“So this thing between the two of you isn’t exactly new?” Bianca nodded slowly. “You’ve been holding out on me, Angela.”

“No, Mom.” At least not in the way her mother thought. “But your menu sounds amazing.” Before Bianca could ask her any more questions, Angi grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “I’ll be back shortly.”

She only briefly considered driving past the grocery store turnoff and continuing down the highway out of Magnolia and into parts unknown. She’d always done the same thing when times got tough—imagined fleeing to a new place with Andrew in tow. But she understood that trouble could, and most likely would, follow her anywhere. Better to face it head-on.

At the store, she added everything her mom had asked for to the cart, plus a pint of rocky road ice cream—appropriate for her mood—and a bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans. If she was going to face life head-on, might as well do it with a bit of sugar and caffeine in her system.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly as she and her mom made homemade gnocchi to accompany the chicken marsala, Andrew helping to form the little U-shaped pieces of yummy goodness. The familiar steps calmed her frazzled nerves as the scent of potato filled the kitchen. She’d often resented the way her family’s tried and true recipes overshadowed her culinary creativity. Il Rigatone sometimes felt like a lead weight around her neck. But in her mother’s kitchen, with the warm yellow walls and the vintage gas stove where Angi had first learned to love cooking, it was different.

Her mother seemed happier, as well. It reminded Angi that as much as she didn’t want to take over the restaurant, her mom also didn’t want to necessarily give up her role. They laughed and then poured two glasses of wine, harmonizing along with Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby as they sang about their white Christmas dreams.

She lost track of time so completely that shock pulsated through her when the doorbell rang. A glance at the clock on the stove showed her it was nearly six. “He’s here,” she whispered, wondering why butterflies danced across her stomach and how to best tamp them down for good.

“Answer the door,” her mother suggested with a knowing smile.

“Look at me.” Angi brushed her hands across the apron she’d tied around her waist. It was still dusted with flour. “I’m a mess. I meant to stop early and change clothes.”

“You’re beautiful.” Bianca cupped Angi’s cheeks between her palms. “You’re always most beautiful when you’re in the kitchen. It’s your place of joy, sweet cannoli girl. Just like it was your father’s.”

Tears clogged Angi’s throat. She loved the thought that she shared this passion with her father. Despite her current situation, so many of her happy memories involved him and food.

“Gabe’s here,” Andrew announced.

Her mother patted her cheeks and then turned to welcome their guest.

Angi stirred the sauce as Bianca clucked over Gabe, taking his coat and offering him a glass of wine. The good thing about having been occupied in the kitchen was that she hadn’t had time to get nervous. The bad thing was she was sweaty and flushed, and smelled like flour and butter.