Page 6

Chapter 6

Jacob

T he scent of garlic and onions greets us before we even knock on the door.

Gabi's grip on the wine bottle tightens, her knuckles brushing against mine. I offer her a reassuring smile before reaching out to rap on the wooden door of Nonna Chiara's house. It's the same house I practically grew up in, and the familiar feeling of warmth washes over me even before the door swings open.

"Jacob? Is that you?" Nonna's voice is filled with the delight only a grandmother can muster.

"Hey, Nonna!" I say, dropping the food bag onto the porch and sweeping her into a bear hug.

"Oh, my stars! Has it really been that long?" She pulls back, her eyes twinkling as she takes in my five o'clock shadow and the fact that I've conveniently “forgotten” to get a haircut again.

"Not long enough to avoid your cooking," I tease. "I've been dreaming about your gnocchi for months."

Nonna chuckles, shaking her head. "Still a sweet-talker, I see. Come inside, both of you. We were just about to start on the second round of appetizers."

As we step inside, the familiar clutter brings a rush of nostalgia. The living room is a controlled mess—photos of Gabi and Giovanni grinning during various stages of childhood, knick-knacks picked up from countless garage sales, and, of course, multiple newspapers with Sudoku puzzles half-finished by Nonna.

In a plum-colored cotton dress that sweeps toward the floor, the five-foot-nothing, gray-haired spark plug bustles ahead of us before reaching for the bags of food in my hands.

She stops and stares.

"Did you bring the prune juice?" she asks with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Hush, Nonna. We're trying to introduce you to more refined beverages," I reply, holding up the wine bottle.

"Refined, my foot. Nothing beats good old prune juice for keeping things...moving along," she quips, making Gabi snort with laughter.

"You're incorrigible," I say, shaking my head even as a grin stretches across my face. "Just like old times."

Nonna pats my cheek affectionately before turning to fuss over Gabi. "Now, let's get you two settled. The night is young, and so are we. As for you, Jacob, the treehouse is still standing if you feel like reminiscing."

I chuckle, knowing full well that the treehouse holds some of my best memories. "Maybe later. For now, I'm here to help you, remember?"

"Help, he says!" Nonna scoffs, ushering us further into the house. "More like eat all my food and flirt with my nipotina Gabriella.”

"Shh, Nonna." I hold out my hands. "You're ruining my master plan."

Gabi and Gio's Italian grandmother heads for the kitchen, directing Gabi to put the wine in a specific spot while handing me an apron. "You know the drill, Jacob. Roll up your sleeves and start peeling potatoes."

"Nonna," Gabi interjects, "it's past midnight. You shouldn't be cooking. That's why we brought you leftover lasagna. It's really good."

"Nonsense," she huffs. "Whatever canned and stored food I have is for when the apocalypse hits. For now, we cook real food."

I can't help but grin at her stubbornness. Nonna may be in her seventies, but she still has the energy and spunk of a woman half her age.

"Gabi, you'll take care of bruschetta?" she calls out, already bustling around the kitchen.

"Yes, Nonna. I've got it," Gabi responds dutifully, grabbing a baguette and slicing it.

"Good. Now, I'm going to try that wine you two brought. It looks divine."

Grabbing a corkscrew from a drawer, she heads back into the living room, leaving Gabi and me alone in the kitchen.

I laugh, but there's no use arguing with Nonna when she gets into her cooking mode. I roll up my sleeves and join Gabi at the counter, where she is already expertly dicing tomatoes for bruschetta.

I turn to her with a grin. "Looks like we have our hands full tonight."

Gabi laughs, nodding as she spreads tomato and basil on the sliced bread. "But it's worth it. I haven't seen Nonna this happy in a long time."

We work in comfortable silence for a while, lost in the familiar rhythm of cooking together. It's something Gabi and I used to do all the time growing up, helping Nonna prepare family meals or baking sweet treats.

Before I know it, I've settled into my potato-peeling routine, the rhythm soothing and familiar. I toss Gabi a smirk. "You know, Gabs. This PR crisis of ours? A fake relationship would really smooth things over."

Gabi snorts, not missing a beat as she douses the baguette slices with olive oil. "Oh, Jacob, always with the drama. You think some hand holding and a couple of staged dates will fix everything?"

"It couldn't hurt."

She shakes her head, but there's a ghost of a smile on her lips. "You always manage to turn everything into an event. Have you ever considered moonlighting as a wedding planner?"

"Ha! With my cooking skills, I should be a head chef somewhere,” I retort, theatrically flipping a potato into the air and catching it.

