“Ma! I’m here. What smells so damn good?” I holler while setting down my gym bag and keys and kicking off my sneakers.

“Watch your tongue, boy!” my mother yells back.

I make my way through my childhood home, along the hallways filled to the brim with family pictures of my five sisters and me, my mother and father, and our extended Italian clan. I come from a big family. Not only did my parents have six children, but they each came from six themselves. That makes for some roaring family get-togethers. It’s a good thing my parents built their home long ago when the market outside of Berkeley in the Bay was still affordable. The house may not be huge—my sisters had to bunk up all their lives—but it has an enormous backyard that backs up against a small river. One we’ve taken advantage of more times than I can count with gatherings, birthdays, and celebrations.

Like tonight. Family dinner nights are Sundays—no exceptions unless one of us is out of town. My mother would have my hide if I blew her off. And if I said I was sick, either she’d be banging down my door, checking in on me, bringing homemade chicken noodle soup, or one of my sisters would. My family is close. Very close. It’s just our way. Sometimes it can be a pain in the ass, but most of the time, it’s the best feeling in the world. I’ve never felt alone or out of touch because there is always someone at the ready to hold my hand and lift me up, support me and my goals and dreams. And I do the same for them. Family is everything to the Salernos.

I get to the kitchen and find my tiny mother slaving over several pots simmering on the stove. Homemade marinara steams up the room with a mouthwatering scent that equals happiness and home. Nothing better. Getting close, I wrap my arm around my mother from behind and kiss her temple.

She lifts the free hand not holding the ever-present wooden spoon and embraces my arm. “My Nicky.”

“How you doin’, Ma?”

My mother pats my forearm. “I’d be better if my boy would speak like a gentleman.”

I grin, knowing my mother hates profanity of any kind. Even a simple “damn” grates on her nerves. Squeezing her tight, I kiss her temple again. “Sorry, Mama. Won’t happen again,” I lie, playing the game we always play.

She chuckles. “Liar. Be a good boy and get your mother a glass of vino.”

“You got it.” I give her one last squeeze and head to the small cellar off the kitchen where we keep the endless supply of our family’s wine. My father’s side comes from a long line of vintners, which allowed us to afford this house and enabled my mother to stay home and raise her family. Be a wife and a mother. Her claim to fame, as she puts it.

Not worrying about the varietal or vintage, I just pull a bottle off the shelf. In my opinion, they are all amazing because they were made by my dad and uncles. Food or drink made with love is the best there is.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I reach the landing back in the kitchen and find my sister Dawn. Her long dark hair is pulled back off her face in a ponytail, highlighting her high cheekbones and rosy cheeks. I grab her from behind, lift her up, and spin her around while she squeals in delight.

After I’ve made a full spin, I drop her down, where she turns around and hugs me tightly. “Hey, bro. How’s it hanging?”

“Heavy and to the right,” I joke, and she crinkles up her nose and punches my chest.

“Gross!”

It’s our standard greeting, one that never gets old. Dawn and I have always been close, being a year apart, but I’m pretty tight with all my sisters. Behind me, Dawn’s husband, Lorenzo, or “Lo” for short, claps me on the back.

“Nick, bro. How’s business?” He lifts his hands into two fists and weaves from side to side as I playfully duck and punch his hands.

“Gym’s good. Can’t complain. Of course, we need new equipment, a new ring, an overhaul of everything really, but it pays the bills. That and the classes I teach at Lotus House.”

“That aerial shit you do is crazy, man.”

I grin. “What? You not man enough to give it a try?”

He shakes his head. “Hell, no. Dangling from silk over a hardwood floor. I’d like to keep my balls and bones in perfect working order, thank you very much!”

I grip his shoulder lovingly. When my sister married Lo, my mother got down on her knees and thanked the good Lord above for the miracle. He’s the perfect son-in-law. Tall, dark, handsome, a family man, loves my sister to insanity, and most importantly…he’s Italian. Lo comes from a good family and has recently taken an interest in winemaking. My father, Sal, couldn’t be happier. Neither could I, since his interest in the business, along with my second sister, Angela, takes the pressure off Sal’s only son not wanting to participate.

