to spend time with people, Finn. Come into the living room and talk to me for bit.”
“Aren’t you studying?”
“No. I’m finished. The course is easy for me.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s Adolescent Psychology. Something I know a lot about.”
“All right. Let’s have wine, then?”
“I’d love some.”
Once they were settled on the teal leather couch facing the windows, too, with their glasses of Chardonnay, he said, “How’s Petey?”
“Watch your tongue,” she said with mock humor. “It’s Pete now. And if I slip, he stomps out of the room.”
“Typical teen behavior?”
“Yes, from what I’ve read, and what my friends tell me.” She rolled her eyes. “There’s this guy in my class who has twin girls Pete’s age. He commiserates with me.”
“Must be hard since Billy died.”
“Yeah.” She looked down at her glass, feeling the slice of pain at the mention of his name. “I never planned on raising a teenage boy without him.”
Alessia’s husband, the love of her life and high school sweetheart, had died six years ago, while she was pregnant with twins.
Reaching out, he squeezed her hand. “I bet it is. Do you still miss him as much?”
“I’ll always miss him. Always love him. But now I need more in my life.”
“Which is why you went back to college, right?”
She tucked a wayward strand of her dark hair behind her ear. She’d let it grow long again. “I want a career.”
He gave her a rare smile. Her cousin was attractive, with dirty blond hair and eyes the color of jade, but when he smiled, he went from an eight to a ten plus. “Have there been any men in your life?”
“None. That ship has sailed, I think. I already had the love of my life once.”
“You’re only thirty-four, and pretty by the way.”
“You’re only thirty-five. Don’t you want to settle down and have kids?”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen to me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just never wanted any.”
“It’s something, isn’t it? Seth and Hayley are getting married and having kids at practically the same time.”
“Yeah. Sounds like them, doesn’t it?”
She frowned. “I wish we’d been that close, Finn.”
He watched her. “That was my fault. I was so introverted then. Sometimes being around all of you was overwhelming for me.” He shook himself. “But I wish we’d been closer, too.”
“That’s nice to hear.” Her expression was heartfelt. “Do you want to talk to me about why you kept to yourself so much?”
“No. I don’t. But I am hungry. How about if I cook for you?”
“Really? Nobody ever cooks but me in my house. I’d love that.”
He stood and held out his hand. “Come on, cuz. Let’s see what’s in the fridge.”
“You’re on.”
* * *
“Hello. I’m home.”
“We’re in here.”
She heard the clatter of nails on wood as soon as she called out, and eighty pounds of a chocolate lab came leaping toward her. Dropping to her knees, she said, “Hello, Scout, good boy.” Wet kisses covered her face. Only four, he was named after a character in her favorite novel, To Kill a Mockingbird.
When he let her, she stood and walked into the sitting room of her grandparents’ house, which was not far from where the former first lady Bailey O’Neil had once lived. St. Patrick’s Street real estate was astronomical now, but some of the neighbors and her great-great grandparents had bought their homes in the forties for an affordable price.
Several generations of Morrisons had resided in the separate apartment on the top floor. She and her parents had lived upstairs but when they died, Millie had gone to stay with her grandparents for two years and then took back the apartment. But she always detoured past her private entrance to stop in here first to see if her grandparents needed anything. Tonight, too, they had Scout.
She found Enid and Henry Morrison watching Jeopardy. Both of them were still as fit in body as they were in mind and had a busy social life. Papa had a full head of gray hair, but Grandma’s was still at least half dark. And was styled every day, as she’d been a hairdresser in her younger years.
Millie angled her head to the TV. “How’s the game going?”
“Slam dunk for the female.” Grandpa put the program on pause, stood and kissed her cheek. “Hello, girl.”
He always called her that. “Hello, Papa.” Sometimes she used the old nickname.
“There’s chicken in the oven for you,” he said motioning to the kitchen. “Want to eat here or should I wrap it up for you?”
“Wrap it up.