Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Matteo
Val gives me a knowing look as Bear slides a chair next to mine.
I know what she’s thinking.
Maybe the look on my face when Iris walked in gave her hope. Because when I saw her, I didn’t feel annoyed or bothered or put-out. I felt . . . happy.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt that.
“Sit, Iris!” Val says, much louder than necessary. She pats the empty chair between us, and I catch the look on her face. Her eyes go wide, communicating, as usual, in a silent language I don’t recognize.
But then I find Iris, unmoving, seemingly waiting for permission to join, and it’s clear the only approval she cares about is mine.
I motion toward the chair. “Please.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, quietly.
“Val cooked tonight,” I say, as everyone else in the room hoots and hollers to Val bowing her hand like the queen. “You’re going to love it.”
She smiles, then slides into the seat beside me. Val reaches over and wraps an arm around Iris’s shoulder. “We’re so glad you’re here!”
Iris’s cheeks flush, and I know that it’ll only take one meal for these people—my people—to knit themselves into her heart. Normally there would be warning bells and red flags, but for some reason, there aren’t.
Part of me—the curious part—is louder than the part of me that’s cautious.
It’s clear that Iris has never been to an Italian dinner. Her eyes are huge, taking in the impressive spread.
The antipasti is just meats and cheeses, but two platters full. We’ve already started in on those. The primo piatto is homemade ravioli, stuffed with a delectably rich Bolognese sauce, still steaming in the pans. The secondo is pollo al mattone , or Italian herb-roasted chicken with grilled vegetables (baby potatoes, zucchini, bell pepper) and the finale, the dolce , which in this case is homemade pistachio gelato alla crema .
Once everyone has resumed their conversations and dug into the food, Iris gingerly picks up her fork and leans toward me. “This is a huge amount of food.”
“Yeah, I think Italians have dinner figured out.” I tell my face to relax, but I’m not sure it listens.
“This is getting a little out of hand.”
“What is?”
“My freeloading,” she says. “I really should at least be allowed to do the dishes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Val says, eavesdropping. “There’s plenty.”
“It all looks amazing,” Iris says. “Where do I start?”
Val beams, takes Iris’s plate, and starts loading it up with a sample of everything.
I see Iris’s eyes get even bigger, and I wonder if the others will get as big a kick out of how she eats as I do. I’m guessing her enthusiasm will be very welcome here .
Val hands Iris her plate back, now about twenty pounds heavier. Before she digs in, she meets my eye. “Joy got the job.” She’s practically radiating. “At the school.”
Another ping of happiness. “Seriously?”
She nods, excited. “Yes. I’ll tell you about it later, but that’s why I came by—to give you the update. It was perfect timing. She came in as my boss was walking down the hall, I mentioned music, and the rest is history. It was practically . . . magic.” She grins and takes a bite.
And that’s when I lose her.
“Oh. My. Gosh,” she says with her mouth full.
Val glances at her.
“Nobody talk to me for the rest of the meal,” Iris announces. “I don’t want to get distracted from this food!”
“Wait till you taste dessert,” Bear says with a nod toward Nicola. “Homemade gelato.”
Iris lets out an eager groan. “Shut up . This food isn’t even fair! Val, are you trying to kill me here?”
Everyone laughs. Even me, though it’s fleeting.
“Can I at least pay for it?”
The whole room voices their disagreement—loud and in unison.
“I know how you can repay us,” Nicola says, quieting the rest. “Tell us what Chef is like when he’s not working.”
Now a chorus of agreement, some even clink their glasses and laugh.
Iris swallows her bite. “Fine, but then you have to tell me what he’s like when he’s here.”
A chorus of ooh s! around the table.
“Can we talk about something else?” I say dryly.
“I’d love to know more about you, Iris,” Val says. “Where you’re from. What you do. Why you’re hanging around this guy—” She nods at me.
I wish I didn’t know the answer to that last one, but I do. She needs to figure out the magic. Otherwise, I doubt she ever would’ve put up with my bad attitude.
“Oh, well . . .” She dabs her mouth with her napkin, and my gaze trips on her lips. I quickly look away.
“My story is pretty boring, but I’d love to know more about all of you,” Iris says.
Val squeezes her hand, then smiles warmly at her, the way only she can. “Guaranteed there’s nothing boring about you, Iris. We can’t wait to get to know you better.”
This is Val’s superpower. She’s only a couple of years older than me, but she’s the mama bear. She pulls people in and makes them feel safe in a way that only she can.
“We’ll start with an easy one,” Nicola says. “Where did you grow up?”
Between bites, Iris talks about growing up in a suburb of Boston, telling stories from her childhood, answering questions, entertaining them. She glosses over her parents’ divorce and the pain it caused, keeping her tone light and upbeat.
One quick scan around the table and I see it—she’s winning them over. Including everyone, engaging with everyone. And while these meals are usually loud, with everyone talking over each other, Iris has captured everyone’s attention.
Including mine.
When she finishes, she seems to shrink at the realization. She looks at me, then at Val. “But enough about me. I really want to hear more about all of you. Where did you all meet?”