It’s an endless argument, me not going into the family business, but one I’ve been winning lately. After I opened Sal’s Boxing Gym & Fitness Center, my father eased off the winemaking lectures. I’m sure the day I named the gym after my dad—well, technically, after both of us, since I’m Nicholas Salvatore Salerno Jr.—he understood why I needed to do it. It was me going after my own dreams, being my own man. Do I love wine? Absolutely. You’re not Italian if you don’t love wine. I think they slip it into our genetic makeup when we’re in the womb. Do I love what the Salernos have built? Hell, yes. I’m damn proud of my family. We aren’t rich, but we’re damn sure not poor. We’re all living the lives we want to live, and that’s all anyone can ask for. Me included.

My dad enters from the back deck, holding a plate of steaming grilled sausages. Ma may have made the marinara and pasta, but my father appreciates a nice grilled sausage instead of putting it in with the sauce. “Nicky! How you doin’?” he asks with that Italian flair.

“Good, Pops. Can’t complain.” I grab a few wineglasses as the rest of the brood makes their way into the kitchen.

Angela shows up with her boyfriend in tow. Ma has not shown him the love yet, mostly because he’s quiet and Latino. It’s not that she’s racist; she just really loves being Italian and wants her children to have a horde of Italian babies. Still, Javier is wearing her down. He’s been living with Angela for a solid year, and I expect a ring on her finger any day now. Once he makes that intention known, Ma will switch over to doting future mother-in-law in a second flat. All Ma wants is for her children to marry good, preferably Italian, men and have lots of babies. If he marries Angela, she’ll accept him with open arms. Until then, no one is good enough for her children.

Cara, my third baby sister, breaches the kitchen with a new beau and, shockingly, a little girl who couldn’t be more than three or four years old. Oh, damn. Shit is about to get real. One thing my mother loves more than being Italian is children.

I walk over to my sister and pull her into my arms. The man next to her braces visibly, locking his jaw tight and narrowing his eyes. Seems protective and/or jealous. I can relate to the first; the second will earn him time in my ring, meeting my glove-covered fists.

“Hey, care bear, you look good. Who’s this you have holding your hand?”

She gives me a wobbly grin, her brown eyes shining bright as she looks down. “This is Kaylee and my boyfriend, Scott.” Scott is not an Italian name. And neither is the blond-haired, green-eyed guy putting an arm around my sister. This ought to be fun.

I offer my hand, and when Scott shakes it, I squeeze it hard enough for him to know I’ll mess him up if he so much as hurts one hair on Cara’s head. “I’m Cara’s brother, Nicholas. Boxer.” I tip my chin up and flex my muscles in what I consider my signature boy-scaring move. “You should come down to the gym sometime. Would be good to get to know you a little better, wouldn’t you agree?” I squeeze harder and grin.

He pulls his hand away and shakes it while wincing. “Uh, I’m not thinking that would be good for my health.”

I grin wickedly. At least he’s smart.

Cara shoves my shoulder. “Nicky, be nice.”

My mother turns around from the stove when she hears Cara’s admonishment. Her blue eyes smile when she sees Cara and then turn hard as she takes in Malibu Ken, aka Scott. I hold back a snicker. One thing my mother despises is a Richie Rich, and this boy reeks of money from the tips of his Ferragamos up to his dress slacks and Ralph Lauren polo shirt.

Ma believes if you didn’t till the ground yourself and work for every dollar you’ve ever received, you’re likely not a good human. I guess my mother is a bit judgmental. Until, of course, she sees the curly haired blonde girl tucked behind her daddy’s leg.

She leans down instantly, her rounded form balancing perfectly as she crouches. “And who is this angel baby?”

Scott tugs his daughter’s hand, bringing her out from behind him. “Introduce yourself, sweetie,” Scott tells his daughter. I glance up at my sister, and she’s biting her lip, not doing a very good job at holding back her obvious love of the child.

“I Kaylee,” she mutters and walks over to my mother, swinging her skirt.

Another thing about Ma: all children love her. No matter how many twenty-something men my sisters have brought home, men who cower in fear of her and her legendary wooden spoon, children don’t have that same fear.

“Aren’t you the prettiest girl I ever did see? Do you like spaghetti?” Ma asks Kaylee.

“It’s her favorite dinner,” Scott blurts.

I grin. Good one. Point for Scott.

