“Get over here,” Joe said, pulling him into a tight hug. He held Lucas, patting his back with vigor. Joe’s hands went to Lucas’ forearms, and he stepped back, looking him over before pulling him back in again. This time his hold was even tighter.
The twisted knots from earlier unraveled, and any doubts or reluctance vanished into the cool crisp spring air. Lucas relished in the embrace, finally understanding the warm comfort of a grandparent’s hug.
Chapter 4
Ella parked her brother’s car in the backlot and headed up the stairs to his place—a loft above a custom boat building company that overlooked the cove. Marco was the second oldest out of the four of the Moretti siblings. He was a lobsterman who repurposed old lobster traps into beautiful pieces of furniture. He was also in charge of assembling the town center’s lobster trap Christmas tree every year for the past five years. A job he took pretty seriously… though he would deny it with every breath.
Marco was a hot head and so much like their father yet absolutely refused to acknowledge it. Not that it was surprising; Marco wouldn’t even acknowledge their father existed anymore. As far as Marco was concerned, the minute the police slapped cuffs on him he was as good as dead.
It was a wonder Marco even let Ella use his car to drive to the bus depot. Probably because he knew she’d just ride her bike the thirty miles, and that was something he would not allow. He’d prefer her to be safe and would do anything in his power to make sure of that.
She knocked on his door and waited for him to answer, hoping he didn’t have any company. There was nothing worse than walking into an awkward situation because Ella knew no matter what Marco claimed, he’d never call the poor girl again. He’d given his heart to only one girl, and she’d shattered it into so many pieces that it would never fully be whole again. Marco didn’t do relationships, and honestly, Ella couldn’t blame him. He’d been through enough.
There was no answer, and Ella looked down the stairs toward the main entrance. She heard the sound of a saw echoing through the mid-afternoon air and headed back down the stairs.
Marco rented the loft, but the owner—a friend of his—also let him use the space below as a workspace to build his furniture. If he wasn’t out on the water, or hosting female company, he could be found in the workspace, which was exactly where he was now.
In a black t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of work boots he leaned back, admiring a coffee table that looked just about done. His black hair fell forward, and he shoved it back with his hand.
She imagined the table in a coastal living room as the center piece, surrounded by white couches with navy blue accent pillows, and above the couches two distressed wood oars each facing a different direction. The image in her mind was so vivid, and the pull to design a room exactly as she envisioned it was strong.
She forced the desire down though since the only rooms she decorated were for friends and family and none of them would want white couches.
“Looks good,” Ella said as she approached.
His lip quirked ever so slightly. “Thanks. It’s still not done.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Marco while brash in most things in life, obsessed over tiny details in his work.
“Just need to sand a few more spots down.”
She swung her hand back as he turned toward her. “Catch,” she said as she let the keys sail through the air.
Marco caught them with barely any effort and shoved them into his pocket. His jaw ticked and his lip twitched as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
“I put gas in it,” she said. He wouldn’t have cared if she drove home on fumes and left him on E, but she would never do that.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “How much?”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it.”
His hand froze on the paper bills, and he shot her a look. “Ella, how much was the damn gas?”
“You let me borrow your car; the least I can do is fill it up.”
He pulled out a couple twenties and held them out to her. She crossed her arms and turned her nose up. When he narrowed his dark gaze, she moved around him and walked toward the finished coffee table.
“So do you have a buyer for this yet?” she asked as she eyed the small details of the table from the fitted glass top to the custom feet he hand carved. His work was meticulous and could only be thoroughly appreciated up close.
“I do. Mrs. Peterson is redoing her living room and wanted to pay homage to our beautiful state. Her words, not mine.”
Ella could have figured that out without the warning label. She didn’t recall Marco ever describing something as beautiful. Nice, sturdy, good craftsmanship… that was about as far as his descriptions went.
“This piece deserves to be the focal point of the room. I hope she knows that.”
“I don’t ask questions,” he said.
Ella walked around the piece, examining it further before meeting Marco’s eyes.
“He seems good,” Ella said, shrugging. She knew bringing their dad up was walking on a tight rope in a windstorm, but she had to keep trying.
Marco ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. “I don’t care and you know that.”
“I just keep hoping that maybe one day—”
“It’ll never happen,” he cut her off. “So let it go.”
“But he asks about you,” Ella said in a desperate attempt to make Marco see beyond his blinding rage of the past. Every time she visited their father, he asked about her brothers Marco was the one he worried about most. “He—”
“Ella! I don’t give a shit. If he really fucking cared he wouldn’t have got his ass thrown in prison in the first place.”
“He was just trying to keep us afloat.” Their mother had died and he still had two kids at home he had to take care of. Between their grieving and the funeral costs, cash was running low. He was late on the mortgage and the electric company was threatening to turn off their power. He was too proud to ask his father for help and maybe that was his biggest downfall.
