Katie smiled as she dropped her suitcase and purse. She stepped into the kitchen and took a deep breath.

“Hi!”

Three women stood around the central island of the massive kitchen decorated with hand-painted tiles. Dozens of bowls, casseroles, and pots filled every inch of counter space that wasn’t already holding fresh produce and homemade pasta.

Three heads turned, three pairs of eyes widened in delight, six arms reached for her. Katie found herself being engulfed in a hugging competition designed to snap at least two ribs, while making her feel she was the most important person on the planet.

“Katie, at last! We were so worried. The long drive. A young woman alone. Who knows what could happen?”

Her paternal grandmother pinched her cheek hard enough to leave a mark. Katie smiled, even as her eyes watered from the pain. “Grandma Tessa,” she said warmly. “If you stopped worrying, what would the saints do with their time?”

Grandma Tessa, born and bred in Italy, dismissed the blasphemy. She was used to it from all her girls.

Katie’s mother, petite and stylish in a designer suit, sans shoes, cupped her face. “You look thin. Katie, you’re a beautiful young woman. You don’t need to starve yourself. Are you dieting again?”

Katie kissed her soft, pale cheek. “I swear, I’m not dieting. In fact, I weigh exactly the same as I did the last time you saw me, and the time before that.”

Colleen O’Shea Marcelli harrumphed, obviously unconvinced. “I think we should talk later. When your father and I were in San Francisco, we met the nicest young man. He’s a sous chef in a restaurant up there.”

Francesca stole a slice of cheese. “I thought all chefs were gay.”

Grandma Tessa brought the cross on the rosary around her neck to her lips. “Francesca, God did not make you so lovely on the outside so that you could have such a dark heart. Katie needs a man. For that matter, you need a man.”