the morning when she walked into Tony’s gym. He hadn’t joined her on her jog earlier, so she wanted to see how he was doing.

“He’s sick and moody,” Cain said as soon as he saw her.

Tony stopped hitting the bag and looked at her. For about two seconds he seemed surprised to see her. “I don’t get sick,” he snarled. Then he went back to the bag.

“Harder!” Cain yelled at him.

Francesca leaned against the wall, watching.

Tony grunted as he smashed his fist into the punching bag. He had long ago taken his shirt off and was just in gym shorts. The sweat trickled down his back and along his face. Even though he still seemed a little softer around the waist, Tony had gotten himself in tiptop shape in the last few months. But the way he was training today, she could tell that something was off.

Tony grunted again as he threw a roundhouse kick to the bag—his signature move. She’d seen him land it with his eyes closed a dozen times. This time, though, the bag barely budged, yet he seemed winded. In fact, he wasn’t even giving Cain a hard time about ragging on him. “Come on. You couldn’t hurt a six-year-old girl with a shit kick like that,” Cain taunted.

All Tony did in return was grunt and try to kick again, but instead he leaned down, his hands on his knees, fat drops of sweat dripping down his temples as he gasped for air.

Something was definitely off. The gym wasn’t packed, but the few people who were there had already recognized him, and she didn’t want them to see him this way.

Francesca pushed herself off the wall and strode toward the men. She leaned down and spoke to the top of Tony’s head. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he said breathlessly.

“I’m serious.” She swiped the sweaty hair from his face. “Jesus Christ, Tony, you’re burning up.”

“That’s from sweating,” he answered.

“No, it’s not,” Cain said.

Francesca took Tony’s hand, which was still holding his knee, and helped him stand upright. “You’re sick.”

“No. I never get sick.”

“Hate to break it to you, tough guy, but you’re sick,” she sassed.

“Uh…don’t mean to be a dick,” Cain said, stepping back with both hands out in front of him, “but you should go. I don’t wanna get sick.”

“I’m not si—” Tony’s sentence was interrupted by a disgustingly phlegmy cough attack.

“Get the fuck out,” Cain muttered, backing away.

Francesca shook her head. “All this testosterone for a bunch of pussies.” She took Tony’s hand and dragged him out. “I can’t believe Cain’s afraid of germs.”

“I’m fi—” He bent over and started coughing again.

“Yeah. Sure. Fine.” She rolled her eyes. When he was finished with the coughing fit, she asked for his doctor’s number.

He looked at her as if she were crazy.

“I need you healthy and in fighting shape,” she explained. “I’m one hundred percent sure you’re not going to take care of yourself properly, so I’m going to see to it that you do.” She looked up and smiled. “Even though you never get sick.” She pulled out her phone. “Okay, if you’re not going to put me in touch with your doctor here, I’m going to call Chrissy.”

Francesca spoke into the phone as she yanked his car keys from his hands. “Hey, Chrissy. Tony’s sick.”

“I’m not sick,” he protested weakly.

“He is,” Francesca retorted.

“I’m not s—” He sneezed.

“Yes…no…sneezing…” She looked over and questioned him. “What hurts?”

“Everything. My throat, my head,” he finally admitted, and she relayed the information to Chrissy. She listened intently before hanging up.

“Chrissy said it’s probably the flu. All you can do is rest and wait until it goes away. Do you have medicine at your house?”

“No,” he groaned. “Shit, the fight’s so soon. I can’t afford to get sick.”

“You’ve been training very hard. Let’s get you better so you can finish up your training before the big fight. I’ll follow you home in my car and then I’ll drive out and buy some supplies.” She hollered at Cain, who was standing a few feet away. “I’m going to leave the cats in the guest house. They’ll make his symptoms worse.”

“I hate cats,” Cain said.

“No one hates cats. Feed them,” she said before she left.

A few minutes later they were parked in front of his house. When they got inside, she followed behind him as he climbed up to his room. She glanced around and saw the kittens. Quickly she scooped them up.

“They like you,” he observed.

