Chapter Thirty-Two

Sophia felt like she’d drank an entire bottle of hundred proof rum. Her head felt heavy on her shoulders, and her eyes were thick and gritty. She’d fallen asleep on the couch. It took her a second to realize that the knocking wasn’t her brain rattling around, but someone at her door.

She moved off the couch, her eyes dry and sore from the tears she’d shed. Part of her wanted it to be Declan so she could yell at him. And hug him. It was some sort of stupid twist of fate or pitfall of love that it was the person who’d torn her up in pieces that she was wishing could put her back together again. You put yourself back together. But none of the pieces fit right.

Shock rendered her speechless when she opened the door to her father. He stared at her, looked her up and down. In one arm, he held a brown shopping bag.

“You’re sick?”

Sophia shook her head. “What are you doing here?” Goddamn Marcus. Couldn’t mind his own business. Because Declan told him your business.

Her father came in, walking straight to the counter, and then discarded his jacket, hanging it on the back of a chair. “I’m trying a new recipe. Your palate is better than any of the others’.”

She rubbed her eyes, shut the door, and then continued to watch him from where she stood. He unloaded the bag, setting tomatoes, peppers, mushrooms, spices, olive oil, and other items on her counter.

“I get that Marcus is your favorite, but you don’t have to believe everything he says. I’m fine. Whether he thinks I am or not.”

Her father folded the bag and put it under the sink before turning to face her. “I haven’t spoken to your brother since yesterday morning. I’ve been taking Sundays off to try new recipes for months now. Today, we’ll make it together.”

God. Did any of the men in her life believe in asking a question? “I don’t feel like cooking.”

“Then I’ll cook. Why would Marcus not think you’re fine?”

Staring at her father, she tried to measure whether or not he was messing with her. But he wasn’t the type. He would just say what he thought. He always did. No wondering what was on his mind when he wanted to share an opinion. He’d given her enough of them over the years.

“So, you just decided to come over and cook with me? After ignoring me for weeks?”

He rooted through her cupboards and found a pot. “I’m not ignoring. You walked out of my house. You left your sisters. You didn’t call and invite me over.”

She almost laughed. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she opened them again and tried to sort out the madness in her head. Water. She needed water and pain meds first. Wait, was it Tylenol or Advil that was safe? Declan would know. Her heart muscles clenched, like just his name sent the organ into lockdown mode.

“I invited you several times when I lived in Arizona.”

“Too far. This is not so far. But, you didn’t invite me, so I invited myself. Why do you look sick? Is the baby okay?”

Unbelievably, tears stung her eyes. She should have been completely dehydrated with how much she’d cried last night. “Baby is fine. I just had a bad sleep. I need some water.”

“Sit. You need more than water. You need food. You have to look after yourself, mia ragazza.”

She couldn’t handle the softly worded endearment. Fresh tears slipped over, and then he was there, wrapping her in a hug, and tears she shouldn’t have had soaked his shirt as she sobbed. He rubbed her back like he used to when she was little. Circles, constant circles, and it soothed her, reminded her of all of the times he’d been a good dad. A good person. A good man. A bossy one, but still, one of the best.

“You cry like your heart is broken,” he whispered.

“It is,” she said against his shirt. He held her harder and stroked her hair. She was five again, getting her cuts and scrapes kissed better. She was eleven, and he was telling her she was the most beautiful girl in the world when one of the neighborhood boys told her she was ugly. She was fifteen, filling up on pizza and pouting because her friends had ditched her. She was seventeen, graduating, and he was beaming at her with so much pride. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

“No more sorry, belleza. It is time for us to move forward. But I am sorry, too. Sometimes, old men are stubborn fools.”

She laughed and leaned back. “I think you mean all men.”

He nodded, pulled a cloth handkerchief from his pocket, and passed it to her. “Yes. This is true. Especially about people they love. Love makes men lose all reason.”

“Good to know,” she sniffled.

“Things are not good with Declan? You want me to talk to him?”

Sophia laughed harder and wiped at her tears. “No. But thanks for asking.”

“You love him?” Her dad held her gaze, and she knew lying would be futile, so she nodded.

“He loves you back, so all will be okay. Your mother, she didn’t love me back, you know.”

Sophia didn’t have to feign surprise. She hadn’t expected him to know. Moving back to the counter, he went through her cupboards and drawers, finding what he needed, and Sophia sank into a kitchen chair.

“You knew that?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “A man knows when a woman loves him or not. Sometimes, they just need more time. Others, they just aren’t the one. But a man knows. He can feel it. It makes him a better man. Your mother, she cared enough about me to stand by my side, but I knew the day she fell in love with me. I was nervous getting ready for the opening of the shop.”

Sophia dried the rest of her tears, listening to her father while he prepped whatever he was making.

“She came into our bedroom and fixed my tie. She said, ‘Nerves won’t help you. Good food. That fixes everything, and you make the best food.’ She had a look in her eye. Different than any other time, and she believed what she said, so I did, too. I wanted to prove her right.”

“She loves you so much.”

He turned, knife in hand, pausing from his chopping. “Every day for months, I told her I loved her, and she said the words back. But that day, she meant them. It was worth the wait. Love is like cooking. It takes time, makes you feel good, and heals. But you have to tend to it, nurture it. You use bad ingredients or cave and take the easy way, it won’t be the same. Sometimes no matter how well you know the recipe, it still turns out wrong. So you try again. You always try again if it’s worth it. You make a commitment, you follow it through. You always did that, Sophia. You never said you would when you wouldn’t, you followed your heart always. I’m grateful it finally led you home because mine was a little emptier without you here. What does your heart tell you, huh?”

Standing, she went to him, and even though he was busy chopping garlic, she wrapped her arms around him from behind and squeezed.

“I missed you, Papa.”

“Missed you, too, ragazza dolce. So. Declan. Is he a takeout dinner, good when you have no time to eat, or is he a proper meal, worth the time and effort?”

She inhaled slowly, thinking about the way he’d just opened up his arms, his home, his friends, his life to her like he’d been waiting for her the whole time. He made a mistake. A few. But who knew better than her how it felt to be judged so harshly for them? “He’s a proper meal,” she whispered.

“Then help me make this one and tell me what you think of our menus. I’m thinking of updating them. You like that sort of thing, right?”

She washed her hands, looking at him from the side of her eye. “Are you asking for my professional help?”

“You going to charge me?”

“Hell yes,” she said with a laugh, her heart still aching but not as sharply.

His laughter rang out, and a little piece of herself snuck into its proper place. “Then I get to say no if I don’t like your ideas.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

“Just like you don’t have to like all my ideas or my opinion,” he said, turning on the burner and pouring olive oil into the pan. He scooped up the garlic. “It’s hard to admit, sometimes, especially when you’re old like me, that maybe your ideas aren’t the only ones with merit. I want to take care of my family. I can’t do that if they aren’t here. You left. I broke. I’m stubborn, so are you. Now you’re back, and I’m not missing out on my grandchild. On you. We don’t get that time back. Whatever you decide with Declan, do what you’ve always done and just follow your heart.”

She nodded, then began slicing tomatoes while he told her what he was thinking for the menus. With the scent of her childhood filling her apartment, she thought about what she wanted. What her heart wanted. She knew the answer without question. She knew, though, that wanting something didn’t always make it happen.