by Gina Ardito
For two hours, Kyle worked alongside Claudio’s son, a genial thirty-something named Sal. Hard to imagine the two DeNunzios shared any DNA. Where Claudio grumped all day, Sal wore a constant smile. Within ten minutes of meeting him, Kyle had seen photos of all four of Sal’s kids and his lovely missus. Clearly, this guy was thrilled with the life of suburban husband and father. Kyle tamped down shivers of revulsion and feigned interest in Sal’s boasts about his son’s soccer team and daughter’s dance recital.
“We no here to chat, Salvatore,” Claudio interjected.
Kyle shot him a look of undying gratitude.
Claudio ignored him. “We here to work, yes?”
“Some of us can do both,” Sal replied with a grin, and then whispered to Kyle, “Pop’s giving you a hard time, huh?”
Kyle shrugged. “He’s not too thrilled with my working here, especially since I have no experience.”
“Nobody cares about your lack of experience,” Sal replied with a chuckle. “Wolfgang Puck’s kitchen staff isn’t exactly lining up to work out here in the sticks. The Randazzos generally hire temps and part-timers. Or their own family members. Every May we go through a hazing period—with the inexperienced newbies dropping plates, losing silverware in the garbage, screwing up orders. If my father’s not thrilled with you, it’s not because you don’t have experience.”
“So what do you think it is?”
“Beats me. If you want to find out, you should ask him.”
Kyle frowned. “No thanks. He doesn’t seem the chatty type.”
Apparently, though, Claudio had overheard enough of the conversation to grab the gist. He sidled over, eyes narrowed, dripping tomato sauce from the ladle in his hand. “I no like-a you because you take advantage of Gianna.” He waved the long-handled ladle like a proctor’s pointer, aiming at Kyle. “Big man.” The ladle swung to where Gianna stood before a butcher-block table, slicing mushrooms at rapid speed. “Little girl. She no should take care of you.”
“Would it make you feel any better, old man, if I told you I’m taking care of her?”
Silence greeted his retort.
The chopping stopped, and Gianna looked up, eyes wide with curiosity. “Taking care of me? Why?”
“Yeah, Kyle.” Sal winked, a needling communication of Ooh, you’re in trouble now. “Why?”
Swerving his gaze from one party to another, Kyle replied, “Because someone should. Left to your own devices, you’re inviting strange men into your life.” He walked toward her, lowering his voice. “If I were not the man I am, I might have taken advantage of your generosity.” Gaze solemn, he leaned over the butcher block. “If you know what I mean…”
Her gasp held enough outrage for a dozen divas.
“If you were not the man you are, I wouldn’t have invited you into my life.”
Clunk! As the chopper came down like a guillotine on an unfortunate portobello, Kyle jumped back in time to save his fingers.
“Contrary to your opinions,” she said, taking out her anger on the mushroom. “I’m not a child. I don’t need protection and I don’t need ‘taking care of.’ Now if you three are finished playing Knights of the Round Table, we should get ready for the lunch crowd. Claudio, show Kyle how to make pizza. Sal, bring me some more sausage from the freezer.”
Finished murdering the poor vegetables, Gianna slapped the chopper onto the butcher block. Flashing a look that might have shot fire from her eyeballs, she stalked past them and headed for the storage room.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful when you’re angry?” Sal called.
“Bite me,” she retorted. “All of you.”
When Sal snorted a laugh, Kyle’s own amusement refused to stay bottled up. Chuckling, he peered around the doorway, watching her punish the linens while muttering about fools and men.
Or was it foolish men?
Regardless. Maybe he didn’t have to protect her after all. Naive as she seemed on the outside, she had a ferocity he admired inside. Was that ferocity linked to the people she cared about? And did he dare include himself in that grouping?
Hell, she’d literally fished him out of her garbage, given him a place to sleep, a job, and a second chance to win the game. What right did he have to berate her for her generosity? Yet by the same token, what right did she have to look so damn kissable while berating him right back?