Nicola looks at me, as if she knows that talking about culinary school could lead to talking about Aria, and that’s not a topic we discuss, especially not at family dinner.
“I can tell you how Bear and I met,” Val pipes up, drawing Iris’s attention and steering the conversation out of uncomfortable waters like the pro she is.
Iris is as visibly smitten with them as they were with her, and as the conversation picks up and volleys from one person to the next, that natural overlapping starts happening, along with an increase in volume and laughter, and I zoom out and take it all in. I can practically mark the moment Iris becomes one of them.
One of us.
The mutual connection is rare. The kind of spark you just know is going to grow and turn into something real. The kind I’ve only ever seen when it’s—my face heats as I look at Iris, laughing at something Val said— magic , my brain says, quicker than a rumor.
But that doesn’t make sense. I didn’t get a newspaper telling me anything about Iris. She’s never been the target, and neither have I. Connections like this probably happen outside of the magic all the time.
I just don’t look up often enough to notice.
“Now that I think of it, it was Matteo who introduced us,” Val says, pulling my attention back to the table.
I find Iris watching me, a quizzical expression on her face.
“He set us up,” Val says. “He sort of has a gift for knowing when two people belong together.”
“No, I don’t,” I say. “I was just tired of listening to you both whine about your bad relationships.”
Bear chuckles. “I was insufferable before I met Val.”
She looks at him. “The perfect match.” Then, back to me. “And we would’ve never met if it wasn’t for you.”
“He introduced me and Danny, too,” Nicola says. “Remember?”
Iris looks at me, and I can hear the question she’s not asking— Was it the magic ? I give my head the slightest shake.
Because it wasn’t. Danny is one of our vendors who’s been coming to the restaurant every week since we opened. I’d known him for years, and when I hired Nicola, I just had a feeling they’d hit it off .
“He tried to pretend it wasn’t his idea,” Nic jokes. “But he’s not that smooth.”
They all laugh, and I pretend to be annoyed, even though I’m not. The truth is, sometimes, during meals like this, with these people—it’s the only time I feel truly alive.
Until I remember.
“What Chef will never tell you, Iris, is that deep down, he’s a hopeless romantic.” Val waggles her eyebrows, and everyone around the table nods.
“Not true,” I say, shaking my head.
“Whenever he finds out someone is celebrating an anniversary, he comps dessert,” Nicola says.
“And it’s the only time he goes out to talk with the customers personally,” Dante adds.
“Remember that sweet old couple last week? The ones who were on their first date?” Val makes a weren’t they so cute face, and I roll my eyes.
Bear points at me. “Yes! You talked to them forever, Chef!”
“She lives in my building.” I turn to Iris. “It was Winnie. She and Jerry came in after they went square dancing.”
Iris beams. “What?! You didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t? I thought I did,” I say. “Yeah, they definitely hit it off.”
Her smile holds. “That is amazing. I’m so happy they found each other.”
Something passes between us—maybe the quiet knowing that we have a secret. Or maybe something else? I force myself to look away, and when I do, I find several pairs of curious eyes trained on me. Watching.
I clear my throat and go back to eating. “This is good, Val,” I say curtly.
The spell breaks, and there’s a lull until Nicola speaks up—thankfully .
“He’s always been that way,” she says, wistfully. “Rough around the edges with the biggest heart. Especially when it comes to true love.”
“Blame that on his grandparents,” Val says. “Those two were inseparable. Best friends until the day she died.”
Everyone raises a glass in honor of Grandma Vivi, even though only a few people around this table knew her. There’s a framed photo of her and my grandpa by the front door, so in some ways, her legacy lives on.
Iris clinks her glass against mine, and we both take a drink. Then, I set my glass down and push my chair away from the table. “You guys are way off. I stopped believing in true love a long time ago.”
“See, that’s what I thought, but the evidence suggests otherwise,” Iris says, a tease in her tone. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right girl.”
The room goes quiet, and everyone looks away.
Iris frowns, looking around, confused. Then, she immediately realizes. “Oh, no. What did I say? I take it back, whatever it was.” She sets her fork down, and quietly adds, “I forgot this was a sore spot for you?—”
A thread tugs at my heart. She has no idea. It’s like she’s being punished for something that’s just not her fault.
I can’t explain it. I sometimes can’t even think about it. Instead of doing what I should do and talk to her, I stand.
“I’ve got to get ready for service.”
I can practically hear the questions that must be rolling around in her head, but it doesn’t matter. I need some space.
Val follows me into the kitchen and stands behind me as I grab my apron and tie it on. Finally, I look at her and shake my head. “Don’t.”
She presses her lips together, then takes a step toward me. “She’s really great, Tay.”
“It’s not like that. ”
“I know,” she says. “But if that changes?—”
“It won’t.” It can’t. I’m already too aware of Iris. Too invested. I look at Val with a raised brow, then say, more firmly, “It can’t.”
Tears burn just behind my eyes, but there is no way I’m going to let them fall.
She holds my gaze for a long moment, then says, “Yes, Chef,” and walks away.