“So, your mother’s Italian then?” she asked.
Nick looked up from the pepper he was chopping and pushed all the vegetables into the sizzling oil. “Yes, well, half. My Nan’s English, mostly. My grandfather was Italian.”
“And the other side?”
“Irish.”
“Really? Crowe doesn’t sound Irish at all. Sounds more like you might have some Native American in there somewhere.”
Damn, he hadn’t thought that through. He turned back to look in the refrigerator. “Do you know if Ouida has Parmesan cheese in here anywhere?”
“In the door, I think. Big green canister full.”
“Store bought? Sacrilege! You need to grate your own. Nothing like it.” He sighed and pulled out the container with a disgusted expression. “But we’ll make do. I like this refrigerator, by the way.” The Sub-Zero had fooled him for a mi
