Chapter Twenty
Appa
The room is bright when my eyes open again. I blink and notice the blue-striped comforter on the bed.
Oh, yeah, Napa—it wasn’t a dream.
I’m in Robby’s childhood bedroom, with band posters taped up on the dated tan walls, a snow globe on the desk, and a couple of small trophies on a bookshelf.
I rub my eyes and untangle my legs from the sheets.
The bed is empty, and it makes me frown that my personal heating blanket has already gotten up this morning.
I pull on the cotton pajama short set I meant to wear last night, but things got heated…
fast. I find my bikini is hanging and now dry in the bathroom, so Robby must have picked it up after I crashed.
His family’s home is beautiful. Stepping out of his room, it’s open to the great room below, separated by a metal railing, and I can smell something sweet coming from downstairs.
Large wood beams cross the ceiling, which feels very on-brand for NorCal.
I take the large staircase downstairs to the chef’s kitchen, where Robby is standing at the kitchen island by the cooktop.
Shirtless, abs on display, in gray sweatpants, and with a cross around his neck.
He’s a snack and appears more at home here than at his house.
He glances up. “Good morning,” he says.
“Morning.” I stride over to him, embracing his torso from behind and giving him a light squeeze. I press my cheek and frizzy curls into his bare back. “French toast?”
“Yep, my mom made challah before they left. Best French toast you’ll ever have.”
“Sounds good. You know me so well.” I kiss the back of his shoulder blade and walk away. I think he’s more of a bacon and eggs guy, but I love my sweets for breakfast. “Coffee?”
“There’s cold brew in the fridge,” Robby answers, flipping the bread in the pan.
As I step toward the refrigerator, I spot half a loaf of challah on the counter on a crumb-covered cutting board. “Did your mom make that, too?” I ask, opening the heavy stainless-steel door for my caffeine fix.
Robby lightly laughs. “No, it’s store-bought.”
I spot the sealed bottle in the door and reach for the milk, too. “Did she get this specially for me?”
“Yeah. When I told her I was bringing a girl up to Napa while they were away, she asked me what you were into.” Heat spreads in my chest. My mom always judged me for my iced-coffee ways.
“Not that anyone’s talking about marriage or anything, but would she be a good mother-in-law?” My voice is quiet because I know Robby would take me straight to a courthouse if I were completely serious. Hell, maybe I am. Mafia or not, I want to be part of whatever this family legacy is.
“We haven’t talked about marriage yet?” Robby teases, dipping a bread slice in the French toast mix.
“Robby…” I roll my eyes playfully. “Cups?” I ask.
“Cabinet by the fridge.”
I go on my tiptoes to reach a tall tumbler glass. “It’s like you never left. Would you move back?”
Robby puts his hand on my back and reaches up to get the glass for me. “Yeah, in a heartbeat. Look, LA is…LA, but I don’t want roots there. I want my kids to grow up here with my family nearby, running through the vineyard like I used to.”
I take the glass from him. “Thanks,” I say.
He returns to the cooktop to flip bread. “Do you want to raise a family in LA or Georgia?”
“No to LA and absolutely not to Georgia,” I answer a little too quickly.
“So, you wouldn’t be mad if we ended up here someday?” Robby asks just as gently as I asked about his mom.
“I haven’t really seen much of Napa, but I can see how amazing it must be to have your family so close. I bet the holidays are amazing, like Christmas…lights everywhere.” I stop myself from going further. I know Robby is half Jewish. “Um, sorry, I don’t know what your parents celebrate.”
Robby glances over at me, and his expression is just warm, like he’s picturing us spending the holidays here.
“Both. They gave me the choice between Judaism and Catholicism, and I chose the latter.” He takes a sip of his espresso while the toast sizzles in the pan.
“Mostly because my dad’s family are the ones here, and they’re all Italian Catholic.
But growing up, we still celebrated the Jewish holidays, too.
I guess Nonna raised her eyebrows when my dad first brought my mom around, but I think my mom is her favorite daughter-in-law now.
Those two are always getting into trouble.
” My smile grows bigger as I hear him talk about his mom.
“I didn’t answer you before; she would be the best mother-in-law.
She’d probably feel more like a mother than your own. ”
I sit across from him on a barstool, setting my drink on a nearby coaster. “That’s not hard to do. We’re getting deep this morning.” Robby smirks. “Not like that.”
“I think these are important things to talk about, though. I’m long game, and I want you to be, too.”
I look directly into his dark brown eyes. “I’m right here.”