“There are other ways to make money. Selling drugs out of his own home where his fucking kids live is not one of them. He put you and Tony in danger and I’ll never forgive him for that. So stop making excuses for him.”
“I’m not.”
The veins in his neck bulged beneath his tanned skin, and tension tightened his jaw. “You are, and I’m getting really tired of having this conversation, so please, just let it go.”
Ella could push buttons as well as her entire family, but she also knew when it was time to pull back. This wasn’t the first time she tried to reason with Marco, and it wouldn’t be the last, but for now she’d let it rest.
“Sorry,” she said. “I just want us to be a family again.” There was nothing wrong with admitting the truth. He couldn’t get mad at her for that.
“Come here,” Marco said as he draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. He kissed the top of her head. Marco was tough, the town bad boy growing up, but when it came to her, he was nothing but a loving, concerned brother who would go out of his way to protect her. “I know you want that, but I just don’t see it happening.” She could hear the remorse in his voice, and she wondered if it was because he felt he was letting her down or if somewhere deep inside of him he had the same wishes as she did.
“I’ll continue to hold out hope,” she said.
Marco laughed. “Of course you will. Always been the optimistic one in the family.”
She poked his stomach. “Someone has to be.”
He moved quick and gave her a noogie before she was able to get away. “Jerk.”
“Someone in the family has to be.” He smirked. “And I seem to be the best at it.”
She wanted to tell him he wasn’t, but out of the four of them he held that honor proudly. Tony was the youngest with a kind gentle soul, Enzo the oldest, respectful with an old soul, Ella ruled
by her heart more than her head and then there was Marco, outspoken and not afraid to hurt feelings, but while he called himself a jerk, in Ella’s eyes he was far from it.
He was the brother who pushed aside his opinions and lent her his car so she could go visit their father, the one who would defend her honor until his death, and who would give her a hug on the shittiest of days.
She had no idea what she would do without him.
“We love you anyway,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you from your work so I’m going to head out.”
“Do you need a ride back to town?” he asked.
She walked over to the far wall and grabbed the handlebars of her mint green cruiser with a dark tan seat and matching hand grips. “I have my bike.”
“Let’s go” he said, retrieving the keys from his pocket and turning toward the door.
“I don’t need a ride when I have a perfectly good bike here.”
He swung his unamused gaze to hers. “Ella, it may be April, but it’s forty-five degrees out.”
Over the past few days, the first signs of spring had slowly started to show, but then a cold front moved in overnight. Ella didn’t care earlier in the day when she rode over to borrow the car. She had spring on the mind, and she wasn’t going to let Mother Nature ruin her party. She could almost smell the fresh cut grass, the mouth-watering aromas of burgers on the grill, and the sweet pungent scent right before it rained.
“It’s not that bad,” she said. Besides they were born and raised in Willow Cove; they were used to frigid temperatures in the winter. She practically didn’t even feel the cold anymore. Most locals had already taken out their shorts and flip flops.
“If I let you ride that bike home, Grandpa will never let me hear the end of it. Put the bike down and get in the damn car.” He waited for her to make a move, a silent battle of wills. “Please.”
She broke. “Okay fine, but only because you said the magic word.”
“Brat,” he said as he followed her out and locked up behind him. Most people didn’t lock their doors in Willow Cove, but Marco had never really trusted anyone.
They got into the car, and Marco put the key in the ignition, looking down at the gages. “You didn’t have to fill it.”
She shrugged and, with a roll of his eyes, he knocked the shifter into reverse and pulled out of the space. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”
“Just keeping you on your toes.”
He laughed and turned the radio up as one of his favorite Led Zeppelin songs came on.
Ella looked down at her phone, and a smile tilted her lips as she noticed a new text from Lucas. A rush of childish excitement ran through her, and she honestly felt like she was fifteen all over again, waiting for her crush to call her. With everything that had happened in her life, a part deep inside of her always felt dead, and now it was as if Lucas breathed new life into her, making her remember the simple joys of life.
Led Zeppelin moved into the chorus. Marco’s hands drummed on the steering wheel with the beat, and Ella opened the text.
It went better than expected.
She barely knew him, yet it didn’t lessen her excitement for him. She tapped back a quick reply.
I’m so happy to hear that. Do you think my finger crossing had anything to do with it?
Her phone vibrated almost immediately.
I have no doubt.
“What are you smiling about?” Marco asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing my ass.” He nodded to the phone in her hands. “Who are you texting.”
Ella could make something up, but Marco had always been able to tell when she lied. Something about her voice moving up an octave. So with a shrug of her shoulders she decided to be honest, yet completely nonchalant about it. “A guy I met today.”
Marco glanced over at her like she’d lost her mind. “You met someone at the prison?” His voice raised with each word. His knuckles whitened against the steering wheel.
“No!” she exclaimed. “On the bus.”
“You met some guy on a bus. And now you’re texting this guy that you know absolutely nothing about.”
