“Of course he is. He kissed you in the middle of the town square.”

“On the head, Mom. He gave me a quick peck on the head.”

“A kiss is a kiss.”

As she’d predicted, news of her so-called relationship with Gabe Carlyle spread like melted cheese oozing from an overcooked mozzarella stick.

Before the final notes of the last song of the holiday concert had been played, Mariella had tracked her down in the crowd.

“When I told you to make up a boyfriend, I meant from your imagination,” she’d said in a low voice. “Not to pick the man who irritates the hell out of you and call him your dream guy.”

Angi had yanked Mariella away from the crowd to the quiet of a copse of fir trees. They were adorned with strands of white lights and helped give the impression of that section of the square being some sort of magical fairy garden.

“I didn’t say he was my dream guy.” Although other than the fact that he didn’t like her, Gabe came pretty close. Hot as sin, hardworking, dedicated to his grandmother, kind in his unique way to her son. “He’s not.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Mariella had asked with a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

“I asked him, and he’s willing to do it. I’m going to help around his grandmother’s shop. You’re going to help me help him, and this will get my mom to stop setting me up with every not-so-eligible guy around these parts and to use as cover when I’m really at the inn. I can’t use her home kitchen, and she’d hear about it if I was at Il Rigatone after hours.”

“I still think the imaginary boyfriend would have been safer,” Mariella had told her.

“Gabe is plenty safe,” Angi had lied.

She’d been telling far too many lies lately. It was getting difficult to keep them all straight. She took a deep breath and placed a hand on her mother’s arm. “I don’t think it would be a great idea for Gabe to come over right now.”

“Gabe is coming over?” Andrew asked as he walked into the room. “Cool. I can show him my Minecraft world.”

“Even my grandson wants him here,” Bianca said with a sniff. “It seems odd that you’re the only one who doesn’t.”

“It isn’t that I don’t want him,” Angi muttered. In fact, just the opposite. She wanted him far too much.

“Then invite him.”

She grabbed her phone from the back pocket of the corduroy pants she wore and punched in a text. “He’s probably tired or already has plans.”

“You don’t know?”

“Mom, we’re dating. I’m not his parole officer. There’s no ankle monitor that keeps me apprised of his whereabouts.”

She let out a little yelp when her phone dinged.

“You’re nervous,” Bianca said with a satisfied smile. “It’s cute.”

Hardly.

But her pulse thrummed when she read his response. “He’s coming for dinner. What time?”