Blue Smoke by Nora Roberts Page A

can’t look at you and see?” Bianca kept her voice low, gauging her husband’s proximity and the noise element that would cover her words. “That I couldn’t see with each of my children? You were the last.”
    “Xander’s been with a boy?”
    To Reena’s relief, Bianca laughed. “So far he prefers girls. Do I know the boy?”
    “No. It just . . . We started seeing each other a while ago, and it just happened. Just last week. I wanted it to happen, Mama. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, but—”
    “Did I say that? Did I ask you about your conscience, or your choice? You were careful?”
    “Yes. Mama.” Reena put the knife down, turned to wrap her arms around her mother’s waist. “We were careful. I like him so much. You will, too.”

    “How do I know if I’ll like him when you don’t bring him home to meet your family? When you don’t tell me anything about him.”
    “He’s a lit major. He’s going to be a writer. He keeps a sloppy apartment and has the sweetest smile. His name is Josh Bolton, and he grew up in Ohio.”
    “What about his family?”
    “He doesn’t talk much about them. His parents are divorced, and he’s an only child.”
    “He’s not Catholic then?”
    “I don’t think so. I didn’t ask. He’s gentle, and he’s very smart, and he listens when I talk.”
    “All important things.” Bianca turned, took Reena’s face in her hands. “You’ll bring him to meet the family.”
    “He’s going to come to Bella’s wedding.”
    “Brave, too.” Bianca raised her eyebrows. “Well, if he lives through that, he may be worth keeping awhile.”
    W hen the lunch crowd thinned out, Reena sat—at her father’s insistence—with an enormous plate of spaghetti. With Pete taking over for him, he started making the rounds. She’d seen him do it all her life, and knew her grandfather had done the same before him.
    With a glass of wine, a bottle of water, a cup of coffee—depending on the time of day—he would go by each booth or table, have a word, sometimes a full conversation. If it was a regular, he would sometimes sit down for a few minutes. Talk ranged from sports, food, politics to neighborhood news, births, deaths. The subject didn’t matter, she knew.
    It was the intimacy.
    Today it was water, and when he sat across from her he took a long pull. “It’s good?” He nodded at her plate.
    “The best.”
    “Then put more of it in your stomach.”
    “How’s Mr. Alegrio’s bursitis?”

    “Acting up. He says it’s going to rain. His grandson got a promotion, and his roses look good this year.” Gib grinned. “What did he have for his meal?”
    “The special, with minestrone and the house salad, a glass of Peroni, a bottle of sparkling water, bread sticks and a cannoli.”
    “You always remember. It’s our loss you’re taking those criminal justice courses, the chemistry, instead of restaurant management.”
    “I’ll always have time to help out here, Dad. Always.”
    “I’m proud of you. Proud you know what you want and you’re working for it.”
    “Somebody raised me that way. How’s the father of the bride?”
    “I’m not thinking about it yet.” He shook his head, drank more water. “I’m not thinking about the moment when she comes toward me in her dress. When I walk her down the aisle and give her to Vince. Blubber like a baby if I do. It’s easy to tuck that away while we’re dealing with the insanity of preparing for that moment.”
    He glanced over, smiled. “Somebody else must’ve heard you were home. Hey, John.”
    “Gib.”
    With a cry of pleasure, Reena scooted up, flung her arms around John Minger. “I missed you! Haven’t seen you since Christmas. Sit down. Be right back.”
    She dashed off, got another setup. When she plopped down again, she scooped up half the spaghetti and put it on the second plate. “You’re eating some of this. Dad thinks I starve myself at college.”
    “What can I get you to drink,