Josef was halfway through shaving a Tête-de-Moine into delicate little rosettes for dinner when the sudden banging at the front door echoed through the house. He frowned, and walked out from the kitchen.
For God’s sake—who the hell comes at this hour?
“GRANDPA! It’s Matteo—open up!” a young male voice yelled from outside.
Josef’s expression soured even further. Figures.
He marched to the door. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you going out with your friends? Go on then. I’m not expecting you.”
Matteo hesitated. “Grandpa, I’m not going. I’m staying here with you for Christmas. Open the door.”
“Not happening.” Josef’s tone didn’t budge an inch. “I’ve got guests. There’s no room for you. And I don’t need company.”
Matteo panicked when he heard Josef’s retreating steps. He pounded hard
