So, I didn't.

Instead I watched him walk away.

Chapter 8.

Sandra was taking her time getting out of the car. She had the passenger-side mirror down, running her pinky finger along her bottom lip to smooth lipstick. I sat next to her with the driver-side door open; one foot was in the car, one foot was on the pavement. I used the opportunity to stare at the red brick building in front of us that held Manganiello's Italian Family restaurant.

Nico was inside that building, and I had no plan.

I didn't consider myself a control freak, but I always liked to be armed with a plan, especially when facing a boy-no, a man-who'd just declared his love for me the night before. And not only was it love, it was a lifetime of unrequited love.

"Hey-Elizabeth? Are you ready?"

My lashes fluttered; I was yanked from my contemplations. I nodded. "Yep. Guess we should get inside."

I made no move to exit the car.

My father and I dined at Manganiello's at least three times a week when I was growing up; it was the only time either of us ate a hot meal (as long microwaved leftovers aren't counted), and the restaurant was one of my most favorite places on earth.

Sandra was watching me. I could feel her hesitate, study me. "Is there anything wrong?"

Weary was how I felt as I looked at the building now. Weary and worried. The big deucey Ws.

My heart raced at the thought of seeing him, of seeing Nico; it was pounding so hard I could feel the pulse and throb of blood rushing through my veins in the palms of my hands and at the back of my neck.

I shook my head. "Nope."

That was a lie. Everything was wrong. Niccolo Manganiello was in love with me-or thought he was. I couldn't fathom the concept of his proffered feelings, failed to comprehend how Nico could believe that he'd loved me all along. Reality tilted on its axis and everything in the world was now a different color. All of our previous interactions, all of his teasing, everything that made me avoid him while we were growing up required reassessment.

I had so many questions. The first of which was: how could he spend his childhood being so mean and spiteful to a girl he supposedly loved? How could he spend years goading me, needling me, bullying me if he cared about me?

"Is this about your outburst at the reunion last night? Are you embarrassed?" Shrink Sandra said.

I shook my head. "Nope."

I wasn't embarrassed about standing on a chair and yelling THE CHILD IS YOURS. I hadn't even been embarrassed when I did it last night.

I was embarrassed about how I'd behaved when he told me he loved me. His confession of love reignited the guilt surrounding my abandoning him after we slept together and how I'd treated him after, how I'd basically cut him out of my life.

His confession last night further served to intensify the guilt. I didn't know it at the time, but when I slept with Nico, when I gave him my V-card, he supposedly thought he was in love with me. If I'd known then, if I'd had any idea. . .

I shifted in my seat then sighed, narrowed my eyes at the red brick.

I didn't want to see him. Well, I was pretty sure I didn't want to see him. And I was certain we'd already spent more than enough time together over the last fourteen hours. Well, more or less enough time. I was planning to absolutely ignore him once we walked inside the restaurant. Well, absolutely ignore in the general sense.

Gah! Make up your mind.

I administered a mental kick to my backside and suppressed a growl, not wanting to raise additional suspicion.

"What did you and Nico talk about when you disappeared?" Shrink Sandra said.

"Stuff and things." I shrugged. I didn't want to talk to Shrink Sandra. I needed a friend, not a shrink. I needed to talk to Janie. But Janie was in Boston climbing all over her fiance Quinn, and I was in Iowa avoiding confrontation.

Maybe I do need a shrink.

"He told me he has a stalker."

Sandra flinched, opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. "He has a stalker?"

I nodded.

"Is he okay? Does he have security?"

I nodded again, but said, "His security sucks."

"Obviously. Last night he was nearly mangled. I hope he plans to do something about that."

"I'm going to try to talk to him about it today. Maybe. . ." I tapped my fingers on my thigh. "Maybe I can talk to Quinn, get Nico to switch security firms."

Sandra sighed. "Sounds like a plan. Okay then, let's go."

I bit the inside of my bottom cheek for courage and led the way to the front entrance, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans.

As soon as I opened the door to the restaurant the smell of divinity enveloped me.

It was the restaurant that smelled like divinity; meaning, it smelled like what I imagined heaven would smell like: garlic, basil, and fresh baked bread. The smell was one I associated with my childhood. My nose was on sensory overload and I was forced to blink against the darkness when we stepped inside.

I heard Sandra's immediate gasp then whispered-almost a moan-exclamation, "What is that heavenly smell? . . . and why is it so dark in here? I can't see a thing."

Before I could respond a booming voice swallowed all other sound in the room. "Because that's what everyone wants to do on their day off, go to the place where they work and cook for fifty people. Yes-this makes complete sense."

