by Jo Leigh
“You?”
“Or Fred,” he said, taking half a step back.
“No, that’s... While I’ve got you here, there are a few more pictures I wanted you to see, if you have time...”
“I’ve got a few minutes.”
She went first to the kitchen area and poured him a glass of his own. Then she handed it to him as she segued into her bedroom. Her queen mattress barely fit in the space, but at least they could sit side by side. She picked up her binder, which was lying atop a box of hardbacked books.
Tony stood at the door.
“Come. Sit,” she said, patting the bed. It wasn’t a problem. They’d have the whole binder between them. “I know we’re trying to save as much of the old as we can, but when we were looking at the staircase, I was underwhelmed.”
As they discussed alternatives, Catherine reminded herself it would be wise to remember that Tony wasn’t part of her dreams for this house. Even if the spark she felt was reciprocated, which seemed unlikely. She’d never been attracted to a man like Tony before, and she had no idea if it was against any rules for them to have anything but a working relationship.
“There’s a metalwork artist in Connecticut that does meticulous work on railings and more. In fact, I planned on asking him to come down and go over the fireplaces, anyway.”
“Perfect,” she said, as her stomach rumbled so loudly it made him choke back a laugh.
“Sorry,” she said. “I haven’t had dinner. I’m probably going to order something in. Would you like to join me?”
His head tilted about five degrees to the right, and his gaze moved from hers to his lower arm, where, she realized, she was touching him.
“That’s very nice of you, but—”
She moved her hand away with lightning speed. “Since I seem to be monopolizing your time I figured I should at least offer...”
“No problem.” Tony nodded, staring just past her left ear.
She stood up, aware he’d know what an arm touch meant. “I’ve been wanting some decent Chinese, is all. No big deal.”
“There’s a great place not too far from here.”
Her grin must have looked ridiculous. Jesus. Seconds after she’d just finished thinking he was off-limits. And probably married. Not all men wore wedding rings. Especially those who did construction work. “Really? I don’t know much about the local hotspots. Too much work and not enough time for exploring.”
“I can help out with that,” he said, standing up himself. Taking a step closer to her. “At least steer you away from some dubious choices.”
She blinked at him. Was he this helpful to all his clients? If so, that would explain why his company had such a great reputation.
He did something on his cell phone, and then handed it to her. On the screen was a menu for a Szechuan restaurant at an address she wasn’t familiar with.
“They’re a little slow on the delivery, but they’re worth it. I’ve never had a bad meal from them. I think you’ll be pleased.”
“So, was that a no to joining me?”
“Don’t think I can.”
“Okay, but the thing I wanted to talk to you about. It’s kind of a big deal.”
“Shoot.”
“I’m considering a rooftop garden. A decent-sized one, maybe one some of the neighbors could use, as well.” She flipped to the back pages and handed him the binder. While he glanced at the sample gardens, she grabbed her iPhone off her dresser and called the restaurant. Her order was large, but that was what she got for waiting until she was this hungry.
Or Tony could change his mind. No, she had to stop that sort of thinking.
By the time she’d finished giving her address, Tony was seated again, and watching her, a slight smile tugging at his mouth.
“What?”
“You must really like Chinese food.”
“I do.” She laughed. “I even like it for breakfast.”
His brows rose. “Good thing.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it.”
“Hey, I’m the same way. I’ll eat the stuff any time of the day—” He’d been about to say more but stopped himself.
She’d wager anything she’d surprised him. Which wasn’t a bad thing.
Not a bad thing at all.
With her own secret smile, she sat down again. Too late, she realized it might’ve been better for her to have remained standing. They weren’t sitting indecently close or anything—she’d left some space between them—but she could feel the warmth of his body pulling at her, distracting her from the point of the conversation.
She cleared her throat. “I volunteer at the community gardens at the UN,” she said, relieved her voice sounded normal. “Where I work. Obviously, this wouldn’t be as large, but my roof is flat and I’m pretty sure there’s room enough for what I have in mind. What I don’t know is if it’s possible.”
“That’s...a big job. A very... There’s a lot to consider. We’ve done a few, all on restaurant rooftops.”
“I know. I saw on your website.”
He hesitated again and got that inscrutable look on his face. “There are so many things that all have to work for it to be possible. The weight of a garden can be tremendous. We’d need to call in a structural engineer to begin with. Then there are permits, including using a crane on a street that isn’t very wide.”
“I understand. But I’d like to find out if it’s possible before I fall too far in love with the idea.”
“I’ll look into it.”
Something was clearly bothering him. She didn’t think she should ask. It was just as likely to be her imagination. But when he abruptly got to his feet, she knew it wasn’t.
“But now, I really do have to leave.”
Disappointed, Catherine accompanied him downstairs, and when she opened the front door, there was a kid sitting on the bottom step of her stoop. She couldn’t imagine what he was doing there.
