by Jo Leigh
“Sorry, sweetheart, not what you think,” he said, loosening his collar and grinning. “Only on Friday and Saturday nights and I charge a cover.”
“Why am I not surprised?” A sudden image of Dom, naked, lingered a moment too long and she felt the heat creeping up her throat. “Do you know how lucky you are there are customers here?”
“Believe me, I thought of that before I said anything.”
“Excuse me,” she murmured, dropping the rag on the table and squeezing past him. Dom might look the worse for wear, but he sure smelled good. Musky with a hint of spice. No cheap cologne for him.
Dad already had his money out. Mom was tucking a tip under her glass.
“How was everything?” Sara asked with a smile. “May I get you anything else?”
The couple exchanged looks and laughed.
“You mean I can I get that artichoke and shrimp pizza?” The older boy had made it to the door but turned back with a hopeful expression.
Sara wanted to jump off the nearest bridge.
“We don’t have time, Dillon. We need to get back to the hotel and pack.”
“Come on, Dad. Really?”
God only knew what it was in her expression that prompted his parents to come to her rescue, but she was grateful. Sara gave them an extra smile, wishing she could return their tip. “How would you like to take some tiramisu with you?” she asked. “On the house.”
The teen frowned. “Tira-what?”
“No, thank you.” The woman glanced briefly at Dom and smiled at Sara. “We’re fine,” she said, and shooed the rest of the family out the door.
Sara picked up the check and money they’d left on the table and took it to the register. “I think we have a Hawaiian in the cooler,” she told Dom, and almost laughed at the face he made.
But it didn’t stop him for a second. “I’ll take it.”
“Sit down.” She walked into the kitchen, not the least bit pleased that even looking like he’d been through the ringer, he still made her insides quiver. She should have been over him years ago, the moment she’d overheard him talking to his friends about the dance, and yet there it was. That stupid little thrill. Just another one of the neighborhood girls who swooned the moment he showed up.
So embarrassing.
She got the pizza from the fridge, while he waited at the counter, turning over the take-out menu. As she got closer, his stomach rumbled so loudly she thought Carlo had probably heard. “You want me to heat a slice?”
“That would be fantastic.”
“I’m talking about the microwave. We’ve already turned off the ovens.”
“Microwave. Campfire. Cigarette lighter. It all works.”
“Here,” she said, handing him a medium drink cup. “Come on back and fix yourself a soda. You’re going to have to eat fast, because seriously...”
“You’re closing in three minutes.” He took the cup and lifted the divider that kept the customers in their place. “You always work by yourself at night?”
She rounded the corner and popped his slice in the microwave. “No,” she said, returning to the counter. “Jeanette left at eight.”
“Where’s your pop? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“He took my mom to visit family in Sicily.”
“Huh.” Dom looked puzzled.
“What? Because he never takes a vacation?”
“Well, yeah, that, too. I’m just surprised there are any Italians left in Sicily. I heard it was being overrun by outsiders.”
“You mean like Little Italy?”
“So, you noticed, huh?”
“Hard not to.” Sara didn’t mistake the easy small talk for a get-out-of-jail-free card. At any minute he was going to ask her what she’d meant the other night, and she didn’t know what to tell him. A lie wasn’t beneath her, if she was able to think up a good one. Just so she could put the whole stupid thing to rest.
A loud bang from the kitchen made her jump.
“Carlo, you okay?”
After a muttered string of curses in Italian, he said, “Yeah.”
Sara and Dom exchanged smiles.
Even after her seven-year foray into the world beyond Little Italy, Dominic Paladino was still the best-looking man she’d ever seen. It didn’t help that he was standing so close. She should’ve gotten his soda instead of inviting him into her space.
Dammit, the tummy fluttering had to stop. Now.
Dom was still looking directly at her. “So he’ll walk you home?”
“Who?”
“Carlo.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked as she made her break to the other side and went over to clear off the last dirty table. “Walk me home? I live five blocks from here.”
“I know. But it’s late.”
“Nine o’clock is nothing. There’s plenty of traffic. Some nights we let groups hold meetings here and I don’t get out before eleven.”
“What? That’s crazy.”
“Tell my dad that. He’s the one that says it’s our civic duty. Although how hosting a chess club is considered civic duty is beyond me.” She didn’t dare stop. If Dom knew he’d momentarily thrown her off balance, he didn’t show it. She walked right past him, straight to the microwave in back. “Your slice should be ready.”
Of course it wasn’t hot because she hadn’t set enough time. She added fifteen seconds and drummed her fingers on the counter while she waited, thankful for the partition between them. So far, so good, but she still hadn’t come up with anything to say when he finally asked about the elephant in the room.
The microwave dinged.
Sara took a deep breath.
Dom was already on the other side of the counter, putting the top on his soda when she came around the wall.
“Here,” she said, setting the paper plate in front of him. “If you want another slice you have to tell me now, because—”
“You’re leaving. No, thanks. One will get me home fine.” His smile dazzled, as always, but he looked tired. Like he’d had a rough day.
