Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
GIOVANNI
It’s Thursday afternoon, and I’m playing bingo with the Biceps Boys, as they call themselves, after our workout. Now that we’ve sweated together, Mr. O’Connor has invited me to call him “O’Connor” as if it’s his first name.
Theo, who came to the session with me, seems bemused by the whole thing.
“I never knew O’Connor had moves like that,” he murmurs in an undertone.
Turns out he had Mr. O’Connor for fifth grade as well. For all I know, there’s only one fifth-grade teacher at the elementary school, and everyone had Mr. O’Connor.
“I’m not sure what conga dancing has to do with biceps,” I agree. “But apparently they start every session like that for team building. I guess they have a point. I do feel closer to O’Connor after he grabbed my hips and told me to sway.”
Theo tries not to laugh. He mostly fails and shifts it into a cough that makes me cough-laugh. I glance fondly toward the table directly in front of the bingo MC, where O’Connor is staring up dreamily at the MC, a soft smile on his face.
The MC is Judy, the receptionist from the nursing home, and she’s apparently something of a hot ticket for the Biceps Boys.
O’Connor isn’t the only one who wanted to sit up close and personal.
The two other single guys from the group are also seated at the front table, so close they can probably feel as well as hear every announcement she makes.
Honestly, they could probably sit at the rear of the rec center and still hear her, considering the way her voice echoes in the cavernous room.
The rec center itself is old and worn and probably hasn’t seen any updates since my trips to Apple Ridge as a kid.
The floor’s scratched-up, yellowing linoleum, and the walls are lined with fake wood that’s detached in places.
The only part that sparkles is the view from the windows to our right—a rounded blue mountain peak peeping through the fall foliage.
Not that the Biceps Boys seem to notice.
Their attention is fully on the game and on Judy.
She calls out another letter-number combo, but before I can scan my card for a match, Theo catches my eye. “I know you’ve been sneaking around with my sister.”
I laugh for real this time, because hell, he went to a lot of trouble to confront me, given he could have just pulled me aside at his grandmother’s house at any point.
His eyebrows hike up a little higher.
So maybe laughing wasn’t the best move.
My laughter dries up, and I tell him the unvarnished truth. “Look, it’s not much of a fake relationship. The first time we got caught kissing, it wasn’t posed the way we said. I wanted to kiss her. But she asked me to play the whole thing up, so I did. I like her, though, a lot.”
Those eyebrows edge up a little higher.
“Look, I know she’ll never leave, and I’d never ask her to.” My stomach burns at the thought. “But I’ve been trying to think of solutions.”
Had I ever.
I spent all last night sleepless over it after Nico and I finished editing the videos. I now know exactly how many hours would separate us by plane, train, car, and even fucking walking.
The thing is, my grandmother will want to go home eventually.
My brothers are both there, more or less, although Enzo and Lucy have a house halfway between our harbor town and Bangor, where her office is located.
All of Nonna Francesca’s surviving friends also live back home, and then there’s Hidden Italy, which she and my grandfather built from the ground up.
No way is she going to want to step away from their legacy.
And when she leaves Apple Ridge, I’ll have to go with her.
My promise to my grandfather couldn’t have been clearer—I pledged to look after her for the rest of her life. So there’s no way I can forsake the trust he put on me.
Even if I want to stay exactly where I am.
“You respect her,” Theo says—a statement, thank fuck, not a question. “I wouldn’t have stayed quiet this long if I couldn’t see that.” King of heavy silences, he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, only marks off the next square on his grid when Judy calls out a new letter-number combination.
I haven’t been listening, so I could have gotten a bingo five times over by now, but I wouldn’t have called it out anyway.
I don’t particularly want the prize—a huge box full of beef jerky that looks like it was made in someone’s garage—and I wouldn’t take the victory away from one of the Biceps Boys.
Finally, Theo says, “You have my approval, if that matters. I hope you do figure something out. Bianca deserves to be happy, and she’s been happy since you got here. That means something to me.”
The tension loosens in my chest, and I find myself thinking about what my girl said—that joy matters.
That’s worth fighting for…
“Thanks, man. That means a lot.”
He gives me a half smile. “What the fuck are you going to say to Miles when he finally shows up? If he shows up.”
“Thanks?” I say, smiling back, but my heart thumps a little harder at the thought.
