Page 35 of The Taste of Deceit

Luca

When the plane lands and we make it to baggage claim, Sarah lets go of my hand and takes off running. I follow her gaze until I spot the man waiting for us. He’s at least six-foot-four, impossible to miss in a black Stetson, flannel button-up, worn jeans, and cowboy boots. If someone asked me to picture a Montana rancher, I’d probably come up with exactly this.

The moment Sarah reaches him, she throws herself into his arms. He laughs as he scoops her up, spinning her around before setting her back on her feet. Then she turns toward the woman standing beside him. There’s no denying who she is. It’s Sarah in thirty years, right down to the auburn hair, freckles, and smile. They even stand the same height.

She wraps her arms around her daughter, and Sarah melts into the hug. When they finally pull apart, they’re both wiping tears from their eyes.

Sarah turns, searching for me. The moment her eyes find mine, she smiles.

“Luca, come here,” she says, waving me over.

I close the distance between us, and her dad immediately extends his hand.

“Ford.”

I shake it. “Luca, sir.”

His smile never fades as he gestures to the woman beside him.

“This is my wife, Adele.”

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” I say.

On instinct, I lean in, giving her a light hug before pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks.

“What a gentleman,” she says as she steps back, her cheeks tinged pink.

Sarah laughs and smacks my chest.

“Don’t be impressed. He’s just Italian. They all do that.”

Adele laughs. “Well, I like it.”

“Of course you do,” Sarah says.

Ford laughs and holds up his hand. Sarah high-fives him. Adele sticks her tongue out at both of them, and I glance between the three of them.

“I feel like I missed something.”

Ford and Sarah exchange a look.

“Mama loves the attention of handsome men,” Sarah says.

They both burst out laughing.

“You two hush. That happened one time, and the waiter started it.”

She pauses.

“And I’m a happily married woman.”

Ford and Sarah lose it.

“Come on, happily married woman,” Ford says, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get these two home.”

I follow behind the three of them with both suitcases. Sarah has her backpack—one she refused to let me carry—slung over one shoulder.

Ford has his wife tucked against one side and his daughter hooked through the other. It’s obvious he’s been the center of their world for a very long time.