Robby swallows, making his Adam’s apple shift in his throat. “It feels too right having you in Napa…”
“If we looked into a more permanent living situation here, would we have to live on property? I mean, it’s beautiful, but…”
“Too close?”
I nod and take a sip of my iced coffee. “Your dad and his three brothers live on property with their wives. I wouldn’t want to be in those dynamics all the time. I hope you understand.”
“I do, but that’s my big Italian family for you. There’s an apartment above the stables we could stay at if we visit here more in the future. It’s like a guest house situation, and it’s pretty nice. And if we sold our houses in LA, we could get something here.”
“Those are some big steps.”
“If you told me you wanted to move here, I would have sold my house yesterday.” He flips the slices of toast in the pan. “For now, LA is fine, and we can visit Napa whenever. My parents are dying to meet you now.”
“What would they think about me?” I ask, gripping the cold glass of my iced coffee.
“Um, I think my dad would appreciate your sass and fire. He’s pretty fiery, too. Mom’s the calm, cool, collected one, and I think she’d like how chill you can be. I’m pretty sure my uncles would nickname you Tiny or something, by the way.” Robby chuckles as he fills me in about them.
I shift my feet on the stool I’m sitting on. “Is everyone tall?” I ask.
“Not like extremely. E is the biggest and tallest. Always has been. But everyone else is probably average height. My mom’s tall, though, so I got my height from her side. Her dad was six-four.”
I watch as he plates the French toast. “What about E? Also, what’s E short for? Enzo, right?”
“Actually, he’s Vincenzo after his dad, and Uncle Vinny is the tallest of their siblings. I heard E’s mom was really tall, too.”
“You haven’t met her?”
“Oh, no. She’s from Sicily, like I said yesterday.
Uncle Vin met her on vacation, and she got pregnant.
She came here to have Enzo, but motherhood wasn’t her thing.
I never met her. Just heard stories. Vin later married a medical assistant he met at E’s pediatrician’s office, and she adopted him when he was a toddler. She’s my aunt, not E’s mom in Sicily.”
“So, Enzo’s half Italian, half Sicilian? And you’re both juniors?”
Robby nods. “Yeah, and he’s got the Sicilian fire, so don’t piss him off.” Robby laughs. “You’re right; we’re the only ones named after our dads. I don’t see either of us passing our names to any sons we end up with. Ready to eat?”
I hop off the barstool. “Of course. It looks great, babe.”
Breakfast is as amazing as Robby promised, and we eat at the large kitchen island, sitting next to each other. Every time our thighs brush against each other, I want to jump on him like I did last night, but we have all weekend to have sex.
While he cleans up, I sip the rest of my iced coffee and look at their family photos on the walls and on the fireplace mantel, and I find pictures of Robby when he was a baby and toddler. His eyes and hair were both so dark from the start, but his curls must have come in more when he was a toddler.
“You were a chubby baby,” I tease when he approaches me holding his little espresso mug.
He shrugs. “I was breastfed. Clearly lost the baby fat,” he says, looking down at his abs.
I trace my fingertips over them. “You did, but you know, I kind of miss you a little bulkier.”
“Really? I got really lean for videos, but if I cut that, I could bulk up. Honestly, my mom and Nonna keep telling me I’m too thin. Nonna says I’m skinny because I’ve been single.” He breathes out a laugh.
“And you found a girl who doesn’t cook,” I retort. “My mom used to say I’d always be single because I refused to learn how to cook, and no man would want me if I didn’t.”
Robby’s brows furrow together. “What the fuck’s wrong with your mom?”
I put Robby’s baby picture back on the mantel. “Ugh, so much.”
“What do you want to do today?” Robby asks, changing the subject.
I smile at him and give him a light nudge. “You pick? This is your turf.”
“Well, I think we both could use a shower.” He lightly brushes his lips against my neck. “Want to go out for dinner tonight? Take my mom’s new Escalade?”
I can only giggle at him. “See? You’re trying to convert me into your weird Cadillac cult!”
“You caught me.” He wraps his arms around my shoulders, pressing his chin on the top of my head.
? ? ?
After lunch, Robby’s mom calls him from Italy, and I take the opportunity to walk around by myself.
Robby gave me a rundown of poison oak first, and I was slightly embarrassed that I didn’t know what it looked like being from Georgia.
For early afternoon, the weather seems a little cooler here than it is in LA, and somehow, the air seems purer, too.
But it’s probably the elevation and less pollution.
Reaching the top of a small hill, I look out at the acres of grapevines.
There’s a light breeze, breaking the intense afternoon sun.