I stood at the stove, stirring Liam’s Irish stew. We’d stopped at the market on the way home so I could pick up some groceries for Daddy, and now Liam and I were making dinner together. It was so normal, so homey, so perfect. “That sounds like fun.”“My dad says we’re all Italian, but I think my mom had some Scottish too. Hey, maybe we’re long-lost cousins.” I bumped his shoulder slyly. “Irish and Scot are not the same,” he chastised. “I know, I know, but with all the Vikings going back and forth the Irish Sea…”“No, still not likely.” He grinned and dipped a finger into the bubbling brown gravy before trying a taste. “Tell me more about your family. What are they like? Your siblings, did they go to Harvard?”“My family is boring. My dad is a history buff. It’s the only thing he thinks about—you can hardly hold a conversation with him otherwise. My siblings went to Oxford and Cambridge. I was the dark horse, insisting on coming to America for university.”“What made you do it?
