16. Guess Who’s Coming to Make Dinner?
Allie
You knowwhat’s worse than an angry Italian mother? A house full of angry Italians, which is what I’m trying to avoid. We’re having the feast to end all feasts, which means the kitchen has been packed with cooks since dawn. It also means that I’ve spent the bulk of the morning chopping, dicing, kneading, and cleaning, interspersed with excusing myself so I can sneak back upstairs to check on Frank’s progress and feed him new data. The crap part is that I promised my parents I’d take the day off, and they’re totally onto me. There’s only so many times a girl can say she’s got to run to the ladies’ room before her nosy relatives start to talk. The last time I went up, I came back to a whole lot of questions about a possible UTI, followed by several competing bits of advice about cranberry juice, cutting back on caffeine, and not sitting on cold pavement (as if that’s something I spend a lot of time doing). At this point, I’m pretty sure if I tell them I have to pee again, I’m going to be whisked off to urgent care to get checked for diabetes.
The doorbell rings just as I’m feeding another small batch of dough through the pasta maker. The sound of pounding feet floats into the kitchen, and I know in about two seconds my nephew Matteo and my niece Camilla are going to be in a full-on fist fight over who gets to answer it. Sure enough, shouting ensues, followed by Vinnie’s booming voice for them to “Knock it off and answer the GD door already!”
Here in the kitchen, Grandma makes a tsking sound and shakes her head at Lucia. “You need to tell Vinnie to stop taking the lord’s name in vain like that. He’s never going to get into Heaven like that.”
Zia Fernanda rushes in to save Lucia with, “He didn’t take the lord’s name in vain. He said GD as in gosh darn.”
“Still, I don’t like it.”
Matteo comes running into the kitchen. “Zia, there’s a man here to see you!”
“What man?” Fernanda asks.
“Not you, Zia,” he says, pointing to me. “Zia.”
The kitchen goes completely silent.
A man? To see me? Oh my God, it’s Hudson, isn’t it? No, it can’t be. He’s probably lounging in bed with a model-slash-beach volleyball champion, or worse, that awful Dr. Blaire who had the hots for him. But it could be Hudson, like, say, if he needs help applying ointment to his ankle or something. And I look … well, not awful actually. I showered this morning and I’m wearing a clean gray tee and my yoga pants that don’t have holes. Well, and this flowered apron complete with frills, but I’m hoping it’s a look. Before I can ask who it is, Hudson appears in the entrance to the kitchen, carrying a case of wine. Camilla follows him into the room and announces him in her loud little girl voice. “Zia Allie, that guy from the shark movie is here for you.”
Is my face bright red? Because it feels like it’s on fire. He’s smiling at me. Dimples. Gorgeous green eyes. Brain totally fried. Say something, dummy. “Hey, Hudson, what brings you by?”
Camilla answers for him. “He came to help.”
My jaw drops and I glance at her, trying to process what’s going on. “With what?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Ask him.”
“Right. Good idea,” I answer, turning my gaze to Hudson. “With what?”
“I knew you were really busy so I thought I’d offer myself up as a tribute in the kitchen for a few hours,” he says.
“Tribute?” Nonno, who is at the kitchen table playing cards with my dad asks. “What does he mean?”
“It’s a Hunger Games reference, Nonno,” Lucia tells him.
“Is he hungry? We got lots of food,” Nonno says, putting both hands on the table and standing up. “Maria, get out the mortadella. I’ll make him a sandwich.”
“Pops, he’s not hungry,” Zia Fernanda says. “He’s talking about a movie called The Hunger Games.”
“Well, it’s also a book,” I say, which really helps nothing at all. Turning back to Hudson, I say, “I’m sorry. Let’s try this again.”
Hudson grins, and when his dimples pop, I swear to God, you can hear the eggs dropping all around the room, even from the post-menopausal women among us. “Sure, as we say in the biz, take two. Hey, Allie, I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by. I was at loose ends today and I thought maybe I could take your place in the kitchen since I know how busy you are with your project.”
Oh my God, how is this happening right now? “Really? You came here to cook with my family?”
“Yeah, I know I won’t be able to do all the stuff you’d normally do, so put me to work peeling potatoes and scrubbing pots.” He sets the case of wine down on the floor. “Although that looks kind of fun,” he adds, gesturing to the pasta maker. “Are you making homemade noodles?”
Nodding, I say, “Uh-huh. But how’s your ankle and … everything? Should you even be up and around?”
Every set of eyes is on him as he walks over to me and I know they’re all hearing the melody of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” in their heads. Well, except for my dad, who’s scowling.
Hudson gives me a breezy grin. “I’ve never been better. In fact, I’m pretty sure that spider gave me superpowers.”
“Superpowers?” I ask, immediately thinking of his manly parts. Did my eyes just flick down to his crotch? Yup, they did, because I’m looking at it.
He lowers his voice. “Not like that, you pervert.”
I stifle a laugh, then say, “Hey, I am not to blame for my mind going there.”
