Sex and the Single Fireman: A Bachelor Firemen Novel by Jennifer Bernard Read Free Book Online Page B

with physical affection. Roman loved ruffling his son’s hair, giving him random bear hugs, slinging his arm around his shoulder as they walked. Like a flashback to the old Luke, he talked a mile a minute as they waited at the outdoor baggage carousel in the glaring sunshine.
    “Nonna gave me money to rent a DVD player and I watched ten movies, fast forwarded right through the boring parts, where’s our house, did our stuff come, cuz I wouldn’t mind camping out a couple nights, I think it would be fun, maybe we’d see some coyotes, Ben knows someone whose cat was eaten by a coyote, do you think we could get a dog now that we have a backyard, I was thinking maybe a Great Dane, like a huge dog, because we’re Romans and our family is big, even Nonno is huge he says it’s because we’re part Cherokee but I thought we were part Viking, do you know, Papa?”
    Roman just shook his head, shouldered two of Luke’s duffel bags, and handed him the third. Hopefully, Luke’s excitement meant this move was the right step. For the first time in a year he didn’t seem irritated or angry.
    “One thing at a time. Are you hungry? Did you eat anything on the plane?”
    Luke reeled off every snack he’d had on the flight, including the homemade cannoli his grandmother had given him.
    “I had an extra but I gave one to the girl next to me,” he finished, looking guiltily up at Roman. “She looked really thin and hungry. She hadn’t even eaten breakfast.”
    “You’ve got a good heart, Lukey.”
    “Not really. I had two myself before I even talked to her.”
    Roman grinned down at his son. Honest to a fault, his Luke. Except for his height, he didn’t look much like Roman; his exuberant brown eyes and sandy hair came straight from his mother’s side of the family. Tall for his age, he used his wiry strength to whip fastballs past gawking batters.
    “Home, then food?”
    “I can’t wait to see the house!” And he was off again. He chattered nonstop through the tour of the little beige house. Luke’s bed had gotten broken during the move, but for now Roman had plopped the mattress in the center of his bedroom. Luke chose to shove it up against the window that looked out on the backyard.
    “Can you believe how warm it is?” he kept saying. “It’s like summer vacation every single day!”
    “Don’t you believe it. I’ve registered you at the toughest school in San Gabriel. The teachers are all ex-marines from Company F. Stands for Flunk.”
    “Papa. Not funny. Don’t you think a Great Dane would love it here? Or maybe a Great Dane and a Newfie.”
    “I’ll have to introduce you to the dog at work. You might change your mind about getting one.”
    “Never,” Luke vowed.
    In his joy at having his son back to normal, Roman forgot about the station, the awkward situation with Jones, and his sense of being a fish out of water—an enormous one. Maybe a shark.
    For dinner, he took Luke to the neighborhood Italian restaurant, La Piaggia, whose stucco façade glowed a lovely apricot pink in the sunset. But when the hostess, an energetic young Indian woman in a hot-pink sari, brought him his penne al’arrabiata, his good mood disappeared.
    He gagged on the thick, cloying tomato-ish sauce. Luke put his fork down, eyeing him nervously.
    “Papa. It’s just pasta.”
    “No. No, it isn’t. You can’t call this pasta. Arrabiata is not a challenging sauce. That’s why I ordered it. If they can’t do—”
    The sharp-eyed hostess hurried to their table. “Is there a problem?”
    “Yes. This sauce. It tastes like ketchup. I don’t think it has a single speck of red pepper in it.”
    She raised her chin. “Our customers don’t enjoy spicy food. More’s the pity, because there are some excellent North Indian dishes that—”
    “But it’s arrabiata! Do you know what that means?”
    “I await enlightenment.” She joined her palms in a gesture somewhere between spiritual and sarcastic.
    “Angry. It means angry.