by Gina Ardito
“No hard feelings?” the man called after her.
“No hard feelings,” she repeated and kept walking. No way she’d let him disappear into a freezing night without a fight…or at least a hearty meal. She strode inside and hung the paddle on its hook near the oven door.
Claudio grumbled, “You happy now?”
She ignored him, intent upon reaching the linen closet. There, she pulled out two large white tablecloths and two cloth napkins. A quick stop in the kitchen area garnered her a few pieces of silverware and two paper cups.
Claudio still stood sentry by the door.
She stalked past him, holding the assembled items against her chest. In the parking lot, she spread the tablecloths on the ground. She then arranged the napkins, cups, and silverware into two place settings on her makeshift picnic blanket. Without saying a word, she breezed inside to the counter and reached for a bottle of red wine.
No. On second thought, what if her date was a recovering alcoholic? Smarter to stick with something less volatile. She returned the wine to the shelf and selected a one-liter bottle of cola. The soft drink soon joined the linens at her makeshift picnic.
Claudio hovered like an overprotective Rottweiler when she returned to retrieve the casserole. “Why you doing this? Why you no leave this man alone?”
She jerked her chin at the hand-stitched sampler. There, but for the grace of God, go I. Claudio’s face registered no understanding, merely the same disapproval he’d worn all night.
He’d never understand. And she could never explain why she felt a kinship with a homeless man. Instead, she shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. Something about him calls to me. I’m curious, I guess.”
“Hmmph! Curiosity killed the gato.”
“Which is why I have you here,” she replied, pulling out the bubbling dish of pasta with cheese. “To protect me from my own foolishness, right?”
He mumbled something, something insulting no doubt, but Gianna let him rant. She grabbed her fisherman’s cardigan from the hook near the door, and returned to the parking lot with two steaming plates. Kneeling, she set one in front of her, the other on the opposite side, and then settled in to wait.
“Your dinner’s going to get cold if you don’t eat it soon,” she called in a tone normally reserved for a cafeteria full of rowdy kindergartners.
No reply.
Stubborn.
Well, she’d show him what stubborn looked like. And since she had nowhere else to go tonight, she could wait as long as he could. Meanwhile, she’d eat while the meal was still hot.
Sitting cross-legged on the ground, she leaned forward to pick up her plate, and then dug into the casserole with her fork. She slid the food between her teeth and sucked in several breaths of air to cool the sauce and cheese burning her tongue.
“Mmmmmmmm.” She exaggerated for his benefit. Kissing her fingertips, she exclaimed to the sky, “Perfetto.”
The wind howled and, as she’d hoped, blew the tantalizing smells in his direction. From the corner of her eye, she watched the stranger take a few steps toward her. Then, he stopped. Basically the same reaction she received from the stray cats she fed here. So she used the same response on the man. She ignored him and poured cola into one of the cups.
As effervescent liquid bubbled and popped, she watched his movements over the rim.
He inched forward slowly, wary gaze moving from side to side, alert to her every movement. He stood only a few feet from her now.
She remained still as stone, waiting for him to make up his mind. Would he sit and eat with her? Or would he run away?
He took a long time to decide. But once he did, he moved so quickly she nearly missed the action when she blinked. One moment he stood over the tablecloths. The next, he sat across from her, the plate on his lap, silverware in his hand.
With meticulous precision, his knife cut the penne into bite-sized pieces. He then speared a small bit of pasta, sauce, and cheese and slid it into his mouth. An expression of pure rapture, eyes closed, smile dreamy, illuminated his features.
Glory hallelujah. “I’m glad you decided to join me,” she said, hiding a triumphant smile behind her cola cup. Her gaze lowered to his fingers. Beneath smudges of dirt, remnants of clear polish remained on his nails. Did homeless men normally get manicures? Once again, curiosity overrode common sense. “Can I ask you something?”
He pierced another forkful of pasta. “You want to know how I wound up in this situation, right?”
