His face was genuinely kind and interested as he watched my grandmother. Tons of kids at school asked why I’d want to spend any time with someone so old, but there was a special bond between us that meant everything to me. Nonni’s face lit up. “It was magical, wasn’t it? All these years I dreamed of seeing such treasures in person but never thought I’d get here.”

“My great-grandmother was born in Naples,” I explained.

“Any other relatives still living here?” he asked.

Nonni shook her head. “No, my parents both came to America and unfortunately they died young. I remember my mother used to speak Italian in the house and it took a while for her to learn English. When I was growing up, she’d lapse into rapid Italian when she got angry, which made me angry that I couldn’t understand what she was yelling at me.”

Ian laughed. “You should hear my grandmother curse in Irish. It’s a scary thing to behold.”

“Now, Ireland is next on my bucket list, so you’ll have to give me all the secrets,” Nonni said.

“I’d love for you all to come visit.” Something flashed in his eyes—it seemed a little bit like regret—but it passed too fast for me to figure it out. “The land gets in your blood so you feel like you can never leave.”

His soft, lilting brogue caressed my ears with the dreaminess of his statement. My grandmother glanced back and forth between the two of us, her lips curving in a smile. “That’s how a real home should be,” she said. “Now, let’s get back to the table before our food gets cold.”

I followed her back in. “Maybe a dance later?” Ian asked. “If they play something we recognize?”

My nerves tightened. I didn’t know how to formally dance, but I shrugged. “Sure.”

When I got to my place, the handsome waiter hurried right over and placed my plate in front of me. “I didn’t want it to get cold,” he said.

Nonni patted his arm in gratitude. “I told her to hurry. Thank you for keeping it warm.”

He beamed. “Prego.”

I stared down at the plate of meat in rich brown gravy. “Is this chicken?”

“Veal, signorina. Saltimbocca—medallions in sage with prosciutto. Very delicious.” He bowed and hurried off.

My mother leaned over. “Did he say veal? Isn’t that baby cows?” She shuddered and looked at her plate in distaste. “Maybe I’ll just have salad.”

I rolled my eyes. My mother was as much of a control freak over her food as over the rest of her life. Nonni gave her a hard stare. “They worked diligently to prepare this food, Frannie. Try it. You can’t subsist on grilled chicken and greens your whole life.”