“Bic!”

Sophie holds up her arms, and he hoists her up easily. “Are you gonna help your mom clean up Uncle Vic’s office?”

Uncle Vic. Did Dante tell him something? Or is he making assumptions?

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I watch as Vic kisses the top of Sophie’s head and sets her back down. “I’m right across the hall if you need anything,” he tells me, and goes out.

The scope of the work to be done is daunting, but the office isn’t going to clean itself. Rolling up my metaphorical sleeves, I get to work.

* * *

By lunchtime, the office doesn’t look any tidier, but there’s a pattern to the chaos. When Vic walks in, I point a finger at him. “Don’t touch anything.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Everything on this side has been sorted into categories. Everything on that side still needs to be gone through. Tomorrow, I can keep sorting, or start filing things to clear more space.”

“Do whatever works for you, Heather. You’re in charge. Hey, bro.”

Dante comes in. “Ready to roll?”

“They didn’t eat yet,” Vic objects. “Her or Sophie.”

“They’ll be fed,” Dante says, in what feels to me like a somewhat cryptic tone. “But feel free to send takeout with them if you want.”

“Good idea. It’ll take you a few minutes to pack everything up anyway. Heather, you like French dip?”

“It’s my favorite.” How did he know?

“Great. And how about a grilled cheese for the little lady?”

“Perfect.” Maybe Vic is a food psychic.

It doesn’t take long to pack up Sophie’s toys so Dante can put the playpen in the back of his SUV, but Vic works fast. By the time we’re ready to go, he has a takeout bag to hand to me. Sophie and I each get a kiss on the cheek, and then we’re off.

At first I assume we’re heading to Izzy’s place, since she talked about meeting again today. A few turns later, though, I’m pretty sure we’re heading in a different direction. Sure enough, we pull up in front of a home I haven’t seen before, in an older neighborhood similar to the one we went through on the way to Dante’s.

It’s a basic ranch house, but immaculately kept. The siding has been recently painted, the roof looks new, and the yard is beautifully landscaped. If whoever lives here ever sells, their realtor will be crowing about pride of ownership.

While we go up the walk to the front door, Dante’s hand rests at the small of my back. My heart speeds up. It’s a casually possessive gesture, but at the same time not casual at all.

The door opens before we can knock or ring the doorbell. A short, softly rounded woman in her sixties stands back to let us in. Like her surroundings, she’s picture perfect, from her clothes to her hair to the subtle hint of perfume she wears.

I’d be intimidated, except that her eyes are so kind.

And then Dante says, “Heather, I’d like you to meet my mother, Carlotta Adamo. Mom, this is Heather Gardner and her daughter Sophie.”

My smile freezes on my face. Carlotta looks from me to her son. “You didn’t tell her whose house you were taking her to?”

Dante opens his mouth and then closes it again. Carlotta lets loose with a stream of Italian. Judging from her tone of voice, she’s dressing him down, not harshly but very firmly.

Since he’s more than a foot taller than she is, it’s hard not to laugh, but I manage it. Barely.

Carlotta turns to me. “Welcome, Heather. It’s a pleasure to have you in my home.” She’s gentle, gracious, and so sincere that I can’t help relaxing.

“Thank you, Mrs. Adamo. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Please, call me Carlotta. We don’t need to stand on ceremony.” She smiles at my daughter. “And this is Sophia. What a lovely child.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be back between five and six to pick you up,” Dante says to me. Then he levels a look at his mother. “No invasions.”

No what? I glance between them, not sure I heard correctly. Carlotta’s chin comes up. “And since when, Dante Adamo, do you tell me what I can do in my own home?”

“Ma, she doesn’t need that.”

Out comes the Italian again, but this time Dante answers her, and they’re clearly arguing. It’s fascinating to listen to. Judging by her wide eyes, Sophie agrees.

Since I don’t speak Italian, their conversation is mostly a jumble to me. One word, though, stands out. Familia.

She lets him have the last word, but I’m not at all certain that means he won. Dante comes to me. “You want me, you call. Don’t worry about me being at work. Just call.”

I still don’t know what’s going on, but I understand he’s making me a promise. “I will.” And that I’ve just made one in return.

The set of his jaw softens a bit. “Good. I’ll see you soon.” He grazes the backs of his knuckles over Sophie’s cheek, very gently, then bends down and touches his mouth, feather light, to mine.

Oh. I watch him walk away, my lips tingling, my fingers over them as if to keep him with me. Carlotta moves up to stand at my side.

I’m not aware the words are there until they come out. “I’m in love with your son.”

“I know, dear.”

Slowly, my head turns until I’m looking at her. “I’m scared.”

“Love is a powerful and frightening force.” She smiles. “And the only thing that can heal the world. Shall we go and sit down?”