****
For the first time in his life, Kyle suffered through hand-to-hand contact with grubby-faced kids, construction workers with dirt-encrusted fingernails, and the weight unconscious masses. Shivers tickled his flesh. Soon, avoiding prolonged exchanges became his top priority. At first, he planned to hide in the storage room. But when the lunch crowd arrived shortly after noon, Sal and Claudio began screaming his name, looking for help. He had no choice but to stand behind the counter and handle the clientele. Still, he didn’t like getting close and he maintained a civil distance.
Doctors, nurses, and professionals from the nearby hospital and office suites grabbed a slice and a soft drink before rushing off to other errands.
Then the students appeared. Many came from the local high school, some from the state university in the next town. Having more time on their hands than their adult counterparts, they lounged in the orange booths, cell phones propped on tables and backpacks stored at their feet. High-pitched laughter and boisterous catcalls bounced off the painted mural of Venice before reverberating in Kyle’s ears.
Good God, deliver me from teenagers!
They lived in a world all their own, full of chaos and noise.
A shouted obscenity drew his attention to the booth in the corner where three teenage boys sat with a girl he might consider pretty if she hadn’t dyed her hair purple. And the slender silver chain leading from her nose ring to her earlobe didn’t do much for her looks, either.
One of the boys stood, anger sparking off him like a hot wire. “Take it back, Justin,” he ordered. “Take it back right now.”
“Aw, c’mon, Tommy,” another boy whined. “I didn’t mean nothing. She knew I was kidding.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think what you said is funny. And if she’s not gonna stand up for herself, I will.”
In solidarity, four youths rose, taking places behind the furious Tommy and forming a solid wall of angst-ridden alliance. Maybe these kids had redeeming qualities after all. Here they were about to come to fisticuffs over a bad joke. In Kyle’s adult world of propriety and manners, no one had flown to his defense. What he wouldn’t have given for a Tommy to come to his rescue a week and a half ago.
“All right, fellows, knock off the debate.” Gianna stepped into the fray, clapping her hands. “Justin, apologize to Bethany.”
“Sorry,” the boy named Justin mumbled.
The purple-haired girl nodded her acceptance, and the wall of adolescent chivalry folded into their seats.
“That’s better,” Gianna said. “Now, you guys scat. Somehow, I doubt your parents think your curriculum includes sitting here all day.”
“We got a half-day today, Gi.” A bright smirk split Bethany’s black-painted lips. “Faculty meetings.”
“Nice try, but faculty meetings were last week. Now, out!” She waved her hands as if shooing flies. “All of you. Before I have someone escort you back to school.”
Justin leaned close to Bethany. “Can she do that?”
He might have whispered, but Kyle heard him from across the room. So did everyone else, judging by the spate of snickers that erupted.
“Oh, she can definitely make a few phone calls,” Gianna announced. “In fact, she’s called several important people in the past. I can’t make you go back to school, but I can throw you out of here. And I can contact some of your parents to let them know where you’re spending your time instead of reporting to…” She glanced at the clock behind her. “…biology class right now, isn’t it, Bethany?”
“Yeah.” Bethany’s sigh echoed with the disappointment of teenagers throughout
time. “C’mon everybody. If Gianna wants us to go, we have to go.”
They walked out the front door in one big wave, leaving a tide of paper plates, plastic cups, spilled beverages, and empty pizza pans in their wake. Clucking her tongue, Gianna reached for the garbage on the first table when Claudio appeared out of nowhere.
“The new guy and I take care of this,” he said, jerking his head in Kyle’s direction. “You and Salvatore run to the bank before they get busy.”
With a nod, she pulled the apron over her head and disappeared into the back of the restaurant, leaving Kyle with the sullen Claudio for company. Great. Now what?
“Gianna would make a good hostage negotiator, eh?” Kyle quipped. When he received nothing but a grunt for his comedic efforts, he tried again. “I assume those kids come here often.”
“Every day there’s school,” Claudio grumbled. “Worse during exams. They use this place like a big revolving door. In and out, in and out, all day long. Makes Mr. Randazzo pazzo.”
“Pazzo?”
