Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I had to laugh. My mama had taken Charly under her wing, making her an adopted member of the Borelli family. She taught her many of my family’s recipes, and Charly, in turn, had taught my mother and sisters the art of baking pies. It was a win-win situation for everyone, except my waist. Luckily, Maxx had a great workout area in his barn, and both Brett and I took full advantage of it.
“Your lasagna rivaled my mama’s. And I will deny saying that until the day I die. The piece you gave me was massive. Plus, I ate salad and a huge piece of pie. Stop worrying.” I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You do far too much of that.”
She shrugged. “It’s what I do.” She patted my arm. “One helping won’t keep these muscles going. You’re going to give Maxx a run for his money soon.”
Since coming here, my physique had changed. I had always been in shape, but working out with Maxx, following his regimen, I had filled out. My shoulders were broad, my biceps muscled, and my waist trim. I wore a beard now, trimmed close to my face, and I kept my hair short. I had more tattoos than I used to. My mama insisted I looked like a gangster, especially when I drove my motorcycle. She hated it even more than she hated my car. I loved them both. We agreed to disagree on that subject.
“I think I’ll survive one smaller meal.”
She frowned, displeased by my answer. I stayed silent, not wanting to give her any more ammunition. Luckily, she was Charly, and she understood. She dropped the subject—at least for now.
Her eyes widened, and she rubbed her stomach. “Oh, someone is busy.”
“May I?”
She laughed and pulled my hand to where the small hand or foot was moving. I chased it over her stomach, chuckling at the rapid movements. “Soccer. I think she’s playing soccer.”
“She’s been playing a lot.” Charly shook her head. “Thomas was active in the daytime and quiet every night. She is the exact opposite. She starts around this time and keeps me up most of the night.” She sighed, rubbing her bump. “Don’t you, baby girl?”
I felt a strange flutter in my chest. Dull and achy. I rubbed at my sternum, unsure what caused the sensation.
I heard the door opening at the other end of the building and heavy footsteps headed our way. I looked at Charly, who was smiling, her eyes once again dancing with mischief.
“You had to poke the bear, didn’t you?”
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Red!” Maxx bellowed in his gruff voice. “What are you doing in here?”
I hung my head, trying to hide my amusement. Maxx appeared, grabbing the doorframe. He was massive, filling the space. “Paint fumes, Charly. What have I told you about paint fumes?”
“There are none. Jeesh, I checked before coming in, big man. Stop chapping my ass.”
“I’m going to chap your ass. With my hand.”
Charly was almost vibrating on the stool in giddiness. “Promises, promises,” she teased.
“Jesus, can you two take the foreplay somewhere else? I’m trying to work.”
Maxx crossed the room and grasped the denim straps on Charly’s overalls. He lifted her up, kissing her hard. “You were supposed to be relaxing. Sitting on the porch. Not wandering around. Why are you never where I leave you?”
His words were spoken without anger. I could hear the underlying adoration in his voice.
Once again, the odd sensation in my chest welled, and I frowned. Maybe I needed a Tums. I was getting old if lasagna was causing heartburn.
Charly gazed up at Maxx, her love shining in her eyes. “Maybe I like it when you come find me.”
I cleared my throat. “Still here, people. Right here.”
Maxx chuckled and shot me a grin. He had zero embarrassment when it came to his wife. He bent and scooped her into his arms. She gasped but laughed and rested her head against his broad shoulder.
“We’ll leave you to work,” he said with a wink.
“Have a good night,” I replied.
“I put leftovers in your car!” Charly called. We all drove trucks belonging to the garage since it was great advertising, but on the weekends, I preferred my own car.
“Thanks,” I called back, seeing how close their heads were and knowing neither of them was listening.
I watched them walk away, already lost in each other. I rubbed my chest, the odd sensation not dissipating.
I stared at the design, deciding to head home. I wasn’t accomplishing much, sitting here and stewing.
Tomorrow was Sunday. A nonnegotiable afternoon spent at Mama’s. I’d be surrounded by my siblings, their spouses, and children. There’d be lots of laughter, teasing, and food. I’d spend a few hours being climbed on by the kids, scolded by my mother for not having any of my own. At least one of my sisters would casually mention a friend she wanted to introduce me to. That would set off yet another scolding from my mother for not being married and bemoaning the fact that eight grandkids wasn’t enough. My brothers had only daughters, so no one was carrying on the great last name of her beloved Antonio Borelli, God rest his soul. I needed to produce a son to make sure the line continued. I stopped trying to point out if I ever had kids, they could be girls as well. Mama simply didn’t listen. It was the same every week, and although I was used to it, lately I was tired of hearing it.