“He’s from California, and he’s here visiting his grandfather.”
Marco shot her a glance. “So he says.”
“I don’t think he would lie about that.”
“A guy will say anything to get in a girl’s pants.”
She dropped the phone on her lap and looked at him with indifference. “Not him.”
“Really? Who mentioned their grandfather first? You or him?”
She thought about it for a second and recalled their conversation. “What does that have to do with anything?” she asked.
“A lot. You mention your grandfather and to him that’s a way to make himself look good by doing the same thing.”
She shook her head. “Not Lucas.”
Marco raised an eyebrow. “Lucas?” he said, disgust smothering his words.
“Yes, his name is Lucas.”
“That’s a douchebag name.”
“Oh my god, no it’s not.” She loved her brother to death, but sometimes he really did take being a jerk to a whole new level.
“If you say so. Just do me a favor and don’t go out with the guy.”
Ella hadn’t dated many guys, but enough to know that Marco would never approve of any of them. He always found something wrong.
“We’re just talking, but if he asks me out I’m going to say yes,” she admitted.
“Then I want his full name, phone number, the numbers off his license plate, and if you can get a picture of his license even better.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you trust people too easily. You’ve got to be more careful.”
Ella tilted her head. “You need to give me a little more credit. And don’t think I didn’t throw twenty questions at him because you know I did. He didn’t hesitate to answer so either he’s a really good liar or he was being honest.”
“Be careful, okay?” he turned to her, his eyes filled with concern. After losing their mother, his protective streak became more dominant. It was no wonder when it was discovered his dad had voluntarily put Ella and their baby brother Tony in danger by dealing out of the house that Marco went ballistic. Ella held out hope for a reconciliation, but she wasn’t dumb. She knew that bridge was burned beyond repair, but at least for now she could ease his mind.
“I always am.”
“Except when you make friends with random guys on the way home from prison.” Ella swatted his arm and Marco laughed. He held his hands up. “Just saying.”
They pulled up to her house, and Marco came to a stop behind the other three cars in the driveway. Every Friday their grandfather hosted poker night with four of his closest friends. They played way past their bedtimes—eight-thirty—smoked cigars, and ate the leftovers from the restaurant so it wouldn’t go to waste. Ella was eternally grateful; she’d be eating lobster every weekend if they didn’t.
Marco put the car in park and turned to her. His black hair needed a trim. “I’ll have Enzo come by with the pickup and get your bike.”
She raised an eyebrow in his direction. “You’re not coming in?”
“I have to finish that table.”
She laughed. “No, you don’t want to have to deal with the Friday night poker crowd,” she said. “Admit it.”
Marco slumped back into his seat. “Every time I play Dominick cheats me out of fifty bucks. I think I’ll keep my money tonight.”
A giggle slipped from her lips. It was an unproven fact that Dominick cheated, but he would swear innocence to the grave.
“Suit yourself,” she said. Ella got out of the car then leaned back in. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Any time. And don’t forget to send me that guy’s information.”
“Goodbye Marco,” she said as she shut the door. With a laugh, she headed up the driveway and toward the front entrance.
When she walk
ed inside, a crescendo of old men each trying to talk louder than the other echoed through the house. It was a welcoming, familiar sound that warmed her heart.
Her family might’ve dwindled over the years, but her grandfather’s friends and the people of the town were a part of a larger unit she also considered family. They helped fill the void her mother and grandmother’s death caused and helped ease the betrayal of her father.
She walked into the kitchen. Her grandfather was speaking, his hands moving faster than his mouth, and when he spotted her, he froze in mid-sentence. His brown eyes lit up. “Fabriella!” he exclaimed, calling her by her given name and then chorused by the rest of the group.
“Hi gentleman… and Grandpa,” she said, making her way around the dining room table that was moonlighting as a poker table, and kissed him on the cheek. She rested her hand on his shoulder, and he patted it before giving it a good squeeze. He turned and met her gaze, dark eyes softening. “Everything okay?” he asked, his words smothered in his thick Italian accent.
“Everything is good.”
“Good!” He kissed her hand before letting it go. “Have some lobster,” he said, motioning to the kitchen.
The last thing she wanted was lobster. She swore with the amount of lobster she consumed, she’d one day turn into a crustacean herself.
“I already ate,” she lied, unless she counted black jelly beans as a meal which she gladly would, but her grandfather on the other hand, probably not. He’d have her sitting down at the table with a plate piled high in front of her.
“What’d you eat?”
She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. It never was.
“Are we playing cards here?” Stan asked. A man in his early seventies with a thick white mustache and matching hair that caused his blue eyes to sparkle. He took poker night very seriously and hated when they got interrupted. He had bark, but he was a kind man who always had nice things to say to Ella.
“Of course we’re playing,” her grandfather grunted.
Stan held his cards up over his face and gave Ella a wink.
Her Forbidden Love Match (A Willow Cove Novel, #1) Page 3
