League of Her Own (Carmichael Series #2)✔️

Cannoli's and Distractions

**So here's an update for ya. I have an incredibly busy next few weeks because I have 3 finals coming up in 2 weeks, and a final paper and microbiology final exam in 3 weeks. That being said, please be easy on me with the requests to update the second after I upload a new chapter. I appreciate your guys' enthusiasm to read this story so, so much. It really warms my heart, but as of right now I only have enough chapters prewritten to last me until the semester is official over. I hope you all understand! Thanks for all the love and support. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Also, special thanks to @SaraChiatto for helping me out with the translations!!**

Aurora's POV

Walking into Greg's kitchen a week later, I smiled when I saw the childlike gleam in his eyes as he laid out numerous ingredients all across the counter. He glanced up at me as I leaned against the doorframe, an amused smile on my face.

"Well, don't just stand there! Grab an apron and cominciamo cottura!" He laughed lightly before clapping his hands together enthusiastically. I wasn't sure what it was exactly that he said, but I assumed he wanted me to start helping him cook. Doing as I thought he said, I picked the lonesome frilly, pink apron that was situated at the very bottom of the stack. Securing the tie around my waist and throwing my long blonde hair up into a pony, I was finally reading to do some real damage.

Greg dropped an ancient looking cookbook onto the counter which resulted in him coughing for a few seconds while swatting away at the dust that flew up into the air. Releasing a deep sigh, he rubbed his hands over their leather bound covers with affection - as if they were old friends.

"So, what're we making today?" I asked while coming to stand next to him. Bracing my arms against the counter I leaned over and examined the book's worn out pages.

"It's something my family's put together over the years. Every generation has added something to it before passing it down for their children to use. I figured we'd make my great grandmother's authentic Sicilian cannoli's. She brought the recipe with her when her and my great grandfather immigrated here. There's just something about them that sets them apart from everyone else's. It's hard to explain, you'll just have to taste it for yourself, sì?" He asked while beginning to prepare what I was assuming were the cannoli shells. He handed me the brown, fragile piece of paper that had jumbled Italian sprawled all over it. Scrunching my brows I gave him a confused looked before turning the paper so that he could see the writing on it.

"Oh, merda! My bad, dolcezza. I sometimes forget these are all mostly written in Italian. Ripieno crema di ricotta. It means ricotta cream filling. I've got the ricotta in the fridge because it has to drain overnight. Go ahead and grab it out." He said, nodding towards the beat up samsung across from us. Doing as he said, I listened carefully as he read the recipe aloud to me in both Italian and english.

Once the delicious mixture was finished, I covered the bowl with cling wrap and set it back in the fridge so it wouldn't get warm while we waited for the shells to be ready.

"Alright. We let the dough sit for about an hour before we can start rolling them out." He said, a hint of tiredness in his voice. I nodded before taking up residence on one of the mismatched chairs at the dinner table in the corner.

"So, Greg, tell me about yourself. How'd you come to loving the art of baking?" I asked cheekily as he plopped himself down on the chair next to me. A fond smile graced his lips as he took a swig of the water in his shaky hand.

"My mother was a full-blooded Italian. Didn't serve anything that didn't originate from the mainland itself. She insisted I learn how to cook to keep the only form of our culture we had left in this country alive. Of course, I loved American food, much to her dismay." He said with a light laugh. "I hated being in the kitchen until one day I'd come in, in search of something to munch on before dinner, and she was getting ready to bake some cassata - a type of sponge cake. From that day forward, I was in love. Whenever I heard my mom talking to her friends about an upcoming birthday, or any type of get together really, I made sure I was in the kitchen to help. When I finally got old enough, she'd let me help her. When I was younger I would just make a terrible mess." He finished while I laughed at his story.