Gabi laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that warms you from the inside out.

"So, how's junior doing?" I ask, nodding toward her belly.

Gabi's face softens. "Kicking up a storm lately. I'm pretty sure they're trying to form a soccer team in there."

I chuckle, reaching over to steal a slice of bruschetta. "Well, tell them I'm excited to meet them. You know I’m going to spoil them rotten, right?"

"Oh, I have no doubt," she says, rolling her eyes but smiling.

"Do you know the sex of the baby yet?"

"No. I, uh, wanted to wait. Until the delivery."

As we slide the trays into the oven, a comfortable silence settles over us. I glance toward the living room, noticing how quiet it's become. "Why's Nonna so quiet all of a sudden? Should we check on her?"

Gabi nods, concern flashing in her eyes. "Yeah, let's see what's going on."

We tiptoe into the living room to find Nonna sound asleep on the couch, the bottle of wine unopened beside her.

I shake my head and grin. "Looks like cooking wore her out more than she'd admit."

Gabi and I carefully maneuver Nonna to her bed, tucking her in like she used to do for us. We exchange a glance, full of shared memories and unspoken words, before collapsing onto the couch ourselves.

"Ugh, I don't know why she does this. That hip of hers is going to be killing her tomorrow," Gabi mutters, rubbing her own lower back.

"Well, she just wants to feel useful." I shrug. "And we both know she's stubborn enough to not listen to anyone else's advice."

"True, but I still worry about her."

As we sit on the couch, exhausted from all the cooking and caretaking, I can't help but chuckle. "You know, we make a pretty good team in the kitchen," I say, nudging Gabi with my elbow.

Gabi laughs, resting her head back against the cushion. "Well, except for that one time you almost burned the garlic bread."

“Don’t. Like you said, it was one time. Once. And I was distracted by your terrible singing."

"Hey, my singing is not that bad."

"Not that bad? Nonna banned you to the treehouse when you tried to serenade her on her birthday."

We both dissolve into laughter, reminiscing about all the silly and sweet moments we've shared with Nonna. Even though she drives us crazy sometimes, we wouldn't have it any other way.

"Thanks for coming over tonight," Gabi says, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us once again.

"Are you kidding? It's always a blast cooking with you two. Has been since I can remember.”

I smile at her, and our eyes meet. Inside the living room, the air around us seems to change.

It grows warmer, almost electric. The next thing I know, I'm leaning in, and so is she.

Our lips meet in a soft, gentle kiss. My heart races, but it feels so natural, as if this moment was coming all along.

Gabi's lips are warm and soft, and for that moment, nothing else in the world matters.

Our lips touch, tentatively at first, then with increasing fervor.

Her kiss is a blend of sweet and fiery, and I find myself getting lost in it. My hand moves to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens.

My hand finds its way to her cheek, and she leans in closer, our breaths quickening in unison.

Suddenly, Gabi pulls back, a confused look in her eyes. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, and I can feel the tension in the air.

She places a hand on my chest, as if to catch her breath and create some space between us.

"Jacob, we need to talk about this," she says softly.

I nod, though my heart is still pounding. "Yeah, you're right. That was...unexpected."

"It's just...we have a lot at stake here," she says, meeting my eyes. "And I don't want to risk our friendship over something that we know can't work out." She takes my hand, squeezing it gently. "I think...you were right."

"About what?"

"About solving this ‘you and the owner's wife scandal’. Your idea." She exhales. "I think we should go through with the fake relationship."

I start to speak, but she cuts me off. "But, "she stresses, "we need some ground rules if we do this. We can't let anything like this happen again. No kissing. No hanging out alone. Nothing that can complicate things even more. No crossing lines." She pauses. "Are you with me on this?"

My mind is spinning, but I know she's right. We can't risk our friendship and blur the lines between reality and our fake relationship.

"Yeah, I'm with you," I say finally. "We'll have clear boundaries and stick to them."

"Is that a deal then?"

She sticks out her hand for a handshake and I stare at it, not moving.

In the dim lighting of Nonna's living room, Gabi's green eyes look almost golden. I can see the worry and hesitation in them, but also a flicker of hope.

Or maybe I'm the one hoping.

Hoping she can't see how shaken I am by that kiss. By the scent of her floral perfume that lingers on my skin.

I exhale out loud. "Deal."

I reach out and take her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. We shake on it, sealing our fake relationship in a simple gesture—a gesture that, despite what we just agreed on, suddenly feels like so much more.