Eighteen (18)(44)

Mateo pulls my chair out and I sit, watching him as he takes the seat across from me.

“What the hell did you just do?” I ask.

“What?” he says innocently.

“Tell me that didn’t just happen.”

“You met my mother, so what?”

“I’m ten fucking years younger than you, Mateo,” I whisper-yell. I might be having a panic attack. “This is not cool.”

“Why not?” The waiter comes up the stairs and Mateo holds up two fingers. “Vino and lasagna bolognese.” The waiter nods and goes back down.

“Oh, my God, did you just order me wine? Your mother is going to kill me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, leaning over the table to kiss me on the cheek. “She loves me too much to kill you, Shannon.”

I just shake my head at him. “I cannot believe you brought me here.”

“Why?”

“Mateo, you’re twenty-eight. I’m eighteen.”

“Eighteen is the key number. She’ll be fine. Just relax. Besides, what kind of date would it be if I didn’t keep you on your toes?”

I’m just about to answer when an older man comes up and squeezes Mateo’s shoulder, babbling in Italian.

I just smile and nod. This is a nightmare.

“Be right back,” Mateo says, getting up. “I have to go say hi to my aunt.” His fingertips brush my shoulder as he walks past me and then he disappears down the stairs.

“Great,” I mutter, wringing my hands in my lap.

“Shannon.”

I turn around and yup, right on cue, there’s the mom coming to check me out. I have a moment of rage that Mateo fell for it, and then roll my eyes, because yeah, like that was what happened. He left me up here on purpose so she could come grill me.

“Um, hi!” I try to say it brightly. “Mrs. Alesci. You have a very nice restaurant.”

“May I?” she asks, waving her hand at Mateo’s chair.

“Well…” I laugh nervously. “I suppose that’s why Mateo left so suddenly, so of course.”

She smiles sweetly at me, folding her hands on the table. “Just one question.”

“Eighteen,” I blurt.

She laughs, gets back up and walks away. I watch her retreat down the stairs, but just as quickly she turns and starts walking back up.

Shit. I take a deep breath and stand, read to bolt downstairs if she starts smacking me. I once dated an Italian guy back in Ohio and I can say from experience, these mamas do not fuck around when it comes to their sons.

But she walks towards me smiling, holding her hands out and reaching for mine. She squeezes them both at the same time, then leans in to kiss me on both cheeks. “I’m Mateo’s mother, Gigi Alesci, and you may call me Gigi. I’m so happy to meet you, Shannon.”

Oh, my God, the weirdness runs in the family. “I know, I just met you down—”

“We needed a new start,” she says, interrupting me. “I was a little shocked downstairs, but you can’t hold it against me. You are very young.”

“I totally understand,” I say. “I had no idea he was bringing me here. Actually, I had no idea his family had a restaurant.” Shit, I just lied to his mother. “Well, I had some idea.”

“Relax,” she says. “I’m not here to pry. I’m just as surprised as you, because my dear, he has never brought a girl to Alesci’s Laguna Beach. This,” she stresses, “this is the serious restaurant.”

“Oh. I was hungry and we were in the neighborhood. He took me to the beach to look at the stars.”

“No, my dear,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m sure he’s in the neighborhood a lot. That’s not why he brought you here.” She tilts her head and her smile widens. “We have seven Alesci’s Restaurants in Southern California and only one where I work every night. He brought you to meet me.”

“I have nothing for that,” I lie again, and then blurt. “I just met him. He’s my teacher, and I’m sorry—he’s weird, but I like him.”

She laughs so hard she has to cover her mouth.

“What? Oh, my God, what did I do?”

“I like you, Shannon. Please,” she says, rising as I spot Mateo coming towards us. “Enjoy the food.”

They speak again in Italian, part with a kiss to each cheek, and then Mateo walks back over to me and sits down and places a bottle of wine on the table. “Drink?” he asks.

I nod dumbly. “I think I might need one.” He laughs. It’s that laugh I like. “Who are you? And what did you do with Mateo?”

“She was nice, right?”