Free The Bachelor Takes a Bride (Those Engaging Garretts!) by Brenda Harlen Page A

shot.”
    “What did you do to the cat to make him scratch you?”
    “Her—the cat was female.” He rolled his sleeve back down, refastened the button at the cuff. “And I didn’t do anything—she was just mean. Nonna P.—that’s what we called her, to distinguish her from Nonna V.—told me it was an important life lesson to learn that all females had claws.”
    “That’s a pretty harsh lesson for a twelve-year-old.”
    He shrugged. “Nonna P. wasn’t really the warm and fuzzy type.”
    “You’re close to your family?”
    “Too close sometimes, but that’s probably to be expected when I work with half of them and live within spitting distance of the other half.”
    “I can relate,” she said. “I worked at Garrett Furniture for several years, and I still live with my sister.”
    She went to the fridge to get the cream, added a generous splash to her cup, then stirred in two teaspoons of sugar.
    “How can you even call that coffee?”
    “It’s the only way I like it.” She gestured for him to sit at the table, then she got plates and napkins and the box of cannoli.
    “Why bother to drink it at all if you have to disguise the true flavor?”
    She shrugged as she sat down across from him. “I started drinking coffee in college—now it’s an addiction.”
    “Probably the sugar more than the caffeine.”
    “Probably.”
    “So what did you study in college?”
    “Mostly marketing.” She opened the box, lifted out the cream-filled pastries and set them on the plates.
    “And leastly?” he prompted.
    She smiled. “This and that. How about you?”
    “Restaurant and hotel management.”
    “A good choice, especially considering the family business.” She lifted her pastry to her mouth, bit into it. Flaky crumbs and powdered sugar rained down on her plate, but she didn’t notice. She was too busy humming with pleasure as the rich flavor exploded on her tongue. “Oh. My. God. This is...unbelievable.”
    “You’ve never had cannoli before?”
    “Not from Valentino’s,” she admitted.
    “From where?”
    “The Spaghetti House.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Valentino’s is downtown,” she explained. “The Spaghetti House is two blocks away.”
    “The Spaghetti House uses dry noodles and canned sauce.”
    “When I make pasta at home, I use dry noodles and canned sauce,” she admitted.
    “Why don’t you save yourself the trouble and just get the noodles already mixed with the sauce in a can?”
    “Are you a hater of boxed macaroni and cheese, too?”
    He muttered something in Italian that she was pretty sure she was glad she didn’t understand.
    “You should spend a few hours in the kitchen at Valentino’s someday,” he suggested. “To see and appreciate how real Italian food is made.”
    “I may not be a connoisseur of fine cuisine, but I’m not a food snob, either.”
    “I’m not a food snob,” he denied.
    “Do you ever eat at a restaurant not called Valentino’s?” she challenged.
    “Not if I want Italian food.”
    “Exactly my point.”
    “Do you have any furniture in this house that doesn’t have the ‘GF’ logo stamped on it?”
    She frowned at the question. “Of course not.”
    He lifted his brows.
    “Okay—I get your point.” She licked powdered sugar off her fingers. “If I accepted your invitation to hang out in the kitchen at Valentino’s, would I see how the cannoli are made?”
    “Sorry—my mother does the baking in her kitchen at home. But if you wanted to go home with me for a family dinner, she might be enticed to share her secret.”
    “Thanks, but it’s probably easier just to stop at Valentino’s to pick one up if I have a craving.”
    “Easier,” he agreed. “But not nearly as much fun.”
    “I guess that depends on your interpretation of fun.”
    “Speaking of—why didn’t you want to go to the movie with your sisters tonight?”
    “I’ve seen it,” she said. “And I had laundry to do.”
    “I think I understand now why they felt