“I like them. Be right back,” she yelled over her shoulder as she ran down the stairs and out the back to the guesthouse where Cain was staying. She stowed the cats in the small living room, then trotted back inside and retrieved their beds and food. On the third trip she brought Winston. Back inside the guesthouse, she got the cats settled. Cain’s little apartment was pristine, but she was sure the cats would quickly change that. She snorted, thinking of Cain’s reaction when he came home. She was fairly certain the Viking was not going to coddle the princesses.

Once back inside the main house, she quickly took off all her clothes, washed her hands very well, and changed into jeans and a T-shirt sans cat hair. She looked at herself in the mirror. She’d been dressing less formally since arriving in Miami and hadn’t worn a suit once. She’d been feeling pretty comfortable with her new laid-back wardrobe, and Tony didn’t seem to mind at all.

Tony couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this sick. His joints and muscles hurt. Hell, his skin hurt. He walked straight to the living room and face-planted right onto the couch. The leather felt cool against his skin.

He felt the seat dip when Francesca sat down next to him. “You feel that bad, huh?” He didn’t respond, because his throat was on fire and talking took too much effort. He wanted quiet. His head throbbed and her voice was making things worse. On a normal day, he’d welcome her chatter, but not today. Today he only wanted to pop a painkiller or thirty, then pass out until he felt better.

Tony felt her small, delicate hand touch the back of his neck, and a weird shiver ran down his spine at the contact of her skin on his. “Okay, Mr. I-Never-Get-Sick, your fever’s spiking.” She stood. “Come on.” He didn’t move; instead, he moaned some more. “Come on, Tony. You need to take a cool bath and then get into bed. I have to run out and buy a few things for you.”

“Go. I’ll be fine,” he mumbled into the cushions.

“No. I’m not leaving until you’re in bed.”

“I don’t want to get up,” he whined.

“Tony, come on.” She tried to roll him over in order to help him up, but the man wouldn’t budge. He felt tugging and pulling, and he wanted to help, but his body wasn’t cooperating. He heard a grunt before he felt his body make contact with the floor.

“Cono! You’re trying to kill me. Fuck.” He slowly got up into a sitting position. If his head was throbbing before, it was now pounding, and the room was spinning.

Breathless, Francesca crouched in front of him. “Shit, sorry. I was trying to help you up, not roll you to the floor.” She stood and extended her arms down to him. He reached up, took her hands, and painfully stood. The contact sent another bout of shivers through him. Damn fever. He’d never tell her, but her attempt to pull him up was actually cute. He let her think she was helping but there was no way she could lift him; he outweighed her by at least seventy-five pounds.

“ ’S’okay. I felt like shit before. Now I feel like death.”

“Oh, stop whining.” She led him to the bathroom, where she proceeded to fill the tub with water. “You act like you’re the only one who’s ever been sick.”

Was she really going to bust his balls now?

“Anyway, I thought you never got sick.”

Yep, she sure was going to bust his balls. “Go, take a bath. I’m going to go grab a few things for you from the market.”

“You really don’t have to.” He was sitting on the edge of the tub, his head bent.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. You going to be okay here?”

“I hope so.” He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. “I may pass out and drown, though. You really should stay and give me a sponge bath.” He coughed.

“Are you flirting with me? Because let me just say, that’s the most disgusting proposition I’ve ever had.”

He looked up at her. “You’re right,” he said in a raspy voice. “I think I’ll try again later, when I don’t want to rip my throat out of my neck.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Anything specific you want me to bring you from the store other than what Chrissy suggested? Orange juice? Soup? Your balls, maybe?”

If he hadn’t felt like total shit, he’d have laughed. She was quick as a whip, witty, and could go toe-to-toe with the best of ’em. But right at the moment he wanted to kick her out of the house so he could pass out into oblivion. Ignoring her sass, he stood up, looked her straight in the eyes, hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his gym shorts, and slid them down together with his boxers.

Francesca loved his body. She was sure that he had muscles on top of muscles. He was completely naked three feet in front of her, and her eyes had wandered down for half a second before she turned around and gracefully slammed her hip against the sink. Smooth move, Francesca. She let out a series of curse words before exiting the bathroom.