He jumped to his feet and looked at Tony. “Hey, Mr. Paladino. Nonna wants you to come over. She’s got something wrong with—” his face, pale under the unflattering outdoor light, scrunched with thought “—something in the kitchen.”
Tony frowned. “When did your grandma send you over? It’s almost seven o’clock.”
The kid, who looked to be around ten, shrugged. “I dunno. She and my mom were arguing about something. Then I was supposed to come here. Wait to catch you before you went home.”
Tony turned to Catherine. “Sorry. This is Ricky Alberti. His grandmother is your neighbor.”
She smiled at the boy. “Nice to meet you.”
When Tony stepped outside, his frown looked even more doleful in the bad light. “You tell your grandma that she should call Gina for an appointment. No. Have her call me. I’ll tell her myself.”
Ricky shrugged again. “’Kay.” Then he was off like a shot.
“I’m sorry about that,” Tony said, sounding irritated despite the easy smile. “He shouldn’t have been hanging around your stoop.”
“It’s no problem. I find it kind of charming, actually. The sign of a tight neighborhood.”
The brief glance toward the neighbor’s house indicated he didn’t agree. Huh. “Well, I’m not thrilled at being at everyone’s beck and call. Anyway, I’ll be going now.” He took two steps down before turning to her again. “Hope you like the dumplings. They’re my favorite.”
Grateful the tension had vanished, she almost asked him to stay and have some of hers, but she stopped herself just in time. “Good night, Tony. Thank you. For tonight.”
He smiled, nodded, but didn’t look at her again. He just hurried away.
She closed the door, and wished very hard that he’d forgotten something. His cell phone. A jacket. To kiss her.
4
BY MONDAY AFTERNOON, Tony had finished transferring what he needed to make his father’s old office feel like his own. He’d also gotten more comfortable with being the boss, although there were a few decisions he wished his father could have made.
He heard a low voice in the reception area, one he’d recognize in a blackout. Well, at least the old man had lasted almost a whole week without coming to check up on his empire.
Tony was delighted to see that his mom had come, too, and that Joe was wearing a Hawaiian-print shirt, one he was allowed to wear only on vacations. They were both chatting with Gina as if their separation had been years instead of days. Tony joined them, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek. “Worried the place was falling apart?”
Joe gave him a scowl. “You think I don’t trust you? I trust you. The real question is do you trust you?”
“I’m working on it, Pop. I don’t know if I’ll ever figure out how you kept Luca and Dom in line.”
His mother frowned, although he knew the look was more for effect than anything. “All three of you were no picnic, believe me.”
“I know.” Tony grinned. “Honestly, though, they’ve both been fine. Luca, a little finer than Dominic. You know how he is. The kid thinks he’s Sinatra or something, and he’s tone deaf.”
“Sinatra was from Jersey,” Gina said. “Dom wants to be the king of Little Italy.”
“It’s a small kingdom.” Tony walked over to the whiteboard without really looking at it. “Getting smaller by the day.”
“We’re not going to talk about work,” his mother said. Theresa was really the boss of the family, and everyone knew that. She didn’t mind leaving the details to her brood, but anything big was Ma’s domain.
“All right,” Tony said. “Is this a stopover visit on your way to rehab?”
Joseph cursed in Italian the same second Tony’s mother said, “Yes. This stubborn mule of a husband thinks he’s wasting his time. You’d think the second heart attack would have gotten through his thick head.”
It actually felt good, hearing the two of them bicker. Like home.
Tony had to take a phone call, so he went to his office. It was Dave, the metalworker he’d called about Catherine’s staircase and fireplaces. Tony gave him some preliminary measurements and Catherine’s number.
Just as he ended the call, he realized his father had entered the room. He was looking at all the things Tony had changed. Slowly. Making a mental tally. The expression on his face broke Tony’s heart. Made him wish he’d never changed anything at all.
“It’s good,” Joe said. “You taking over.”
“It’s necessary,” Tony told him, walking around the desk to sit on the front corner to free up his pop’s old chair. “We need you to stick around as our dad way more than we need you to run this place.”
“I know the reasons. There’s just so damn many hours in the day. Even with three meals and a visit to the torture room, I’ve still got too much empty space.”
“Ma hasn’t put you to work?”
“Stupid things, sure. A real project, like painting that spare room? She thinks I’ll die on her Persian carpet.”
“Have you tried going to the park like we talked about?”
“I don’t like the way they changed the park. Too many strangers and kids.”
“They’re only strangers until you talk to them. You like chess. They play chess.”
“I like playing with people I know.”
“And what do you mean you don’t like kids? That’s not true.”
“I want grandkids,” Joe grumbled. “Not strangers’ kids. You and Angie should’ve had two bambinos by now, instead of getting divorced.”
Tony’s insides coiled into a knot. “Come on, Pop, we’re not going to talk about that.”
