Flour dusted your hands as you carefully kneaded the dough, Luca’s nonna watching you with sharp, assessing eyes. “Not bad,” the older woman finally said, nodding in approval.

Luca smirked from his spot at the counter, where he was very pointedly not helping. “Told you she’s a quick learner.”

His mother, stirring sauce at the stove, shot him a look. “And yet, somehow, you’ve never learned to cook.”

You laughed, rolling out the pasta dough. “I see where he gets his attitude.”

His grandmother grinned. “Smart and beautiful—she’s a keeper.”

Luca wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Already knew that.”