Men In Uniform: Burning For The Fireman: Firefighter's Doorstep Baby / Surrogate and Wife / Lying in Your Arms. Barbara McMahon

she put him down in the stroller for nap. She came back to stand beside him.

      “Circle of life sort of thing, isn’t it?” she said.

      “What is?”

      “You fight fire and destruction, and now create things of beauty. A balance. Is that why you do it? To balance out?”

      “No. I do it because I like it. My grandfather taught me.”

      “And your father taught you to cook?”

      “A bit. I do like good food prepared well.”

      “I can boil eggs,” she said impishly.

      He laughed. He couldn’t help it. She’d been to America and back. Was capable of taking on an infant. And couldn’t cook worth beans?

      “So you and Dante will live happily ever after on boiled eggs.”

      “I might have to expand my repertoire,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe you can give me some hints.” She frowned. “You don’t think that will be a problem in the future, do you? I mean, I can learn. And for now he’s just beginning to eat baby food, so no worries.”

      “I’m sure that’s not a condition of growing up healthy. Though to enjoy eating, you do need to know more than how to boil eggs.” He shook his head. All the members of his family knew how to cook. Well, he wasn’t sure about the newly found half-brothers from America. But if they lived alone at any time, they would cook for themselves.

      “So tell me what you’re doing now,” she said, pressing closer. She was a toucher. He hadn’t been touched since he left hospital. Until now. Every time Mariella came close, she reached out or bumped against him. He liked the human contact. The thought of pulling her into his arms grew stronger by the second.

      He cleared his throat and began to explain, hoping talking would get his mind off what his body was craving—contact up close and personal with Mariella Holmes.

      The worst of the storm seemed to be easing. The baby slept in the stroller. And Cristiano showed his work to an interested party. Mariella exclaimed over the craftsmanship and he felt the tightness ease. He might not be a hundred per cent yet, but he still had the ability to build something beautiful.

      He glanced at his watch, surprised to see the morning had fled.

      “I can give you a ride back. The worst of the rain seems over.”

      “Beats pushing the stroller. Plus it’s decidedly colder after the rain.”

      Once in the car, Cristiano looked at her. “Since we’re going out, what about lunch?” He surprised himself, then knew it was the right thing to do when she gave a happy nod.

      “I would love that. I’m hungry. Do we have time to go to Monta Correnti? We could eat at your family’s restaurant.”

      Cristiano hesitated. There was Pietro’s in the village. He’d much rather eat there. He hadn’t been to Rosa since long before the bomb. He felt a moment of panic. What if he had a flashback in the restaurant? What if he completely lost sight of reality and ended up beneath a table? His family would be horrified.

      He knew he had to face his family at some time. The longer he delayed, the more suspicious his absence would become. His sister and father already complained they never saw him.

      Yet, he wasn’t ready.

      Would he ever be?

      “Never mind. Forget it. Pietro’s is fine. Of course their sauce is not as good,” she said.

      “Fine, we’ll go to Rosa.” With any luck, his sister would be too busy to stop to talk to him. Though lunch during the week wasn’t normally as crowded as dinners—or weekend crowds. With real luck, he’d act normal for the time it took to order and eat. Then get out of Monta Correnti and back to the safety of the cottage.

      He drove through the intermittent rain testing his will power. He tried to gauge his feelings as they approached the town his family lived in. So far so good.

      As they reached the outskirts of Monta Correnti she spoke for the first time since leaving the village.

      “It’s really pretty, even in the rain. I can see why Ariana spoke so fondly of it. And the memories I think were happy even though the end of their affair brought pain.”

      The closer he drove to the restaurant, the more the tension rose. It would be the first time he’d seen Isabella in months. The sporadic phone conversations didn’t count. She would have a hundred questions. He’d be trapped until lunch was over. Had he made a mistake coming here?

      They parked the car and walked quickly through the rain. Cristiano held a large umbrella he kept stashed in his car. She carried the baby and they moved in step, close together, to avoid the drizzle. It wasn’t too late to turn back, he thought as they approached the door. He didn’t know how he’d explain the situation to Mariella if he broke down, but he’d come up with something.

      Entering the restaurant, Mariella took a deep breath.

      “If we could bottle this aroma and pipe it into other streets, people would flock here,” she said. “It makes my mouth water.”

      Cristiano took a breath. To him it was home, as familiar as ever. The awkward stress grew until he felt it was almost tangible. He could taste the uncertainty and fear. One of the waiters came over. The two men greeted each other.

      “We haven’t seen you in a long time,” the waiter said.

      “It has been a while. Is my sister or father in today?”

      “No. They are both at some meeting they had to attend.”

      “We’ll sit in the back, if there’s room,” Cristiano said, letting the relief wash through him. One worry avoided. Now he just had to remain normal until the meal ended.

      “Quiet today. Rain keeping people away, I think,” the waiter said, leading them back to one of the small tables near the rear wall.

      The wooden paneling gave the restaurant a cozy feel, contributing to quiet enjoyment, mixed with anticipation of the meal to come. When the waiter brought the high chair, Mariella strapped Dante in and handed him his plastic keys.

      She opened the menu and scanned the offerings. Everything looked delicious. Choosing only one item wasn’t easy.

      Once they had ordered she leaned back and looked at Cristiano. “Do you know everyone here?”

      Cristiano glanced around and shrugged. “I know most of the wait staff and I bet most of the people in the kitchen. My father has owned this place since before I was born.”

      “Sorry you’re missing him today.”

      Cristiano pushed a glass toward the right a fraction of an inch. “It’s just as well.”

      “Why?” she prodded.

      He glanced up. “No reason.”

      She narrowed her gaze but didn’t push the issue.

      Breaking a bread stick, she handed half to Dante and began nibbling on the other half. She studied the decor. “When we ate here before we sat on the terrace. It’s lovely. I really liked that. Too bad for the rain.”

      Just then there was a commotion by the door. Cristiano looked over and frowned.

      Mariella turned around to see.

      A woman in her early sixties was arguing with one of the waiters. She turned as if in a huff and then spotted Cristiano.

      “Oh-oh,” he said softly even as he began to rise as she stormed over.

      “Cristiano.” She reached him and kissed both cheeks. “I thought you were injured and recuperating.” She ran her gaze from head to toe. “You seem fine to me. You were always such a good-looking boy.”

      “Aunt Lisa. I am fine.”