“Well, it’s obvious you’re not from around here. I mean, Setquott Beach is a small community and…” Heat rose in her cheeks, and she wondered if she’d overstepped some invisible boundary. Focusing on her fork, she toyed with the penne and cheese. Jeez, she was making a muck of this. “I’m sorry. Whatever happened to you is none of my business. It’s just… well, you don’t strike me as the typical homeless person.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She looked up and caught a bemused smile twitching his lips. “You should. I mean, you’re obviously not a drunk.” She narrowed her eyes, studying his previously manicured fingers. “You don’t look like a junkie. I guess I’m…well…nosy. You’re not what I expected a homeless guy to look like.”
“I’ve only been homeless for nine days.” He spread his hands wide. “As you can see, I’m not very good at it.”
“So what happened? How did you wind up homeless? And here?”
“How does anyone wind up in this situation? A few bad decisions, a couple of miscalculations. One day, you’re moving through life just as you always have. The next, poof!” He fanned his fingers like a magician at the end of an amazing sleight-of-hand. “Everything you’ve ever believed in is revealed a sham. And you’re left out in the street with nowhere to turn.”
She could certainly relate. Deep in her scarred heart, a wave of pity converged with a tide of camaraderie. “Would you like to work for me?” The words flew out of her mouth before she considered the repercussions.
The fork fell from his hand and landed on the white tablecloth, leaving a bloody stain of sauce in its wake.
“You don’t even know me,” he reminded her.
“I may not know your name, but I know you have a good heart. Your actions told me so, but the flowers tonight…well, they clinched my theory.”
She dipped her head, concentrated on the dish in her lap. He wouldn’t like what she was about to say, but she needed to say it. Had to get the guilt out of her system, let him know where he stood from the get-go.
“I’ve been watching you,” she confessed. Her throat dried to a pillar of sand, but she eked out the words. “After I leave at night, I park around the side of the building and hide behind the trees near the pond. I shouldn’t have, I know. It’s rude, but I had to know something about you.”
A shadow darkened his face, lending him a dangerous mien. “And what did you find out?”
“Deep down, you’re a good man. Because, no matter what I leave for you, you share your meal with Mr. Whiskers.”
“Mr. Whiskers?”
“The cat with half a tail. I brought the anchovies out for him. I’ve been trying to catch him for two months now. He needs a vet’s care. But he won’t let me get close.” She quirked a half-smile. “Any man who can gain a cat’s trust is okay in my book.”
He leaned forward and set his empty plate on the ground. “So because I share a meal or two with a beaten up old cat, you’re willing to offer me a job?”
She clasped her hands, almost a sign of prayer. Maybe she was praying. For some reason she couldn’t explain, a burning need to help spurred her onward. “It’s a win-win situation. I need another employee. You need a job and a place to stay. I won’t lie to you. It’s not the most exciting job in the world. You’ll bus tables, help in the kitchen, that sort of stuff. But the offer does come with a one-bedroom apartment above the restaurant, currently unoccupied. You interested?”
His eyes widened, and she finally got a good l
ook at them. Not green, not brown. Hazel, maybe. Nice eyes. Honest and clear.
“Do you always rescue people you find in the garbage?”
She laughed. “No, I rescue cats. You’re my first human.”
“I’m honored.”
His teasing tone sent ripples of pleasure across her flesh. “Does that mean you accept?”
“I think it does.”
“There’s a catch though.”
Stiffening, he quirked a brow. “What?”
“You have to tell me your name.”
His posture relaxed, and the darkness fled. Eyes narrowed, he studied her when he said, “Kyle. Kyle Hayden.”
Was she supposed to recognize his name? Had he been someone famous once? Well, she wouldn’t dwell on used-to-be. She of all people knew used-to-be only mattered in memory.
“Kyle, I’m Gianna Randazzo,” she said instead. “Welcome to Villa Mare. You can start your employment by bussing this table.” With her chin, she gestured to the dirty dishes and silverware on the stained tablecloth.
He hugged the sleeves of what must have once been a very expensive jacket, now creased with greasy dirt. “Egads, what a frightening thought. I don’t know if I can.”