My mother’s gaze flashes to Scott approvingly before going back to Kaylee. “Would you like to help me cook, angel?”

The little girl’s eyes light up. “Ohh! Fun!” She giggles, and my mother scoops her right up, puts her on a rounded hip as if she did this every day, and hands the little one her own wooden spoon. Well, that was easy.

I turn toward my sister, who’s got her hands clasped in front of her heart and a giant smile.

“Dodged a bullet on that one, care bear.” I tap her nose like I always have with my sisters.

“You’re telling me.” She lets out a long breath, and Scott puts his arm around her, reminding me that a new man is all up in my sister’s space. A man with a child.

“You and me.” I point to Scott’s chest and then my own. “We’ll be having words. Soon. Feel me?”

Scott swallows but firms his spine and holds my sister closer. Point two for Scott. Afraid but willing to put himself out there. Of course, there’s no way I’m giving him that inch of satisfaction when he needs to have the fear of her big brother put into him.

“Not a problem, uh, Nick.” He forms his words, trying to sound confident but failing.

“Nicholas,” I correct him firmly. He hasn’t earned the right to use my informal name.

“Nicholas.” He clears his throat. “You’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on.”

“Reeealyyyyy?” I draw out the word. “Then you’ll need to have some wine. Meet the family. We do dinners—”

Scott jumps in. “Every Sunday. Got it. Feel honored I’ve finally been invited.”

I frown at the word “finally.”

“Care bear, how long you been hiding Malibu Ken?”

Cara squints. “Not nice, Nicky. And not that long.” She looks away, diverting her gaze. That’s her tell. A poker player she is not. That slip of the eye means she’s lying through her teeth.

“Carrie, tell the truth,” Scott admonishes.

Carrie? Special nicknames. Fuck. This is serious.

“Uh, maybe we kind of sort of already live together.” She twirls her hair and shuffles her feet.

I’m certain my eyes about pop out of my head at this news. Cara’s been hiding a man. “You are in so much trouble. This is going to be fun to watch.” I grin, knowing my mother and father are going to lose their shit when they find out.

Cara grabs my biceps, holding me in place. “Don’t tell them. I want them to fall in love with them both the way I have first…” she rushes to say.

“Love? Fuck, Cara. You love this guy and his kid, moved in with him, and have been hiding this from your family? How long?” I whisper-growl closer to her face, my big brother hat firmly in place.

Scott pulls my sister back protectively. Another point for Scott, but this surprise is going to douse any hope they had of easing the family into him.

Right then, Gracie and Faith enter the kitchen, arms locked. Being the babies, the two of them have always been close, both hitting their twenties and still living at home.

Gracie’s gray-blue eyes, similar to my own only with blue versus my green tone, lock on to mine. Grace and I look the most alike with our near-black hair and super-light eyes we got from our mother. She has a mixture of the blue-green-gray combo. The rest of the family have the dark, cappuccino-colored hair and brown eyes. She’s also the baby, and I’m the eldest, so we have that oldest and youngest sibling connection.

“Girls.” I let Cara off the hook for now and open my arms. Both rush into me. The scent of their strawberry shampoo hits my nose, reminding me of home. I breathe them in, my heart feeling at peace, being around my entire family. “How’s my girls?”

“Great!” Faith laughs, hugs me once more, and jets off to talk to the rest of our sisters.

“Good, Nicky,” Gracie answers, keeping an arm around my waist. “I got the job at Lotus House teaching Vinyasa Flow while I finish up my internship with Chef Jean Luc.”

I grin. “See, I knew Crystal and Jewel would hook you up. You’re a Salerno, and I taught you everything you know.”

“Didn’t hurt that I already had my registered yoga credential prior to that.” She laughs, but I ignore it and nuzzle her close.

“How long are you going to be the right hand for the amazing, the talented…Chef Jean Luc!” I joke, rubbing her hair and making the top pouf up.

She pats it down and pushes the loose sides around her ears. Her cheeks pink up at the mention of the chef like they always have. I think she has a crush on the man, which is not good. Not only is he French, he’s also ten years her senior. Mama would have a fit.

“He’s perfect.” She sighs dreamily.

I roll my eyes, lock my arm around her shoulder, and whisper in her ear. “You gonna tell your mother that?”

