“And second, Gloria isn’t some fragile flower. She’s funny and smart, and she’s clawing out a brand-new life for herself. One you could be a part of. You know what would be amazing for her? Some guy who is willing to be vulnerable in front of her. Someone who needs her. Do you know what that would do for her confidence? Finally being in the position to help someone else?”

Harper was yelling at Ina Moretta volume now. She grabbed a handful of fries out of her burger box and wielded them at him. “She blushes every time someone says your name. And she survived the Mrs. Moretta Inquisition.”

Uh-oh.

“Inquisition? Oh, shit.”

Harper looked smug. “By the end of it, your mom was asking her for her jam thumbprint cookie recipe.”

So that’s how Gloria got roped into taking care of his mother’s house. Hell. She’d been maintaining two Moretta homes by herself, and he hadn’t even thanked her. He was such a pathetic asshole.

“This is too much to take in,” he sighed.

“Eat your burger. You’re weak with hunger and stupidity.”

He reached into the bag, unwrapped his burger, and took a huge bite.

“Do you really think she’d want to be with me like this?” he asked, his mouth full.

“I’m going to pretend you weren’t just that stupid right now.” Harper threw a fistful of French fries at him, and for the first time in weeks, Aldo felt good.

31

Gloria muscled the couch her mother swore was a second-hand bargain at a thrift shop into place along the long wall of her living room. Hers. The entire one-bedroom, one-bathroom, six-hundred-square-foot, third-floor walkup was hers.

Her fingers brushed something on the soft cushion, and she choked out a laugh at the price tag. Her sneaky, lying, sweetheart of a mother.

Her eyes filled again. She’d already had her little cry this morning. Happy tears as she lugged the first box of her meager belongings up the stairs. Right now, the space was a disaster of half-packed boxes and mismatched furniture and kitchen accessories cluttering the floor and every other flat surface. Oh, and there was the entire corner dedicated to her 8,000 pounds of Fourth of July paperwork, posters, and a few yards of red, white, and blue bunting that Estelle from the restaurant by Aldo’s office gave her “in case someone needed it.”

But she vowed that by the time she went to bed tonight, it would be perfect.

Home.

A grunt and groan from her open front door caught Gloria’s attention. Harper, generous friend that she was, hauled the faux leather tufted ottoman—a legitimate thrift store find—through the door and into the living room. She flopped down on top of it and heaved a sigh.