“Relax. I’ll help you.”
A quick look at the pizzeria door, however, sobered her instantly. One more discomforting task waited—convincing Claudio she hadn’t lost her mind.
Chapter Two
When Gianna reentered the restaurant with Kyle, her grumpy godfather stood behind the counter, arms folded over his chest, that perpetual frown on his face.
“Oh, so we going to do some work now, cara?”
She dropped the silverware into the stainless sink with a loud clank. “You mean you can’t handle this place for five minutes without me?”
“Five-a minoots.” He blew air out of his mouth with a rude noise, and then nodded at Kyle beside her. “Dis the bum?”
Way to make the poor man feel welcome, Claudio. “This gentleman is our new employee. Kyle Hayden. He’s graciously agreed to help us out for a while.”
“He’s-a gonna help us?”
Claudio’s sarcasm cut through her like a rusty saw. Squelching a wince, she turned on the water and scrubbed the pile of dishes with vigor. “That’s right.”
She looked up in time to see Claudio focus all his displeasure on Kyle. “You ever work in a restaurant before?”
“Um, no,” Kyle replied.
A stream of Italian curses flowed from the old man’s sneering lips followed by the inevitable, “Your papa, he no gonna like this.”
“My father will like this just fine.” She slammed her scouring pad on the sink’s edge, turned off the water, and then dried her hands. “By the time Mom and Dad return from Italy, Kyle will be an old hand at this business.”
Claudio glared at Kyle, a rooster defying a grizzly bear. “So you’re her latest wounded kitty, eh? You don’t look like the others. You too big and strong to need a little girl to take care of you. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Gianna gasped. “Claudio!” If she couldn’t rein in the old man’s grouchy streak, Kyle would probably consider sleeping in the streets more comfortable than working here.
Kyle folded his arms over his chest. “Ten days ago, old man, I would’ve agreed. But having spent time outdoors, I’m willing to swallow my pride if it gives me a chance to win back some of what I lost.”
“You may want to start with a shower.” Claudio sniffed. “You stink.”
Embarrassed on Kyle’s behalf, Gianna stepped between the combatants before more insults, or worse, tomato sauce, got flung. “Why don’t I show you the apartment upstairs? You can get a good night’s rest. Then you’ll start work tomorrow.”
“You letting him stay upstairs?”
Claudio couldn’t have sounded more surprised if she’d announced she planned to keep a gorilla in the apartment. She arched a brow. “Problem?”
He shook his head. “It’s your family’s apartment. What can I say?”
“Nothing you haven’t said before.” She grabbed the key dangling from a red lanyard near the pantry wall. “Come on, Kyle.”
Claudio’s last rejoinder followed them into the hall. “You gonna tuck him in and read him a bedtime story, too?”
****
Kyle followed her up the narrow staircase, doing his best not to stare at her swishing hips. Someone who had given him back his self-respect did not deserve to be ogled. Even if her backside enticed him to teach her the naked samba.
But inside the close hallway, he got a good whiff of his own body odor and winced. Jeez, a hamper of used gym socks smelled better than he did right now. Gianna must have Kryptonite fortitude to stand in this confined space with him.
“Don’t let Claudio scare you,” she said. “I know he’s gruff and looks like a gargoyle, but he’s an old softie at heart.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll bet.” If she heard the sarcasm in his tone, she didn’t address it. She simply fiddled with inserting the key into the doorknob.
“The apartment’s a small one bedroom,” she said, craning her neck. “And I’m afraid there’s a little bit of all of us stored here. We’ve had the place as long as we’ve owned the restaurant.”
When she finally turned the knob, the wood creaked, but didn’t budge.
“For a while my grandparents lived in this apartment.” She threw her shoulder against the door. Bam. “Then my brother, Joey, moved in last year before he went away to college.” Bam. “Mostly, we use it when we have social plans after work now. You know, to take a shower and change. Beats driving all the way home or showing up at a function stinking of garlic and tomatoes.”