She cringes. “No way. He speaks French as fluently as she speaks Italian, and never the two shall meet.”

“Uh-huh. And when he realizes you’re sweet on him? What then?”

Her body goes stiff, and she turns to me. “He wouldn’t. Jean Luc doesn’t even know I exist.”

My sister is sweet, innocent, and so gorgeous I had to beat up so many smarmy suitors in high school, my fingers were constantly bloodied. These girls have put my father and me through our paces with the boys sniffing around. Now that they’re twenty and up, there’s not much I can do but threaten their boyfriends or suitors into being respectful. I also do what I can to bring them to the gym so I can put them in the ring with a pair of gloves. Beat the fear of God into them. I know for sure, there’s no way on God’s green earth a hot-blooded male wouldn’t see the beauty in our Grace. She’s stunning.

“Well, if Mr. French doesn’t notice you and your beauty, it’s his loss. Besides, he’s too old for you.”

“Age is only a number.” She pouts.

I tip my head back and laugh. “Tell that to your mother, and see how well that goes over.”

“No need. And what about you? You haven’t brought a girl around in ages.” She nudges my arm with her elbow.

I lift the glass of wine I poured and finally take a long sip, holding it in my mouth like my father taught me, allowing the wine’s true essence to permeate my taste buds. I shrug. “None worth bringing home to all of you.”

“What’s that I hear? My boy finally find a sweet, young, Italian woman who can cook to bring home?” Ma butts in, setting the little girl down. She scrambles to her dad with a spoon slathered in red sauce running down the wooden surface.

“No, Ma, no woman.” I groan and scowl at my sister for calling me out.

My mother bats my shoulder with her potholder. “Why not? You’re a handsome man. You stop playing the field, and a good Italian girl is going to knock you off your feet!”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Ma…” I go over to her and wrap my arm around her shoulder. Her head barely reaches my sternum. “No woman could be as good as you. But I promise, when I find her, you’ll be the first to meet her, yeah?”

She smacks my belly this time. “You better not be kidding around. I’m not getting any younger. I want bambinos running around this house again. I need laughter while I’m cooking or I’m unhappy. When are you going to give me some grandbabies to spoil?”

I sigh and let my head fall. “Ma, we have this conversation all the time. When I find the right woman.”

“If you don’t keep your Italian sausage in your pants and your eyes open, you never will.”

That has all my sisters and me laughing hard. Even scaredy cat Scott chuckles. Javier doesn’t say a word, quietly sitting in the corner—the same one he has for a year. Watching it all go down. From what I understand, he has a big family, so ours couldn’t be too far away from his.

“I’m going to die an old woman with no grandbabies. I just know it. Salvatore…you bury me, and my headstone will say…died alone with no grandbabies.” She lifts her head and hands to the sky, feigning agony.

“No, you won’t, Mom. I can promise you that.” Dawn smiles huge as her husband, Lorenzo, loops an arm around her.

The way Dawn and Lo are grinning means they are about to drop a big surprise on us. One I suspected was coming. My mother wipes her hands on the towel over her shoulder, flicks off the burners, and stands in front of Dawn and Lo. My father grabs Ma’s hand and holds it to his heart. “Dawn baby, you have something to tell your mama and papa?” His voice shakes as tears hit Dawn’s cheeks.

My sister nods excitedly. “We’re pregnant!” she says, and the entire room explodes in squeals of joy.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! My baby is having a baby! Thank you, Lord!” Ma cups Dawn’s cheeks and kisses her on the mouth. “I love you. I love you so much. You’re going to be a mama!” Dawn cries and my mother cries with her. “I’m going to be a grandmother!” She kisses my sister again.

My father tugs Lorenzo to his side and puts out his other hand. Lorenzo holds on to it. “Made us really happy, son.” He claps Lo on the back, his voice lower than normal.

I watch it all go down, happy that my parents and my sister are getting everything they’ve ever wanted. A pang of sadness pierces my heart that I wasn’t the first one to announce a grandbaby. Being the firstborn—and the only son—there’s some pressure to carry on the Salerno name, but I’m thrilled for Dawn and Lorenzo. It also gets the heat off me for a while. Added bonus.