I recognized the voice as Nico's oldest brother, Robert. I blinked again. The room was finally coming into focus, and I was in a time warp. Navy vinyl benches, gold carpet, silk flower arrangements that were just a little too big for the size of the dark wood tables, the jukebox that played only the Rat Pack; Frank Sinatra was currently crooning about his funny valentine.

I squinted, looked for and found a fresh ball of mistletoe tied just above the archway between the two dining rooms.

I hadn't been to the restaurant in years, but everything was the same. I half expected an eight-year-old Nico to rush out and take us to our table; or, a sixteen-year-old Nico to ignore me in favor of chatting politely with my dad, only to pull my chair out too far when we got to the table ensuring I fell to the floor, landing on my ass.

Robert's voice, still booming, cracked through my reflections. He exited the swinging galley door that led from the kitchen to the dining room.

"Because, if I were a secretary and my youngest brother came to town, I'd invite the entire family to the office, make them coffee, then clean up after they leave. Yay. Sign me up."

"Robert." Rose's warning was sharp and, I noticed, immediately effective.

Neither son nor mother had noticed us yet. I could hear sounds of children and adults, pots banging and water running, emanating from the kitchen.

Rose appeared to be absorbed in reprimanding her tall son. "You don't see your brother for three weeks and this is how you behave? Shame on you, Robert Vincenzo Manganiello. And I want us all to sit in the dining room, not back in the kitchen."

"What? Why sit in the dining room? There is more than enough room at the kitchen table."

"Because I want to do something nice for your brother, that's why. And I can't arrange it if we're all back in the kitchen." She reached up and pinched his chin. "Don't question your mother."

His big shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. "Fine, fine. I'll go finish the manicotti."

Sandra bumped her shoulder against mine and leaned into my ear. "Manicotti for breakfast?"

I nodded and shrugged. I couldn't form an opinion about having manicotti for breakfast in my present state of panicked planlessness. I couldn't even manage a full swallow, and I was pretty sure my eyes weren't blinking in unison-the right one was on a split second time delay giving me temporary dystonia of the face.

Either Sandra's question or my awkward movements alerted Rose to our presence. She glanced over, her smile was immediate; her eyes were large and excited, as though seeing something delicious.

"Lizzybella. My beauty-it is so good to see you." Rose charged toward us and engulfed me in a tight hug.

I tried to speak, but found the task impossible. Words were caught in my throat. I was choking on apprehension, guilt, and anticipation.

Rose didn't seem to notice. She released me and promptly pulled Sandra into a hug while she continued to address me, "I made Nico promise, I told him you better come and visit me while you are here."

"I'm Sandra," she said, somewhat stupefied, when Rose finally released her.

"Of course you are, dear." Rose smiled at Sandra and patted her hand then turned her attention back to me. "Now Lizzy, please go to the kitchen and help get the settings for the big table out here. Robert, Franco, Milo, and Manny are in the back. I'm sure they want to say hi."

Rose dismissed me by linking her arm with Sandra and pulling her in the direction of the jukebox. I watched them stroll away, leaving me by the front entrance. I forced my hands to relax and shook them, hoping to shake off some of my nerves. I glanced at the galley door to the kitchen, still feeling weary and worried, but resolved to get through this moment by playing the part of a mature adult.

I managed one step forward when Franco and Milo-two of Nico's brothers-burst through the swinging door. In their hands were large trays of food and, as was typical, they were arguing with each other.

"No, no-over here. Robert said over here." Milo, the tallest and second oldest, indicated to a long buffet table with a tilt of his head.

"That's stupid," said Franco, third in the family. "Why don't we just put it all on the big table? Why are we doing this buffet style?"

Milo shook a head full of dark curls. "Robert said that ma said that Nico is-you know what, don't ask questions, dummy. Just put the food down."

Through his ranting, Milo's tray slipped, and I quickly moved forward to assist. His large green eyes widened when I stepped in front of him, steadying the tray.

"Well, hello." Milo tried to balance the tray with one hand and reached his other out to me. "I'm Milo."

I frowned at him. "Yes, Milo, I know. It's me, Elizabeth Finney."

He blinked at me, clearly startled, then grinned. "Oh, hey. I didn't recognize you. Nice to see. . . you again." I noted that his eyes moved over me, perhaps trying to find the waifish teenager in the woman who stood before him.

Milo was twelve years older than Nico and therefore thirteen years older than me. I knew him only as a heart breaking teenager when I was in elementary school; then, later, as a serious and studious graduate student then physics professor-who only transiently visited-as I grew up.

He indicated toward a long table at in the smaller dining room. "We're taking these over there. Can you go in the kitchen and start bringing out the silverware?"

I stepped to the side, and he winked at me as he passed. Just like the restaurant, he looked exactly the same. Even though he had to be nearing forty, he still looked like a twenty something graduate student.