He twirled a finger around his temple. “Crazy.”
“So why does Gianna put up with them?”
Claudio wiped down the cleared table with a damp rag and shrugged. “She loves the bambini, always has. Why you think she grow up to be a teacher?”
Kyle paused, halfway to the garbage can. “She’s a teacher?”
Growling, Claudio balled the rag in his fist and tossed it into the nearby dishpan of dirty silverware. “What you think? You think she spend her whole life in this place, eh? Bah! She came here last June, just at the end of the school term. And she’s been here ever since, helping out her mama and papa like a good girl.”
“Why? Where are her parents anyway?”
“Touring Italy for their anniversary. Before they leave, I tell Carlo, ‘Gianna no should hide here. Best thing for her to go back to school and face those two.’ He no listen. She no listen, either. No one ever listen to Claudio.” He stopped, as if realizing Kyle probably wouldn’t listen. “Maybe she go back after the wedding.”
The paper plate in Kyle’s hand wafted to the floor, smearing tomato sauce and cheese over the linoleum. “Wedding? What wedding?”
Was Gianna engaged? Why should he care? But he did. Hearing there might be a soon-to-be husband in Gianna’s life chilled his skin, left him bereft and relieved at the same time.
“She got a wedding to attend next month,” Claudio replied. “Needs a date. Too bad you a bum. You might have taken her.”
Kyle’s head spun, reckless with confusion. “Wait a second. Back up. What does some wedding have to do with Gianna returning to a teaching job?”
“You want to know about Gianna, you ask Gianna.” Claudio hefted the gray dishpan of dirty utensils and headed to the kitchen.
Case closed.
Chapter Four
By three o’clock that afternoon, the crowds dwindled to an occasional customer.
Gianna placed a steaming dish on an unoccupied table, and then gestured for Kyle to sit. “You should eat before we get busy again. I hope you like linguine with white clam sauce. After cooking and ladling tomato sauce all day long, I find the red stuff loses some charm.”
“Linguine’s fine.” He pulled out the chair and sat. “But I would have made do with a slice of pineapple pizza.”
Sucking in a breath, she shuddered. “Yuck. Don’t ask me how those kids can eat that stuff. I prefer pizza the old-fashioned way. With lots of sauce and mozzarella cheese, heavy on the garlic. On a good day, mushrooms and pepperoni as extra toppings. But the combinations they want nowadays make no sense.”
“You sound like an Old World grandmother,” he said, spinning the linguine onto his fork. The bundled pasta slid into his mouth, waking his tastebuds to sheer joy.
Gianna stood over him, watching the fork move from his mouth to the plate. “Good?”
“Best I’ve ever tasted.” He kicked at the empty chair opposite him. “Would you like to join me?”
“I ate already,” she said, shaking her head. “While you and Claudio took care of that last group.”
Regret smarted, and he fought a wince. “Too bad. I’ve always believed a good meal tastes even better when accompanied by a beautiful companion.”
Pretty pink color stained her cheeks, pleasing him immensely. Ages had passed since he’d seen a woman blush without simulated enhancement. Most of the ladies he met were painted and bedecked to reel in the richest wallet their artificial beauty could lure. But Gianna had a freshness he found charming, like discovering an innocent violet after spending years living in a greenhouse of lush, overly perfumed roses. “Will you at least keep me company while I eat?”
Shrugging, she offered a half-smile. “Sorry, but I can’t. A delivery truck just pulled in out back, and I have to take care of the provisions. Then we’ll get ready for the dinner rush.”
She didn’t give him a chance to argue. One moment she stood before him while he savored the garlicky taste of the clam sauce on his lips and tongue. The next she’d disappeared into the back of the restaurant.
Over the course of the evening, Gianna seemed to hover everywhere. Kyle came upon her greeting the few regular customers who appeared in the dining room, cooking in the kitchen, working the front counter, clearing tables, and taking phone orders. Only once did he spot her sitting—for approximately three minutes with a group of wizened geezers who called themselves, of all things, the ROMEOs.