When my sisters are done gaggling over one another like a bunch of hyenas, I nudge my way in front of my baby sis. I cup her cheek and swipe away a tear with my thumb. “You happy?” I ask, needing to see her eyes when she responds.

Her chocolatey gaze lifts to mine. “This is what I always wanted. A family. My own family.” Her voice conveys nothing but awe.

“And you’re getting it. So, I’ll ask again. You happy, sunshine?”

“More than I ever thought possible,” she whispers back, and I lean my forehead against hers.

“Proud of you. Going after what you want. Finding a good man in Lo. Making a home. And now you’re building a family.” I lay my hand over her stomach. “My baby sister is having a baby. Blessed. We are so blessed.”

She nods against me and wraps her arms around my neck, and I hold her close.

“Can’t wait to spoil him or her rotten.”

Dawn laughs into my neck. “And I’ll let you.”

Yeah, she will.

Lorenzo taps my shoulder. “Can I have my wife back, bro?”

I flinch off his hand. “Back off. Getting some love. Get your own.”

“She is my own; you back off,” he jokes in return.

Pulling away, I smile as Lorenzo pulls my baby sister into his arms. Can’t blame the man for loving my sister. She’s the best, and now they’re growing their family.

“You good?” Lorenzo leans into Dawn’s face, capturing all of her attention. That’s how it’s always been with them since day one.

That’s the kind of love I want. The kind where everyone in the room disappears when my woman is near.

“The best. I love you,” she tells my brother-in-law.

He says it back and kisses her. The entire room breaks out cheers.

“We’ve got a baby on the way!” Ma announces proudly. “Go get the old vine reserve, Sal. We’re celebrating tonight!”

I gulp my wine and take stock of my family. I was not kidding before. Blessed is what I am. Got a great set of parents, though nosey and intrusive. My five sisters are all happy and healthy. I’ve got my boxing gym and Lotus House. The only thing I don’t have is a woman to share it with.

A heaviness breaches my chest. Regardless of what my ma thinks, I have kept my eye out for a good, honest woman to share my life with. Dated plenty of them. There’s just always been something missing. Either I’ve got too much going with work and the yoga studio to keep them happy, or they want more than I’m willing to give. And forget about the ones who want a man with money.

The Bay Area is chock full of trophy wives. Bitches up on their high horses who think as long as a man has a large bankroll, he’s marriage material. I need a woman who doesn’t care how much money I bring in. Which isn’t much right now. The gym is only in its first few years, and I bought it off the last owner who let it get run down, so the equipment is not new. I just started getting a regular membership growing, which is why I work regularly at Lotus House. The only reason I can live in the pricey area is because of the apartment on top of the gym. The place came with it. Pretty much the only real thing of monetary value I own is the gym and my 1969 Chevy Camaro Z28 302 in stunning Daytona yellow with black racing stripes. I love that car almost as much as I love my dick. And that’s saying something.

Outside of working my ass off and that car, I don’t have much to offer a woman. However, I’m building up the membership, getting regular fighters in for the league, including my Lotus House buddies, pro baller Trent Fox and his trainer Clayton Hart, as well as my buddy Dash Alexander and my old colleague Atlas Powers. Over the past few years, I’ve become pretty tight with the crew and have kept an eye on their women, whom I respect and care for like my very own sisters. Though, lately I’ve been hanging back now that all of them are paired up. No one likes to be odd man out or a fifth wheel. Still, I need to get back out there and play the field a little. I haven’t seen any action with the ladies in a long while, although that’s not for lack of interest.

Hell, every day it seems like I’ve got a new clinger in one of my yoga classes. The women come out in droves, but I don’t tend to dip my stick where I eat. Meaning no Bettys from the studio. Then again, there haven’t been any worth breaking that rule for. I come across beautiful women every day in my classes, but I’ve never felt that spark, that sizzle that makes me look twice at someone.

My pops always said I’d know it when it happens. When he met my mother back in high school, he was playing football, and she was a cheerleader for the opposing team. He said it was like he’d been hit upside the head by a linebacker the second his eyes landed on Josephine Ricci. After the game, he hunted her down and asked her out every day until she said yes. According to him, a woman may not know it’s right, but it’s up to us men to show them the errors of their ways.

I want that. I want to look into a woman’s eyes and see my future, though at twenty-nine years old, I am starting to lose hope.