At last, the door swung open, and she stumbled against the force. Righting herself, she took his hand to draw him inside. She hadn’t lied about the size. Good God, his sister’s Yorkie, Chauncey, lived in more palatial quarters than this hovel.
The kitchenette contained a two-burner stove, a refrigerator the size of a small man and a wall oven, all in some molten gold shade. He sniffed and surreptitiously ran a finger across the sixties-style Formica countertop. Clean. And warm. And dry. Sure as hell beat the places where he’d laid his head in the last few days.
“You should have everything you’ll need to be comfortable.” With a sweeping hand, she encompassed the two front rooms. Beige-striped wallpaper, filmy and faded, covered the living room, clashing with orange-cushioned rattan furnishings. “If not, let me know what you’re missing, and I’ll pick it up tomorrow before coming to work.”
“Th-thank you,” he managed, though his throat nearly closed at the words. Whether from lack of practice or out of awe for her beneficence, he didn’t know. The sheer rockslide of her generosity humbled him. He didn’t even know people like her existed outside of sappy old Jimmy Stewart movies. Hell, he was no Jimmy Stewart. Had never pretended to be.
With halting steps, he followed her to the bathroom. When she flipped on the light, black and pink tiles assailed his sense of good taste. The shower curtain, filled with goofy starfish on a peach background, did nothing to ease his suffering.
“My father’s the fastidious sort.” She drew his attention to the top drawer of the vanity, withdrawing several travel-sized articles, all in original packaging. “Since we only use this place sporadically, he insists on keeping the toiletries well stocked and fresh. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, razor, shaving cream. It’s all here.”
“Thank you. Again. I don’t think I said it properly the first time.” Even now the words tripped from his tongue, more foreign than ancient Greek.
She looked up from the drawer, a tremulous smile lighting her features. “You did fine. Clean linens are on the top shelf of the bedroom closet. And until we can get you a few things of your own, my brother has some old clothes stored in the dresser in the bedroom, too. The shirts might be a little snug, but they’ll do temporarily. No food in the kitchen, but I’ll fix that tomorrow.”
On that note, sh
e left the bathroom. He extinguished the light and trailed behind, but she turned again. “Why don’t you stay here and get your bearings? I’m sure you’ll want to shower…”
A rosy hue infused her cheeks. Was she embarrassed for mentioning his current state of filth? Hell, it wasn’t like he didn’t know what he looked like, or smelled like.
“Actually,” he said, hoping to put her at ease. “I’d love a shower. And maybe a shave. If it’s all right with you.”
Her eyes softened, and her smile returned, as bright as a toothpaste ad. “Take as long as you like. I want you to be comfortable here.”
He had to bite back the caustic reply that sprang to his lips. Was she for real? She certainly sparked an interesting quandary. Especially when he considered he’d spent the last thirty years of his life not giving a damn what anyone thought of him.
He knew the moment his scrutiny unnerved her. Her gaze fell to the floor, and her feet shuffled back and forth as if she’d stepped on hot coals.
“Um, I think I’ll go downstairs and help Claudio,” she murmured, never moving her attention from the threadbare carpet. “I’ll put the key on the counter on my way out.”
Without another word, she exited the apartment, leaving him to wonder what made such a soft-hearted person tick. But he didn’t wonder long. The lure of a hot, steamy shower was too strong to ignore. His pores screamed to be clean again.
A quick turn of the tap filled the bathroom with a noisy squeal, and then the heavenly sound of falling water. Not from the hellish rain he’d become accustomed to, but from the head of a spigot. And not icy cold, but comfortably hot.
After removing his filthy clothing, he stepped into the tub and allowed the water to cleanse his mind and body. Ah, God, was there any more perfect pleasure in life?
Funny how a mere week and a half ago he would have taken such a luxury for granted. But by now, he’d gone without a shower for far too long. And he couldn’t get clean enough. He reveled in the watery needles and fresh-scented soap.
By the time he found something decent to wear and headed downstairs, the restaurant was closed and locked for the night.