She smiled back, wondering what had put the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. The tie and blazer probably meant he’d just gotten off work. Despite what she’d written in the article, she’d known he was a good student and a hard worker. “Look, Dom—”
“Sara—”
They spoke in unison. He motioned for her to go first.
Nodding, she said, “I owe you a long-overdue apology.”
3
DOM REMEMBERED THAT shy smile though he didn’t know why he should. He hadn’t really noticed her much back in school. And she wanted to apologize? He hadn’t seen that coming.
Earlier, when they’d been talking about the old neighborhood, they’d had a moment where they’d connected. The past had briefly converged with the present. And then something had happened, but he didn’t know what.
“I shouldn’t have written that op-ed piece. It was wrong and I knew it and I still—”
“Hey, you don’t need to do this,” he said, cutting her short. “That’s all in the past. We were kids. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Wait.” He thought for a moment. “Wrong to write the article or wrong because you knew it wasn’t true?”
“Here,” she said, pushing a bunch of napkins at him.
“You must think I’m a real slob.” When he reached for one, his fingers brushed against hers. Something twitched, nothing big. A reminder that he was aware of how soft her skin looked, of the way her hips flared. How the shirt clung to her breasts.
“I don’t want to see you get sauce on that snazzy blazer.”
He glanced down and shrugged. “I had to meet with two new clients, and then I had an interview.”
Behind him, the
bell over the door rang.
Sara tilted her head to the side to see who it was. “Sorry, we’re closed,” she said with a warm smile she had yet to give him. Although he kind of liked that little shy one. “Come back tomorrow. We’re open at ten.”
After some grumbling, the door closed.
“I need to go lock up.”
“Okay, I get the hint.”
“No, I wasn’t—” She almost touched his hand but stopped herself and grabbed a ring of keys. “No rush. At least for the next ten minutes.”
Dom stripped the offensive pineapple off his pizza and took a bite as he watched her walk to the door. Those jeans couldn’t have fit her any better. He wondered if she knew she had the perfect ass.
While she fiddled with getting the key in the lock, he quickly took two more bites, just to get his stomach to shut up. When Sara turned to make the return trip, he whipped out his wallet and pretended he hadn’t been checking her out.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Don’t worry about it. I was going to keep that one in the fridge so we could give out slices tomorrow for our homeless regulars.”
“What happened to no free food, ever?”
Her eyebrows went up, and he laughed.
“I didn’t know you guys did that. That’s great.” He pulled out a twenty and slid it over to her.
“I know. I’m proud of my folks.” She frowned at the money. “I just told you—”
“Consider that my contribution to the program.”
She sighed. “Obviously I can’t say no to that. Thank you,” she said, picking up the twenty and going to the register. She put it in an envelope way in the back of the drawer, then took out a stack of bills.
“Am I in the way?” He realized he should’ve moved to a table. They had more talking to do and he had a feeling she’d be less open with him right there in her face.
“You’re fine,” she said just as he picked up his plate and moved.
He glanced over at Sara and caught her looking back, and she might’ve been checking him out, too. And here he was in conservative gray dress slacks. Shit.
“Hey, I heard about your father’s heart attack. How’s he doing?”
He quickly swallowed. “Good. Retired. Not liking it much. But his health is better.”
“Good. And Tony, he’s—” Sara lifted a brow. “Is ‘getting married’ okay, or does it fall in the banned words category?”
“I’ll make an exception,” he said. “Yeah, Tony’s getting married. Catherine’s great. They’re good together.”
“I’m happy for them.”
“You know Tony?”
She finished counting her stack before she shoved it in a bank bag. “Not really. I don’t think we ever said so much as hi.” She shrugged. “Kind of like how I know you.”
If she didn’t know Tony, then basically she was running out the clock. Too bad. He still had a question for her.
“Did you ever go to college?” she asked, searching around the register, lifting receipts, moving the pizza box.
“More than I ever thought I would. Two masters, can you believe it?”
She touched her hair and sighed as she pulled the pencil from behind her ear. “Yeah, that makes sense. For a jock you were no slouch in the grades department.”
Dom knew the exact moment she realized what she’d said. Her eyes widened for a split second and she looked down, gaze glued to the stack in front of her. Well, that was one question answered. She’d known it was bullshit, but she’d printed it anyway. Still curious as hell, he pretended he hadn’t noticed the slip and took another bite. Chewed. Then said, “I wasn’t a jock.”
“All the different sports you played? Of course you were.”
“That’s not all I did.” Damn, he was getting tired of people homing in on superficial qualities. He had the ambition and smarts to do lots of things with his life.
“It’s not like being a jock was bad. That wasn’t what I meant.”
“Hey, I just thought of something...about you,” he said, and grinned at the dread on her face. “You kicking ass and taking names when you were editor of the paper. Christ, that one day you were riled up about cafeteria lunches and the faculty doing something stupid. We were all packed into the gym for some announcement.” He took a sip of his soda, his memory suddenly clear as a photograph. “You wore that pink sweater, the one with the cats on it.”
