Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
I somehow managed to keep a straight face. “Margo…Mrs. Bianchi… is into you? You do know Matteo’s her husband, right?”
“Didn’t say I was gonna try anything. Just calling it like I see it.”
I shook my head. “You’re unbelievable.”
The sound of a door opening and shutting turned both our heads toward the back of the tasting room. Every sound reverberated twice as loud down here, including Matteo’s steps as he walked toward us. He opened his arms and spoke with his thick Italian accent when he looked up and saw me. “My Annie. You’re here. I didn’t hear you come in.”
Matteo embraced me in a warm hug, then held my face and kissed both of my cheeks. “I was on the phone with my brother. The man, he’s still an idiot, even after all these years. He bought goats.” He pinched together all five fingers in the universal Italian gesture for capeesh! “Goats! The moron, he bought goats to live on his land in the hills. And he’s surprised when they eat half his crops. Such an idiot.” Matteo shook his head. “But never mind that. I introduce you.” He turned to Bennett. “This gentleman is Mr. Fox. He’s from one of the big advertising companies you made us to call.”
“Umm...yeah. We’ve met. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you guys because things have been crazy at the office. But, Bennett and I…we work for the same company now. Foster Burnett, the company he worked for when you made the appointment to meet with him a few months ago, it merged with the company I work for, Wren Media. It’s now one big advertising agency—Foster, Burnett and Wren. So, yes, Bennett and I have met. We work…together.”
“Oh good.” He clapped. “Because your friend, he’s joining us for dinner tonight.”
My eyes jumped to meet Bennett’s gloating ones. “You’re staying for dinner?”
He grinned like a Cheshire cat and winked. “Mrs. Bianchi invited me.”
Matteo had no clue that Bennett’s big, dumb smile was him trying to get a rise out of me since the full-of-himself bastard thought he was invited because the Mrs. was into him.
The notion was hilarious, really. Because I knew Margo Bianchi, and trust me, she hadn’t invited Bennett Fox to stay for dinner because she was into him.
And I knew that not because she adored her husband—which happened to be true—but because Margo Bianchi was a perpetual matchmaker. There was only one reason she would invite a young man to dinner. Because she wanted to set him up with her daughter.
“Oh? Mrs. Bianchi invited you, did she?” I couldn’t wait to wipe that smirk off his face.
Bennett picked up his wine and swirled it around a few times before bringing it to his grinning lips. “She did.”
I exaggerated a smile. “That’s great. I think you’ll really enjoy my mother’s cooking.”
Bennett was mid-sip. I watched his brows draw down in confusion and then rise up in shock—right before he started to choke on his wine.
***
“I can’t believe you invited the enemy to dinner.”
My mother lifted the top off a pot and stirred her sauce. “He’s a very handsome man. And he has a good job.”
“Yes. I know. He has my job, Mom.”
“He’s thirty-one, a good age for a man to start settling down. If you start to make babies in your forties like a lot of young people today, you have a teenager in your fifties when you’re running out of energy to keep up.”
I refilled my wine glass. When it came to mothers, I’d always thought of myself as lucky. After she and my father split up, she’d practically raised me on her own. She worked full time and yet never missed a soccer game or school function. While most of my friends were bitching about their meddling, married mother or absent, divorced mom who was out on the prowl for a new husband, I never complained—until I hit the ripe old age of twenty-five. Apparently, that was when the shadow of an old maid started to follow women around, according to the way my mother acted.
“Bennett is not your future son-in-law, Mom. Trust me on that one. He’s an arrogant, condescending, cartoon-drawing, job-stealing pain in the ass.”
My mom set the ladle down on the greasy spoon and pursed her lips at me. “I think you’re exaggerating, honey.”
I leveled her with a stare. “He thought you invited him to stay for dinner because you were into him.”
Her forehead creased. “Into him?”
“Yes. As in…you were interested in him for yourself. And he knows you’re married.”
She laughed. “Oh, honey. He’s a handsome man. I’m guessing most women are into him, so he’s gotten used to mistaking a woman being friendly with a woman being friendly for a reason.”
It started to feel like I could say anything about Bennett, and Mom would have an excuse for it.