Andrew bounced up and down, more animated than Angi had seen him in ages. Her son really did have a connection with Gabe. Andrew ran out of the room to collect some toy he wanted to show their guest.

“Smells delicious.” Gabe’s voice was soft at her side, and she turned, not wanting to appear as flustered by his presence as she was.

“Thanks for coming over.” She glanced around him to find that they were alone in the kitchen, at least for the moment. Her mother had gone to hang up his coat in the front hall.

“Thanks for the invite.” He lifted his hand and brushed a thumb across her cheek. “You have a bit of flour here.”

“I’m as coated as a Sunday chicken,” she said, her cheeks flushing when the words came out breathy. “I meant to get cleaned up, but my mom was so happy in the kitchen. I was happy hanging out and just having fun. Slowing down has been tough for her and...” She drew in a slow breath. “I’m babbling.”

“I don’t mind.” His eyes were bright with amusement. “The babbling or the flour.”

“We can talk about ideas for a big event to cap off the festival.” She took a step back from him, and it felt like pulling herself away from a magnet drawing her closer. “It doesn’t have to be a complete waste that you came over here.”

“A home-cooked meal is never a waste.”

“That’s what I told her,” Bianca practically shouted as she walked back into the room. “A man likes a woman who knows her way around the kitchen.”

Angi rolled her eyes. “Mom, we aren’t in the nineteen fifties anymore. I don’t have to impress anyone with my domestic skills.” She narrowed her eyes at Gabe. “I hate to vacuum, in case you were wondering.”

He held up his hands, amusement still dancing in his gaze. “I wasn’t. Promise.”

“She knows how to vacuum,” her mother said, like she had to cover for her daughter’s domestic deficiencies. “I taught her to back out of the room as she goes so there are no footprints in the brush pattern.”

Gabe looked between the two of them. “Is that a thing?”

“No,” Angi muttered.

“Of course it is,” her mother countered. “Give him a taste of your sauce, cannoli. He needs a sample. I’ll set the table in the dining room. We’ll eat on the good china with our guest.”

“Don’t go to any trouble on my account,” Gabe said, looking vaguely terrified.

“No trouble,” Bianca assured him, and bustled into the next room.

Angi grabbed a wooden spoon from one of the ceramic containers on the counter.

“Is it just me, or did that business about me tasting your sauce seem to have a double meaning?” he asked.

“Ignore her,” Angi advised as she dipped the spoon into the pot of simmering sauce. “But you still have to try it.”

Keeping her gaze trained on his mouth, she gave him a taste. She refused to think about how soft his lips had been when he’d kissed her, at odds with his rough exterior.