I turned to Franco and gave him a small smile. "Hey Franco."

Franco's smile mirrored my own, small and shy. He was by far the quietest member of the Manganiello family. He was ten years older than Nico and used to play with us when we were kids, allowed us to help him fix his trucks or tinker around with strange machine parts. Franco Manganiello was the reason why I knew how to change the oil in a car. When I left for college he'd just opened his own auto-mechanic's shop.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit that, growing up, I hero-worshiped Franco Manganiello.

He nodded at me once then carried the tray over to the long table. With no new excuses presenting themselves for delaying my trip to the kitchen, I took a deep breath and plowed through the swinging door.

I was greeted by a scene of chaos.

Children were everywhere-running around, playing with pots and spatulas, "helping" adults put the finishing touches on dishes of food, wrapping silverware in napkins or poking each other with the butter knives. A cluster of kids were busily pairing crayons with coloring books at one of the far tables, and that was where I found Nico.

He was bent over a coloring book; a little boy was on his right, and a little girl on his left. He looked just really, honestly, achingly adorable. A small frown of concentration pulled his dark brows low over his eyes, and a memory of a seven-year-old Nico-in the same spot, doing the exact same thing-spurred stirrings and symptoms of nostalgia. My heart and stomach engaged in a fencing match, both poking at each other.

I was still staring at him when he glanced up and did a double take. I held my breath. His gaze tangled with mine, like thorny vines. If I looked away first the thorns would draw blood. I didn't want to draw blood. I wanted to gently disentangle him from my life. I wanted him to move on from whatever fake memories and feelings he'd imagined to be real. I wanted to pretend like the last twenty-four hours never happened.

Except, the last twenty-four hours did happen, and I couldn't forget, and I didn't want to look away, and a growing part of me liked being tangled with him and his thorny vines.

"Elizabeth. The silverware." Milo knocked my shoulder as he rushed passed, and I automatically turned toward his voice.

The moment was over, but I could still feel Nico's eyes on me. I thought about meeting his gaze again, really wanted to. But if I looked at him now, if I allowed our gaze to tangle on purpose, then it wouldn't be fair. Not to him. So I kept my attention focused on Milo and his rushing about.

Milo crossed to the counter, and I followed him, opened my hands and arms to receive forks, knives, and spoons.

I spied Robert, the oldest of the Manganiello children, instructing a teenage girl on the appropriate ratio of parsley to parmesan cheese. I realized the girl must be his daughter, the same daughter who was only four the last time I saw her. This realization made me feel each of my twenty-six years and then some.

Milo made introductions to any member of the family I didn't know. This included: Robert's wife Viv and their five children; Franco's wife Madeline and their three children; Christine's husband Sam and their six children; and Manny's wife Jennifer and their three children. It was explained to me that Lisa-Nico's second sister-couldn't come as she was a busy and important attorney in Chicago and hardly ever made it to family events anymore.

I was thankful for Lisa's absence and the fact that Milo was still single-less names to remember.

I tried to make mental notes in order to remember names, pairing spouses and children with the Manganiellos I knew; after a while I accepted the fact that I just wasn't going to remember everyone. So I did a lot of smiling and nodding and calling little girls "dear" and boys "cutie".

Through all of the introductions and handshakes and smiles, the back of my neck itched and tingled. I could feel Nico's gaze intermittently follow my movements. I didn't want him to see my confusion, my lack of a specific plan so I went with my de facto plan-pretend everything is fine, feign ignorance, act normal.

I didn't mind that Milo appointed himself as my handler. Once he seemed to be satisfied with the introductions we left the kitchen with stacks of plates, cloth napkins, and silverware and set to the task of setting the large table in the dining room.

"We'll put the silverware and napkins around the table, but leave the plates on the buffet," Milo announced, indicating with his chin toward the long buffet table in the smaller dining room where he and Manny had already placed some of the food.

My attention moved to the indicated table, but snagged on the sight of Sandra and Rose with their heads together, engaged in deep conversation by the jukebox. This sight made me frown. This sight also made the back of my neck itch and tingle.

I kept my eyes on them as I placed the flatware. Rose had her hand on Sandra's arm. Sandra bent her head lower to hear something that Rose said. Rose laughed at something Sandra said. It all looked very benign and was therefore extremely suspicious.

"Do forks go on the right or the left?" Milo's question pulled my attention away from Sandra and Rose. I blinked at him then at the settings I'd just placed. Some places had two knives and no forks, some had all spoons.

"Oh, I've made a mess." I immediately moved to remedy my mistake.

Milo laughed and it caused a twinge of awareness between my shoulder blades. He and Nico had the same laugh. Except for Milo's curly hair, they also looked a great deal alike.