She was absolutely right.

Still, it bought him Frankie with wide eyes being cute, so he was going to bitch.

He let go of a bag to open the door, asking, “What do you have in these bags anyway?”

“You gave me no hint as to what you had planned so I had to come prepared,” she answered as he shoved in through the door, hauling her bags in with him.

“So by ‘prepared’ you mean you came prepared to assault the White House?” he asked.

“I have clothes and shoes in those bags, not assault rifles,” she shot back.

“Feels like half a ton of C4,” he muttered.

“Shut up, Benny,” she returned, but he heard the smile in her voice.

That made him smile as he kept moving toward the door to the hall.

Once he hit it, he said, “Shit, babe, forgot to put your Fanta in the fridge. It’s in the den. I’ll take these upstairs. You toss a couple cans in the fridge, and while you’re at it, pop me a beer.”

“Your den is not a den. It’s a den-shaped dump,” she replied.

“You gonna pop me a beer or what?” he returned, still smiling.

“All right,” she murmured, and he heard her purse hit the table.

He hauled the bags to the foot of the stairs, left them there, and retraced his steps, timing it perfectly to hit the door to the den so he could see Frankie’s hands shoot to her mouth as she shrieked, “Oh my God! Benny!”

He grinned as he watched her drop instantly to a closed-knees squat as a wrinkly bulldog puppy—brown body, white feet, belly, face, and ears, with little brown spots on one floppy ear, and brown emanating out the sides of his eyes—waddled her way.

Benny leaned against the jamb as she gathered the puppy in her arms and rubbed her cheek against his fur.

“Meet Churchill,” he said.

She tipped her head back, gave him her eyes, and when he got them, Ben went still.

“Gus,” she whispered, her voice husky, her eyes shining with tears. “His name is Gus.”

Looking in those crazy-beautiful eyes that were filled with tears and love, Ben found he couldn’t move.

The dog and Frankie could.

The dog squirmed. Frankie came out of her squat and moved toward him, holding the puppy close to her face, her eyes never leaving his.

She came to a stop not a foot away, and he said softly, “One day early, but couldn’t leave him in there forever.” His voice dipped low, “Happy birthday, baby.”

He barely got the words out when he watched a tear slide down her cheek.

But she didn’t move.

So he asked, “You gonna kiss me?”

She rubbed the still-squirming puppy against her cheek and asked back, “Do you have any clue how awesome you are?”

“Pretty much,” Benny joked.

“No you don’t,” she whispered, and his gut clenched.

“Come here, Frankie,” he growled.

She came to him. He wrapped his arms around her (and the dog) and bent his head to take her mouth.

He didn’t have to take it.

She gave it to him.

He kissed her deep.

But not long.

Because in the middle of it, using puppy tongue, Gus kissed them both.

***

“This okay?” Benny asked as he parked behind the pizzeria the next night.

The night of Frankie’s birthday.

“Are you makin’ my birthday pie?” Frankie asked back.

Ben grinned as he shut down the ignition. “Yeah.”

“Then yeah,” she finally answered.

He looked her way to ascertain if she was bullshitting him and saw her leaned forward, face in the visor mirror, slicking on lip gloss.

But doing it on smiling lips.

There it was. She wasn’t bullshitting him.

She liked his pie enough to be perfectly happy eating it on her special day.

She’d finished with her gloss and hopped down by the time he got to her side of the SUV.

He slammed the door for her, and as he did, he took her in yet again, top to toe, doing it thinking he was looking forward to what was going to happen in a few minutes. But Frankie in that red dress with its short, tight skirt and slouchy, sleeveless top that fell off one shoulder, her hair big, her makeup set straight to “going out,” her jewelry set to “seriously tricked out,” and a pair of high-heeled sandals, he was more looking forward to later when he intended to feel those heels in his back.

He took her hand, guided her to the back door, and she started talking.

“You should have told me, though. I could have invited Asheeka and Jamie and some folks from my old work and tried to get Cat to give up whatever grudge she’s holdin’. A grudge, no matter how deep, is no match for a Bianchi pie.” He’d shoved open the door and pulled her in when her eyes came to him and she said hurriedly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound like I wanted a bunch of people around. You want this to be a couple thing, I don’t get enough of you, so I’m way down with that. You, me, your pie, and your pizzeria.” She leaned into him and finished on a bright, happy smile, “Perfect.”

