“We’re getting ready to bring out the food. You coming, or should we add two chairs to the kids table?”
She was joking, but only because most of the kids were probably eating pizza in the game room.
“Santi is a starving artist. Of course we’re coming to dinner.” Matt ignored Santi’s frown and got to his feet. He held out his hand, because he was charming, the sort of guy who helped grandmothers out of cars and kept tissues in his pockets. He didn’t think anything of it until Santi stood up.
Camille’s attention fell to their joined hands, and then away. By then, Santi’s hand was gone.
It returned a moment later while Matt was curling his fingers into his palm. Santi rested his fingertips at Matt’s elbow, just for a second, and gave him a crooked grin, and Matt could breathe again, and smile at his sister as she led them out.
“Wearegoing to eat soon, aren’t we?” Santi stage-whispered. The table was set and people were sitting down, but others were still milling around. The catering staff looked politely impatient.
Matt and Santi were toward one end of the long table, not quite huddled together, not quite engaging with Nonna Louise who was the closest person to them at the moment. She was half-asleep and would only wake up to rant about the younger generation anyway. The rant had stayed the same through several younger generations.
Matt was beginning to get hungry. “Too many hors d’oeuvres and no one wants to eat dinner,” he muttered.
“Such a charming hostess you would make,” Santi whispered, almost sweet. “Youwould never leave me to starve.”
“Absolutely not.” Matt frowned as he remembered the dishes he’d seen in the kitchen. “Cheesy asparagus. I know she likes to have vegetable sides and she loves to have them be filling. But she’d taste the asparagus more with something simple. A good olive oil. Pepper, salt, lemon. Minced garlic, of course. Parmesan for a little flavor. Maybe people like it drenched in cheese. Maybe it’s a good wedding dish, where no one cares about the food as long as there is a lot of it. But for family? To really appreciate the flavors? Simple is good, even if it is harder.”
“Please go on.” Santi seemed torn between laughing and resting his chin on his hands to listen. “Rail about cooking some more. Do you do this at work?”
“People ask for restaurant recommendations.” Matt had a feeling he was flushed. “And I like food. I’m Italian. I’m allowed to have strong opinions about this!”
“Tell me more about olive oil,” Santi instructed him in a dreamy, silly voice.
Matt glanced at him, wary, but too annoyed at the thought of asparagus clumsily covered in cheese to stop. “Something fresh. Like the lemons. I usually take a lemon from the tree in my yard.”
“From the yard of the guest house,” Nicky corrected as he sat down opposite them.
Matt’s brother had their father’s dark, slightly wavy hair, and about an inch on Matt in height. He was still wearing his tie from work, although he’d loosened it. He handled the business side of things with Camille and their dad. He did more investments than wine-industry stuff. Camille was learning that, although it was her husband and Matt’s other brother, Paul, who would go down into the fields.
Matt smiled brightly. “It’s cheaper to live here. The price of rent in town is getting astronomical.”
Rent was not really a concern of his, which they all knew. But the priceswererising. Everyone complained about it.
“Are you saving money for some reason?” Nicky stopped briefly to study Matt in absolute amazement, then shook his head and turned to Santi. “A place in town, I hope. You’d think he’d want a nice place to bring women back to.”
Matt stared at his empty plate, then at Nonna Louise.
“The younger generation is making up genders now,” she told him quietly, which was a new rant at least.
Matt pushed his chair back and stood up. “I need another drink. Santi? With cherries this time?”
Santi’s eyes were fixed on him, too serious for Matt to look back. “A Shirley Temple sounds about right. Why not?”
Matt left the dining room for the bar, nearly colliding with one of the caterers, who smiled at him after he apologized and helped balance her tray. He got straight rum this time and Santi’s Shirley Temple, and ignored how his parents watched him go back and forth.
He put Santi’s very pink drink in front of him before sitting back down. “If that’s too sweet, I could get you some tea.”
“Why, thank you, Matty. How masterful you are.” Santi praised him breathlessly in a way that sent heat down Matt’s spine even as it froze him in place. Then he realized Santi was directing those words and that tone at Nonna Louise. Not that it mattered, since she was listening, or pretending to listen, to what Cousin Jacky was saying behind her. Santi finally shrugged at her lack of reaction and made a thoughtful face after tasting the drink in question. “You know, everyone always offers my sober friends iced tea. I find it sort of hilariously awkward.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Matt swallowed. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“It wasn’t about that. Matty just likes tea,” Nicky rescued him, in his way. “Some of it is even good. What’s that stuff you keep at home and convinced us to carry in the shop of the tasting room?”
Matt sighed. “Dragon Well.”
Santi raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you’d gotten that serious about your tea.” He paused, then shot a sharp glance at Nicky. He coughed. “Do you pour it for customers who ask? That must help charm the ladies.”