“What’s so funny?” my dad asks.
When I look over at him, my stomach drops. He’s got the same expression he had on his face the time he caught Ian Miller giving me a hickey on the couch in his den. Immediately, I go right back to feeling like a sixteen-year-old girl, and it takes me a second to remember I’m thirty-five and I can do what I want. Not that I have been doing what I want. But I can if I want to. “Nothing, Pop. It’s a long story.”
“We got time,” he says, running his tongue over his teeth and standing up. “I’m Enzo. Allegra’s father.”
If Hudson is intimidated, he doesn’t show it. He walks over and reaches out his hand. “Hudson. Wonderful to meet you, sir. You must be so proud of Allegra here. She’s not only a kind and thoughtful person, but a genius too.”
My dad’s scowl softens a little. “I know that. She’s a very special one.”
“That’s for sure. Here she is at the forefront of the biggest breakthrough in the history of SETI research and yet she took a day off to stay with me at the hospital,” Hudson says, looking around the room. “I just had to find a way to pay her back.”
“Allegra, you didn’t tell us about this big breakthrough,” Zia Fernanda says.
Shrugging, I feel my face warming up even more. “I didn’t want to say anything in case it doesn’t work out.”
“Oh, it’ll work out,” Hudson says, even though he really has no idea if I can actually do what I set out to. “She’s basically the next Frank Drake.”
“Really?” Nonno asks. “Our Allegra?”
“Oh yeah, you’ll all be sitting at the Nobel Prize ceremony one day watching her receive her medal.”
“Nobel prize, pfft,” I say with a chuckle. “I’m not … they don’t give it out for SETI research.”
“Well, they will when you’re done,” Hudson says. “Speaking of which, you’re not getting any closer to changing the world down here. Now, show me how to use that pasta grinder, then you scoot back upstairs and get your work done.”
“I’ll show him!”
This can be heard from every woman in the room, including Camilla, who, at the tender age of ten, is clearly as in love with him as the rest of the world.
I lower my voice. “Can I talk to you in the hall for a second?”
“Of course,” he says, following me as we cross the large room.
As soon as we round the corner, I whisper, “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. They’re crazy people.”
“They seem fine.”
Shaking my head, I say, “They’re insane. And they’re going to ask you all sorts of embarrassing questions and my dad’s going to assume you’re trying to sleep with me so he’s going to be just awful to you and they’re going to make you eat so much, you’ll feel sick. You should just go, while you still can.”
Placing both hands on my shoulders, he says, “Allie, I’m fine. In fact, I’m going to have a great time. Now, you go get to work.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. This whole thing was my idea,” he says. “Now go.”
I stare at him for a second, feeling all kinds of warm, gooey feelings. He’s here to help me. He just showed up exactly when I needed him. “Okay, but only if you’re sure you’re sure.”
“I’m totally sure I’m sure.”
I start toward the stairs, but he stops me. “Wait. I should probably borrow that apron. My stylist will kill me if I get this shirt dirty.”
I tuck my lips between my teeth to stop myself from laughing, and he says, “Yeah, I just heard it myself. Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”
I reach behind my back and try to untie the strings, only to discover they’ve knotted up somehow. “Just a sec,” I tell him, leaning to my left as if that’ll work.
“You need some help?”
“No, I’m good. I’ve got it,” I say through gritted teeth while I attempt to twist the apron. It is not going to budge. Dammit.
“Allie, let me help,” Hudson tells me, his voice a little more forceful this time.
I grunt a little, then let my shoulders drop. “Fine.”
I spin on my heel and stand with my back to him, my temperature rising three degrees Fahrenheit as I feel his fingers brushing against my lower back.
“Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?”
“I prefer the word independent.”
“I’ve met independent. You’ve crossed the line to full-on stubborn.”
“Hey,” I answer, attempting to turn around so I can argue with him, but he stops me with his hands on my waist.
“Stay still.”
God, that felt good. It’s been way, way too long.
Holding my breath, I take in every second while he fiddles with the knot, his big, strong hands only inches from the top of my bottom. My mind wanders right back to him carrying me out of my office, and it occurs to me that here he is, saving me again, when he is under no obligation to do so.
“There, got it,” he says, and far before I’m ready, his hands are gone.
I turn back to him and lift the apron off my neck and place it around his, and there’s that cologne again. Wow. I watch as he wraps the strings around his narrow waist and ties it in front. Grinning at the sight of him in my mom’s flowery old apron, I say, “Do you want me to take some pics for your Insta account?”
He grins. “Is this a good look for me?”
“Totally.” And the crazy part is, it actually is.
“Now, go get to work,” he says, pointing up the stairs with his thumb.
“It’s not too late. You can still sneak out.”
“Never.” He gives me a wink and walks back into the kitchen.
As I’m heading up the stairs, I hear my dad’s voice. “So, Hudson. That blonde with the huge knockers. What’s she like in real life?”
Oh, sweet Jesus. This is going to be a total disaster.
A totally wonderful, incredible, heart-fluttering disaster…