She gave him a one-sided grin. “You remember that?”
“You rained down hell on the entire staff. I always wondered if your grades tanked after that.”
The grin was faint but still there, and now her head tilted slightly to the left. “Huh.” She picked up another stack of bills.
“I graduated a few months later. I assume you were editor your senior year.”
Sara’s smile vanished and she looked down at her hands. Guess he’d assumed wrong. He wondered what had done her in, giving it to the faculty or writing a slanderous implication about him. He’d been plenty pissed, but he hadn’t said anything, not to anyone who mattered. Just his friends and Coach Randal. Pissed on his behalf, they’d urged him to file a complaint but he hadn’t.
“I think the emergency has passed,” he said, although he was still hungry. They’d been talking. Everything was good. But he’d lost ground with her. “Why don’t you put the rest of the pizza back in the fridge, give it to your regulars tomorrow?”
He stood up and had the unexpected pleasure of watching her walk to the fridge. Not on purpose but he couldn’t have timed it better. “You going home soon?”
She didn’t respond at first. “About ten minutes.”
“I’ll stick around and walk with you.” He wasn’t surprised by her hesitation. “You know this neighborhood isn’t what it used to be.”
“Dom. It’s still practically rush hour out there. Go home. I’ll even refill your soda.”
“I’m good.” He stood as he watched her count another stack of bills, pretty sure her deep concentration had more to do with ignoring him. He just didn’t know why.
“Hey, Dom. I thought that was your voice.” Carlo, one of the nicest guys in the neighborhood—even though he looked like he’d beat you up just for breathing—came from the back, his forehead beaded with perspiration. “Can you guys take this outside? I gotta wash the floor.”
“Dom was just leaving,” Sara said, and grabbed the keys. “I’m still cashing out.”
He studied her flushed face for a moment as Carlo started turning chairs upside down on the tables. Sara stubbornly refused to meet his eyes. “See you, Carlo,” Dom said on his way to the door, then gave her one last look before he opened the door and stepped outside. He heard the lock click behind him.
Yeah, well the hell with that. She couldn’t lock him out forever. No, he’d get his answer, one way or another.
* * *
IT TOOK A lot longer than ten minutes for Sara to leave. She said goodnight to Carlo, who stopped mopping to let her out. Poor guy would be at it for another hour. She’d been working since early that morning, making the weekly run to Costco to pick up staples for the restaurant and for the family, before meeting with the Scarpettis. But now, even the idea of listening to the soft, crackly voice of Mr. Scarpetti made her wish she’d majored in math.
It had been a good day, though. Ellie had been in a decent mood when she’d worked the early shift, and they’d made excellent tips. Lots of American tourists and regulars.
Then there was Dom.
It had been nice for a while. She’d realigned her opinion of him, and he’d proved again that he could be generous. That she’d dodged his question didn’t mean he was going quietly into the night. She was already regretting that she hadn’t taken advantage of the rare privacy to make sure everything stayed in the past wher
e it belonged.
He’d given her an opening. He’d been willing to forgive and forget, chalk up the article to stupid kid stuff. She should’ve leaped onto that and admitted she’d been a silly, hormonal teenager, lied and said he hadn’t really done anything bad and could they just move on.
The offer to walk her home had been a nice touch. Misguided, but sweet. She’d like to think he’d do that for any of the girls who had to clock out late. In fact, she planned to ask Ellie about that in the morning.
But tonight, she’d stop thinking anything about Dominic, nice or not, and gear herself up for her thesis work.
Maybe.
No. She could manage an hour. As long as she had her feet up and Ellie left her alone. Sara would be crazy not to make use of the time with her folks away. She loved them dearly, but her parents had never run across a closed door they didn’t feel free to open. She could lock them out, but she wouldn’t. She hadn’t been home long enough. Soon, though, they’d get back to how it had been.
She crossed the street, her hand on her purse, which was slung cross-body style. As if she didn’t know how to handle herself in this neighborhood. Of course her sneaky thoughts had slid back to Dom.
Ten minutes later she was home but it took her another thirty to unwind, to get Dom Paladino out of her head, to quiet thoughts of the cataclysmic fallout that his formal complaint to the school board had caused. It actually hadn’t mattered if he’d heard the whole story, or that he hadn’t expressed any regret for taking his complaint to the extreme. She’d needed to apologize for her part. To own her mistake.
But that minor revelation had only come after she’d straightened her desk, adjusted her chair, made the perfect pot of tea and started transcribing the first interview tape.
Mr. Scarpetti’s voice tended to weaken at the end of his sentences, and Mrs. Scarpetti had a unique Italian accent, so Sara had to do a lot of rewinding to get the full meaning of most of their stories.
But finally, by eleven, she’d gotten accustomed to the voices and the work started to flow.
Which was precisely the moment Ellie barged into Sara’s bedroom. Barged, as in bounced the doorknob off the wall as she entered.