Perhaps his angel was more goddess than human. Her constant activity would exhaust mere mortals.
At the end of the night, Kyle collapsed in the nearest chair in the dining room and slumped across the tablecloth. By God, when he returned to his old way of life, he knew one thing he’d do differently. He’d tip the help better. If they worked half as hard as he had tonight, they deserved a hell of a lot more than fifteen percent.
“This job isn’t easy, is it?” Gianna’s voice came from somewhere above him.
No matter how tired he was, the sight of her still struck a chord deep in his ribcage. With supreme effort, he picked his head up off the table, and even dug out a smile. “No, this job isn’t easy. How do you keep going? You were here before me this morning and you’re still working.”
“Oh, well, you forget, I grew up doing this. When my brother and I were kids, we’d come here straight from elementary school, and Dad would put us to work.”
As she reached across the table to remove the salad dressing cruet and Parmesan cheese shaker, her arm brushed the top of his head, and a jolt raced through him. Body pulsing, he pulled back his chair slightly.
“You...” Straightening, she juggled the bottles and jars against her chest. “You’re just a rookie. Be grateful this is the off-season. In the summer when the tourists arrive, we need a staff of twelve.”
“Twelve?” Hard to imagine this sleepy town ever bustled.
“Uh-huh. Three run the front counter, five handle the kitchen, and four wait tables. Trust me. If you’re going to learn the business, autumn is the best time to do so. You’ll see. The job gets easier the longer you work here.”
He didn’t intend to work here for long. The words, however, clogged his throat, refusing to exit into the air. So he said nothing and concentrated on pulling the linens off the table as if world peace depended on his success.
When he had several tablecloths balled, she settled them against her chest, almost like armor. “Would you mind a little friendly advice?”
Advice? Whatever she planned to say, he probably didn’t care to hear. Still those Bambi eyes silently implored him to listen. Taking her vulnerable pose into account, he offered a casual shrug. “No. I’m here to learn, right?”
A tremulous smile appeared. “Right. Umm…” She turned to place the linens on a cart. “The thing is, I know you’re not used to this. I mean, back home you probably had servants who waited on you, you know?” Without waiting for a reply, she returned her attention to a table, tracing circles in the dark wooden top. “But h
ere, well, in this restaurant, the customer’s our top priority. We get a lot of return business, even in the off-season like now, because we treat everyone like family. Do you think you can remember that?”
In other words, she’d noticed the way he’d cringed at handling the dirty dishes, his sighs when someone took forever to order, and his eye rolls, coinciding with a child’s lisping command for “pisketti.”
Yet her censure came out with such sweetness, he had no choice but to nod. He would’ve loved to argue. Still, she’d taken him in, given him a chance to win back what he’d lost. So if he had to wear a humility suit for a month, he could manage the dent in his pride. The long-term prize far outweighed the short-term inconvenience.
After a long moment, Gianna took the hint their conversation had ended and bustled to the counter with the condiments.
In the silence that ensued, Kyle swore he heard his heart beating in his ears. Before he could relax his guard, though, Gianna returned.
“Where are you from? Originally?” At a cleared table, she sank into a chair, and then gestured for him to join her.
Great. Now she wanted to talk. When he’d asked her to sit with him earlier, when he’d been alert, she was too busy. Naturally, the minute his guard failed due to exhaustion, she honed in for the kill. If he hadn’t suspected she’d assume something suspicious in the action, he would’ve crossed his arms over his chest. What magical powers did this dark-haired angel hide behind an ethereal face and a heavenly body? How did she manage to chip away at his barriers time and time again?
Okay. He could handle her interrogation. Fisting his hands at his sides, he decided to pretend this was a spy movie. He’d provide nothing more than name, rank, and serial number.
“I grew up in Croton-on-the Hudson. And I have—had,” he corrected quickly, “a place on Central Park West.”
You’ll get nothing from me. I’m closed up tighter than a biosphere.
“How did you wind up here?” She pointed out the storefront window at the parking lot and beyond, the occasional car zipping down Main Street. “In the sticks of Setquott Beach, I mean.”