It was going to perfect all right.

“Glad you’re down with that, honey.”

“Totally,” she assured him, squeezing his hand.

He moved her through the bustling kitchen, giving nods to his kids as they went.

Then he moved her through the short hall that led to the dining room.

Finally, he moved her into the dining room.

When they hit it, he knew the kid he gave the order to keep an eye out for them and spread the word when they showed didn’t fuck it up, because the minute he cleared the hall and pulled Frankie to his side, a cacophony of streamer poppers sounded, bits flying through the air, along with shouts of, “Surprise!”

That was when Ben saw that his ma had also done her job.

To one side, there was a table set up with a massive cake on it that had white frosting and a shitload of pink and purple frosting flowers that said Happy Birthday, Frankie, presents placed all around it. They’d closed the restaurant for the night so the floor had been arranged so there were two long, rectangular tables with red-and-white-checkered tablecloths taking up the space. Each table had several huge bouquets of balloons floating up from them down their lengths and big bouquets of flowers in the middle.

His eyes went through the smiling crowd and he saw Asheeka there with her date. Frankie’s friend Jamie was there with her boyfriend. Manny was there with Sela. His ma and pop obviously were there. Asheeka had gotten the word out to Frankie’s friends from her old work, including her ex-boss, and they were all there. As were Frankie’s best friends from high school, and old lady Zambino and her bowling posse.

Last, he was surprised to note, Cat was there, looking anywhere but at Benny or Frankie, and her husband, Art, was standing beside her.

“Hello, girl, you alive in there?” Asheeka called, and when she did, it hit Benny that Frankie stood unmoving at his side.

He looked down at her and saw her staring at the crowd, face set firm to stunned.

“Babe,” he said, pulling her by her hand his way, and her head tipped back to look at him.

That was when his chest warmed, because her face was still set to stunned, but her gaze was filled with so much wonder and tenderness, seeing that look in her crazy-beautiful eyes, it was a wonder he could breathe.

“How’re you gonna top this next year, Benny Bianchi?” she asked quietly.

“I’m awesome so I’ll figure it out,” he answered.

Her eyes got bright again, but this time, no tear fell.

This was because she threw herself in his arms and laid a hot, wet one on him.

They went at it to catcalls, shouts of encouragement, offers to get them a room, and his mother yelling, “Thank God Father Frances couldn’t make it!” before he broke it off and said softly, “Gotta start makin’ pies, baby.”

She held his eyes and held on to him tight when she replied, “All right, Benny.”

He winked at her, gave her a squeeze, and turned her from his arms and toward her crew.

When he did, she threw her arms straight in the air and shouted, “Birthdays rock!”

Two seconds later, she was engulfed by friends and family.

Benny watched it, grinning.

Then he went into the kitchen to start making pies.

***

“Oh my God!” Frankie yelled. “I love these!”

Benny, sitting beside Frankie, where she was at the head of the table, figured she did love the present she just opened, seeing as she instantly yanked off the bracelets she had on and shoved on the bracelets whoever just gave her.

She jiggled them in his face. “Aren’t they gorgeous, honey?” she asked.

“Gorgeous,” he muttered, smiling at her and not looking at the bracelets at all.

She gave him a look, dropped her hand, leaned into him, and hissed, “Don’t be sweet.”

He looked down the length of the table that was filled with empty cake plates, wrapping paper, used streamers and confetti from the second (and third) round of streamer poppers, and people who loved Francesca Concetti.

Then he looked back at her and asked, “Seriously?”

“If you’re in the mood to be sweet…er,” she went on, “maybe you can get one of the kids to bring out more Chianti. I’m dry.”

“I’ll go to the bar,” he murmured, but she caught his wrist as he made a move.

“I’m not done with presents, you can’t leave. If you do, whose face am I gonna jiggle bracelets in and who am I gonna force to smell my candles?”

Benny got off on seeing his baby happy.

He did not get off on having jewelry jiggled in his face or courting a headache because he had to sniff another candle.