“Haven’t lost your ability to count. It’s good to keep your mind sharp.” Nonna led Nichole to the pair of kitchen barstools. “Your mind will be all you can count on if you reach my age.”
Chase tapped the stainless-steel fork against the pot. “About the potatoes.”
“Those are for the gnocchi we are going to make.” More delight infused her voice. “Together.”
Nonna stressed the word as if to underscore she’d heard Chase earlier about needing assistance. It wasn’t the last Chase would hear about his impertinent reminder of her weaknesses. Still, she could’ve lost her hold on the knife and cut herself. She had a scar on her forearm from just such an accident and that scar wasn’t alone.
“I can’t cook.” Nichole gripped the wrought iron back of the barstool.
“No one in our family cooked as good as my own mother.” Nonna patted Nichole’s shoulder. “We all have challenges we must face.”
“How were you going to overcome the challenge of lifting this pot up to drain the water?” Chase used the fork to point at the oversize pot. Osteoporosis had weakened each one of his grandmother’s bones. A sign outside her apartment door read Fall Risk. Though she’d chopped potatoes and filled the pot as if she’d intended to cook for the retirement home lunch rush.
“I wasn’t going to lift it. You are.” Nonna gave two quick, irritated tugs on her blue-striped apron. “My hands work a little slower these days, but they still work. It’ll do you good to remember that.”
“I was only trying to help, Nonna.” Chase added a dose of remorse to his words. “Mom would scold me if I didn’t remind you of the rules.”
“Your mother needs to concentrate on her own rules and let me live like I’m used to.” Nonna sniffed. “Now find yourself and Nichole some aprons.”
His grandmother intended for them to cook together. Nichole included. But Nonna had always been selective about who she allowed in her kitchen. Who she shared her recipes with. The kitchen had always been reserved for those his grandmother considered family. Cooking was an event from the preparation to the cleanup. An intimate, private experience. Almost sacred. Nichole and Chase cooking together as if they were a real couple. “This was only supposed to be a quick catch-up visit. Nichole has to work on her business.”
“Do you have any family traditions, Nichole?” Nonna shifted away from Chase to focus on Nichole.
Again, Nonna acted as if he hadn’t spoken. Her typical default once she’d heard something that went contrary to her intentions. Chase crossed his arms over his chest, intending to stare his grandmother into cooperation.
“Not opening Christmas presents until Christmas morning.” Nichole’s hands fluttered in front of her. “Homemade eggs Benedict. It’s the one thing I can make.”
“We’ll make eggs Benedict together another time.” Nonna nodded, pleasure spread into the creases fanning from her eyes beneath her round glasses. “Today we’re making one of our family favorites.”
No. No cooking. Chase cooked alone at his house. Never invited anyone he’d dated to cook with him. He couldn’t recall cooking a meal for anyone he’d dated. That would’ve invited a woman into his house, granting her permission to critique his food and him. There were too many obstacles to surpass before they cooked together. Before he knew for certain they’d work well together. Neither Chase nor his past girlfriends had been interested in escalating their relationships beyond casual and informal.
His grandmother believed gardening and cooking opened the mind and the heart to love’s true meaning. Chase already knew what love meant. Love meant exposure and rejection. No one wanted to face that. Besides, he’d avoided his heart for so long, there were too many weeds to find it anymore.
“This is our family tradition. Every new couple learns a family recipe from the current matriarch.” Nonna shuffled into the kitchen beside Chase. “Your grandfather and I cooked with my grandmother. Chase’s mother and father cooked with Chase’s great-grandmother. Of course, Chase’s father burnt the sausage and spilled the olive oil. We should’ve honored that unfortunate sign from Fate.” Nonna nudged Chase aside and opened a drawer. Aprons burst forth like wishes on a shooting star. “Never underestimate the importance of signs, dear.”
His grandmother always packed a lot of words into one breath as if worried she might be on her last breath. As if she might not get the chance to finish her thought and get her message across. There was always a message.
Nichole reached for the apron, her movements slow and hesitant.
But Nichole wasn’t Chase’s real wife. They weren’t a real couple. Surely there was some kind of sign happening now. Something not to be overlooked. But all he saw was his petite grandmother, her shoulders stooped, her faith strong, and Nichole, welcoming and kind and all too appealing. Chase stumbled for an excuse to leave.
Nichole stepped into the kitchen, set the apron strap around her neck and turned her back toward Chase. “Can you tie this please?”
“You have work.” Chase kept his hands at his sides and his gaze fixed away from the dangling apron straps. I never promised this.
“I can go back further in the family tree.” Nonna pulled a stainless steel bowl from a cabinet. “Generations in our family have been honoring this particular tradition and proving that food brings you closer together and love bonds you. We had a rather impressive streak until Chase’s father.”
“I can call on vendors and businesses later.” Nichole twisted and took Chase’s hand, easy and effortless as if she’d been reaching for him always. She squeezed his fingers. “This is important to Nonna.”
It was even more important not to act like a couple. Not to link his fingers with hers or notice how her hand fit inside his as if they