“Nice language,” he said before she slammed the bathroom door shut.

“Bite me,” she tossed back.

Less than half an hour later, Francesca was back at the house putting away her purchases, which included medicine and a thermometer. She had taken a peek inside his room and found him sprawled out on his bed.

As soon as she placed her cool palm on his forehead, he moaned. He was still hot, but he felt slightly cooler. She coerced his lips open in order to get the thermometer into his mouth. He opened one eye, grunted, and threw an arm over his face. Francesca smiled, then placed the thermometer in his mouth and waited for the beep. One hundred and two. She left and came back with a handful of meds and a glass of water.

“Tony, sit up.”

He groaned.

“Tony, come on. You gotta sit up so you can take these pills.”

“Just go away.” He turned over. “Sleep. Want sleep.”

“I know. But you’re not going to feel better if you don’t take these.”

He grunted a response.

“Come on. Stop being a baby. Sit up, take these, and I’ll stop nagging.”

“Fine,” he murmured. Slowly he sat up and slightly opened his eyes. She could tell he genuinely felt bad. Granted, he was being a huge 230-pound baby, but still, the guy seemed really sick. He reached for the glass and opened his palm. She dropped a few pills into it, and he quickly threw them in his mouth, took a gulp of water, and handed the glass back to Francesca. Then he lay back in bed and pulled the covers over his head.

“What else do you need? Can I get you anything?” Francesca asked.

“Quiet.” He rolled over again, dragging half the sheets with him. A thick thigh sprawled over the comforter, an arm extended to the side, and another one rested over his eyes. “Go away.”

“Ingrate,” she hissed before leaving the room.

She tidied up a bit, then sat in the living room and turned on the television. After an hour of watching a brain-numbing show, she turned it off and went back to his room. She felt his head again and noticed that he felt cooler.

Francesca was no good at taking care of people. Her mother had died giving birth to her, and Francesca had been raised by her dad at WtF Academy. She hadn’t had any women around when she was growing up, and she just didn’t have any maternal instincts. When she got sick, her dad and some of the guys would go buy her soup, and that was pretty much it. Once she was older and learned how to cook, sort of, she would make her father chicken soup every time he was sick, and he’d always loved it and usually got better right away. She had purchased the ingredients when she had gone to the market and decided now was as good a time as ever. She wasn’t certain what had possessed her to want to cook for Tony, but she needed him to feel better. Well, if she was being truthful, she wanted him to feel better. Not for the sake of his upcoming fight, but because she realized she was falling in love with him.

Tony groaned. He heard the clanking of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. It sounded like someone was purposely trying to wake him. All he wanted was quiet, damn it. Peace and fucking quiet! Francesca wanted him better so he could fight, but she wouldn’t stop waking him up.

Then he smelled it.

Hesitantly and painfully, he opened first one eye, then the other. Where the hell was that smell coming from? His neck was stiff and he was trying not to move it, but he had to find the source of the odor. Strangely enough, the smell seemed to be getting closer and closer. Then the bedroom door creaked open. Francesca stood at the door, looking gorgeous. The woman simply took his breath away. There was worry in her hazel eyes as she tried to make sure that whatever was inside the cup wouldn’t spill. He assessed the situation quickly and realized the stench was coming from whatever was in that cup.

Maybe it was some sort of ancient Portuguese potion to end the flu. Something exotic and magical. He furrowed his brow, and she smiled, seeming pleased with herself. She was perhaps the single most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Except damn, that was a godawful smell.

“Chicken soup,” she said proudly, looking down at the cup.

He sat up, reaching for the cup she handed him. “We practically live together, and other than an occasional sandwich, I don’t think you’ve ever cooked.” He looked down at the liquid. It didn’t look bad; maybe it tasted better than it smelled.

“True. You always seem to do the cooking. I don’t really like cooking, but I remembered I use to make Pai soup when he was sick and he’d get better real fast. Plus, I was reading online that you need to stay hydrated and nourished.” She nudged the cup up toward his lips. “You feeling any better after that long nap?”