He should be returning soon. He said late October, and we’re getting there fast. The corn maze at the Gallagher farm will take place in another couple of days, followed by the apple pie bake-off, then Halloween, which will close out the month.
The end of October.
The end of it all, unless I figure some shit out.
Checking out travel options wasn’t the only thing I did last night.
I finally emailed one of the talent agents who’d reached out, the one who repped Shitty Cooking.
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about what kind of opportunities would interest me, and which would not.
I even made a list, which usually feels like swimming against a riptide for me.
Things I want:
To have plenty of space to devote to Bianca and my family.
To continue to make my videos.
To write a cookbook with my grandmother, who taught me all of the recipes and stories from my videos.
To make money.
I’m hoping whichever parachutes I end up with will give me plenty of space to devote to Bianca and my family.
“You’re all right,” Theo says, nodding, as he marks off another square.
“You too, but I think you should strongly consider spending more time around people.”
He glances at one of O’Connor’s friends, who’s digging into his nose for gold, and laughs. “I’ll pass. But you’re entertaining, Giovanni. I’ll give you that.”
It no longer feels like a burn.
The door squeaks open. I turn to see who the new arrival is and blink when I realize it’s Whit, the kid who won the festival’s s’mores contest. He’s wearing a “Book Dragon” hat stuffed over his mussed hair, probably a gift from Emily.
“Do kids come to bingo often?” I ask Theo, and he gives me the flat-affect stare of a man who’s never been to Thursday-night bingo before.
Apparently they’re allowed, at least, because no one comments when Whit puts a bill in the change box up front and grabs a card.
He joins our table.
“Mr. Shirtless Chef,” he whispers. “I came here to talk to you.”
I dart a glance at Theo, who’s helpfully already staring at me. He looks equally clueless.
“What’s up?” I ask the kid. I struggle to control my expression as I take note of a couple of scratches on his face.
He slaps a piece of paper down on the tabletop, a proud look on his face. “I made a map of the Gallagher corn maze, Mr. Chef.”
“You can call me Giovanni.”
His eyes widen. “Uh…Gio…whatever…this is for you.” He shoves it across the table toward us.
Theo pushes out his lips slightly as he examines the paper, looking it over with interest. When he glances up, he says, “This must have taken you all day, kid.”
He fusses with the bill of his hat. “I didn’t skip school or nothing like that. I left right when they let us out.”
“But you did sneak onto the Gallagher farm?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nah, I didn’t even. The old guy who runs the cigar shop lent me his drone. I drew the map from that. It was all strictly legal.”
“He really lent it to you?” Theo says with obvious skepticism.
“He owed me a favor,” Whit clarifies. He sits up straighter in his chair. “The map’ll be a hundred bucks. I think that’s fair. And five dollars for buying into bingo.”
Theo snorts.
I have to smile. Maybe I’d put a target on my back by handing over the money for his s’mores victory, but I don’t mind. The kid’s a hustler, and he needs the money—one look at his sneakers the other day told me that.
Still…
“I’m not going to win by cheating,” I say. “I’d like to beat this maze fair and square, all the way.”
The kid looks at me like I’m a chump. “The same way you won the s’mores contest?”
“I did, kind of,” I point out.
“But I’m the one who walked away with two hundred bucks.”
“The kid has a point,” Theo says, amused.
“Hush,” O’Connor says, looking back at us with a comical frown and a finger lifted to his lips.
Theo must have muscle memory from fifth grade, because no shit, he sits back in his seat and shuts up.
“You watch, Whit,” I say, tapping the map with a finger. “I’m going to beat Mr. Mayor in the pie contest. That’s the only one I care about.”
The kid shakes his head sadly. “That tool had the corn maze made himself, Mr. Shirtless Chef, and he’s still planning on entering the contest. How is any of it fair?”
He has a point. Sometimes tests themselves are skewed to make you lose, like one of those claw machines at an arcade. Life doesn’t concern itself with fairness. It’s people who expect life to be fair.
“And you don’t think he’ll pay off the judging panel at the apple pie bake-off?” the kid adds. “The people with money to throw around have all the power. Even I know that.”
“Do we know who’s on this panel yet?” I ask, looking back and forth between Whit and Theo.
“I can find out,” Whit offers, and you know what? I truly believe he can and will.
“I’ll give you a hundred and five for that information, Whit.”
He brightens. “What about the map?”
“Sell it to someone else,” Theo says, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll bet someone really wants the prize.”