Joe shrugged. “So, I hear you’re working personally with Catherine Fox.”
“How do you know that?”
“I got ears that work. She’s got big pockets, that one. Very deep. She has some crazy ideas, but they’re not so crazy if you think about them.”
“You mean the restoration?”
“The value of the house will go up, you know that. Along with making the upgrades.”
“She wants a rooftop garden.”
Joe’s eyes widened. “No kidding.”
“What’s worse? She wants to live there. Full-time.”
Joe moved across the room and settled into his old black chair.
Tony smiled to himself and took one of the guest chairs.
“She could make a fortune selling that place. When she gets done with it, garden or no, it’ll be a jewel on that street.”
“I know. But she doesn’t want to go.”
“With those old ladies she’s got for neighbors? She’ll want to.”
Tony knew more about those two than he’d like. They’d both called him in the last couple days. Asked every question in the book about Catherine. He’d cut them off, refused to discuss his client with them. When all he’d wanted to do was tell them both where to go. But he was his mother’s son, so he’d been nice...ish.
Speaking of his mother, she walked in right at that moment and made her famous whimper of exasperation while throwing her hands up in the air. As if the world itself was ending.
She slapped Tony’s shoulder. “You just let him take over? The first time we come to visit you start talking business?”
Shaking his head, Tony held back a smile.
“What business?” his father said, gesturing expansively. “I’m sitting in my old chair. Is that a crime?”
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.
“Fine. A little about business, but I was just making an observation. That’s not work.”
“Is that true, Tony?”
“That’s true.”
“Why am I listening to you?” she asked. “You’re your father’s son. We have to leave now, but next time I see you, Anthony Paladino, I expect you to be more careful with your father. He’s not a healthy man.”
She was right, although Tony couldn’t see cutting him off from the business cold turkey. But he’d try to make both his parents happy. Which hadn’t been possible in thirty-three years, so why he should keep trying was anyone’s guess.
“Try the park again,” Tony said, as they were leaving. “Play some chess.”
“And you...go make me some grandkids.”
“Stop it.” His mother bumped his dad’s shoulder. “What’s the matter with you? He’s divorced.” She glanced at Tony and shook her head. “Don’t listen to him. Angie was a nice girl, but she was too modern.”
He didn’t say a word. Angie was from the neighborhood. His parents had known her parents for years. She wasn’t a great cook, but that meant she wasn’t competition for the crown of Tony’s Favorite, which actually made his mother like Angie even more. She was exactly the kind of girl everyone had imagined for him, but the marriage hadn’t worked out. At least they’d parted amicably.
When his folks had left, he had to make two more phone calls, and then pay a visit to a new customer in Chinatown.
After that, he knew exactly where he was going.
Exactly where he shouldn’t.
Where he couldn’t wait to go.
* * *
THE LINE INTO Ferrara’s bakery was long, but it seemed to be moving pretty quickly. Catherine had been there several times, and loved their pastries, but this evening she was buying for two. Tony was coming over.
They were going to take a look at her rooftop. Sal was still in charge of the renovations, but Tony had decided to supervise the restoration and the garden project. He’d told her he’d be there around six thirty, after dinner with his parents. She hoped he hadn’t had any dessert.
&
nbsp; The line moved again, this time allowing her a great view of the glass display case. Everything there looked wonderful, but she’d already decided what she’d get for this evening: three different pastries she could vouch for personally. He was bound to like at least one of them.
Two women a few people in front of her caught her attention because they were speaking in Italian. She thought one of them might be her neighbor. Catherine had seen the woman standing on her front stoop the other day. It was obvious they hadn’t noticed her because they didn’t bother to lower their voices, or consider that she might speak Italian.
“That one has workers all day, making so much noise I’m not getting a bit of work done.”
She strained to hear the other woman’s response but couldn’t.
“For all I know,” her neighbor went on, “she’s turning that beautiful place into apartments.”
The conversation stopped when the person in front of them left.
Catherine watched them place their orders with the woman behind the counter, torn between wishing she’d heard more and glad she hadn’t. Of course they were upset with the noise. And she hated for anyone to think she would turn the beautiful home into apartments, but now wasn’t the time to clear the air.
The women paid and left without any sign they’d noticed her. Thank goodness. Once the construction was over, she figured things would all work out.
“Great minds really do think alike.”
Catherine spun around at Tony’s voice. His smile was broad, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
“I was going to pick up dessert. For us,” she said. “For later.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Hmm,” she said, feeling awkward and pleased at the same time. Why she should feel tongue-tied around Tony when she could face off with Vladimir Putin, she had no idea. “Well, maybe it’s a good thing you’re here. I won’t have to guess what you might like.”
“What were you going to get?”
She shifted a bit to her left so he could move in closer, letting people pass him more easily. “No fair. I asked you first.”