He nodded and took a sip, because what could he possibly do? The woman had made him soup. Other than his mother and sisters, no one had ever taken care of him; it had always been him taking care of people, and it was always in the form of money.

The concoction was scorching hot, and once he got some sensation back on his burned tongue, he realized it tasted just as bad as it smelled. He looked up and was about to make some snide remark, but she looked so beautiful and pleased. So his eyebrows went up, his lips curled, and he nodded in approval.

“Oh good. Glad you like it.” She looked at her watch. “It’s time for some medicine again. I read it’s best to take it every four hours so that your temp doesn’t spike.” She reached for his forehead. “Even though it seems you don’t have much of a fever right now.”

She got up off the bed and headed to the kitchen. He quickly spat the soup back into the cup. Even though he was feeling better, he wasn’t really feeling well enough to get out of bed. But drinking more of her soup would kill him faster than the flu, so he hopped up, ran to the bathroom, and threw it in the toilet. He flushed it down and ran back to bed. By the time she returned with the pills, he was back under the covers and slightly winded.

“Hmmm, you’re flushed.” She reached over and with the back of her hand felt his forehead and cheek. “How’d you get so hot in the minute I was gone? You definitely need these.” She took the cup from his hand and replaced it with a glass of water and two pills. She looked into the empty cup. “Oh! You really liked the soup! There’s more if you want.”

“I’m good, thanks.” He popped the pills, placed the cup on his nightstand, and patted the space next to him on the bed. Without hesitation, she sat down. “Thank you, Francesca. There are so many sides of you, mi amor. I don’t think I’ve ever met sweet Francesca before.”

She winked and stood up. “I’ll let you rest.”

“Okay. I love you, mi amor,” he said, looking at her expectantly. She smiled, swooped down to kiss him, and left the room.

Then there was quiet…finally.

Francesca needed to get away from Tony. He looked as if he was just waiting for her to say it—to say “I love you.” It was unnerving. She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. Somehow admitting it out loud scared her to death. It validated the fact that he could do real damage when he left. Even though she’d gotten closure with Rodrigo, in the back of her mind she was still worried and scared. She couldn’t help it. She had spent too many years living in fear of falling in love. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she needed this man. Where she was closed off like a vault, he was open. He let his emotions pour out of his body: anger, jealousy, worry, love. All of it was out there, consequences be damned. But the truth was that even if she didn’t—or couldn’t—verbalize her own feelings, her heart was already on the line.

She paced around the house. What the hell was wrong with her? She needed to just tell him how she felt.

She called her father in Brazil. They hadn’t spoken in a couple of days, but he’d sounded better the last time they talked. Clearly Mauricio was recovering from his stroke, but Francesca still worried about him. So long as she gave him good news about the Academy, nothing else seemed to matter to the old man.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, why?”

“The last few times we’ve spoken you’ve sounded different. Happier. Today, not so much. What’s going on?”

She let out a breath. She’d never really had a conversation with her father about feelings or love. He was a good man and he loved her, but he wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of man. “Oh, Pai, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m messed up in the head or something.”

Her father chuckled. “You’re not messed up in the head. What’s going on over there? Is it the Academy? Do I need to fly up?”

“No, no. It’s not the Academy.”

“Then what is it?”

She groaned inwardly and threw herself down on the couch. “Pai, there’s this guy….”

For the next half hour, Francesca spoke with her father about Tony and how she was scared of what would happen if he left her. She was completely honest, and her father listened and probed but never gave an opinion until she was finished.

“Francesca, when your mother died part of me died too. It was pain like I never felt before.”

“You see? I never want to feel—”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “Even though the pain is still there, the good memories overshadow everything. I wouldn’t trade my good times with her for anything. I would rather feel that pain than never have known the kind of love I shared with your mother. Francesca, don’t let fear hold you back. No one can predict the future. Don’t close yourself off because of the what-ifs, because you’ll never let in the good things. Put him out of his misery and tell the poor boy you love him already. And for God’s sake, let him love you back.”

Her eyes watered, and she was about to reply. But when he added, “And give me lots of grandbabies,” she chuckled. Then he told her he loved her and they ended their call.