“It’s perfect, Angelo,” Jo had assured him as she glowed in the morning light and ate cold eggs. “It sounds as if she’s doing wonderful things for you, but I would conjecture that retired life is not sitting well with her. I’ll bet she’s bored. She wants to help you, which is so sweet. I wish I’d had parents, or even one parent like that.”
When he’d asked her about that, the subject had changed without his really noticing, at least not until just now.
“My pastry chef, Eugene, is following his girlfriend to Hawaii,” he told his mother.
“Is he sure that she wants to be followed?” She didn’t even miss a pulse beat before jumping to the question that had taken Angelo some time to arrive at. And that Marlys had been unable to answer when Angelo had gotten her aside.
Angelo gave her a shrug that felt both uncomfortable and made it clear that in the end it was none of his business.
“The problem is, Mama, I need a pastry chef, at least until I can hire another one.”
“And what does this have to do with my shopping with Manuel?”
“That’s different. Last night I decided that you have made us too successful. So,” he took a deep breath because it was still too huge to really comprehend. “I’m going to open another restaurant.”
“Just like that?” She stopped in front of a storefront window and posed with her hands on her hips. Not realizing that she’d taken exactly the pose of the anorexic, aqua-clad mannequin in the clothing store window behind her. He started to smile until he saw the fire on her face.
“Just like that you go and decide to open another restaurant and you don’t even consult your mother?”
“Ah...”
A business man in smart Saturday attire, but still swinging his briefcase on the way to work, cut right between them without a glance either way.
“Ah. Mama, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”
“No! You no think!” She began ticking points off on her fingers. “You no think about little treats to advertise your food. You no think that Manuel can shop just as good as can you.” As her ire rose, her English frayed even more than usual around the edges.
“This Eugene,” she flicked her fingers. “You are so worried about losing him. Well, his Panna Cotta is not one-half so good as mine. His Zabaglione is a disgrace. And his Lemon Olive-Oil Cake is so sad that little girl Graziella could make better. You no understand why you, the head chef, the owner, spend so much time at the desserts. Let him go, that boy is why you waste so much time with them. Oh,” she continued her rant as more people passed close by eyeing him curiously as to why the beautiful Italian matron was yelling at him.
Angelo stepped across the flow of people through a gap until they at least stood side-by-side without blocking the sidewalk, but her tone did not soften in volume or ire, despite their now standing barely a foot apart.
“Oh, he is a good enough cook. But he has no heart,” she thumped the center of his chest hard enough to sting while making her point. “No heart in his chest!” Thumping him again. “And no heart in his food. Let him go. Let him find out how fickle love can be. Let him learn like your father never learn—”
She stopped herself, her expression shifting abruptly to one of deep distress.
“My father what, Mama?”
She looked away down the street, turned back when he rested a hand on her arm. Tears were welling in her eyes.
“Mama?” the sinking in his stomach left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“I should have told you.” Her gaze veered away from his. She never did that. Maria Amelia always looked right at you with those wide, dark eyes.
“Told me what?” He had to ask, yet would bet that he didn’t want to know. He could see something in her eyes.
“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
She nodded then shrugged a “maybe.”
Angelo couldn’t think of how to react to that. His mother continued before he could react.
“Your father,” then a flash of that heat came back into her eyes even as she blinked against the tears, “he had no heart. I tell him I’m pregnant and I never see him again. My family was very Catholic. So, I was sent to America to have my baby, to have you. But my Julia and John, they take me in and I cook for them. They love you like their own son when you are born and I stay. I never hear from your father again. I’m sorry. I should have found a better and sooner way to tell you, but I never could.”
Angelo leaned against the cool window so that his knees did not let go. His father hadn’t died, he’d left a pregnant single mother.
“You told me he was dead.” He’d never felt so lost. Nor had he ever wanted to kill a man before. Leaving his mother? If he ever met the man, he’d murder him.
“He was dead to me.” Again that impossible strength and undeniable truth. She had that in common with Jo, an ability to speak from perfect truth. How scared she must have been, but she had come through it and he’d wanted for nothing. His mother had pampered and punished him with equal amounts of Italian passion. And loved him no matter what he’d done.
“Did you love him?” That felt intensely important, as if he might cease to exist if the answer was no.
But his mother nodded and sniffled.
“What was his name?”
At that she smiled softly and brushed a hand down his cheek.
“His name was Angelo.”
# # #
Angelo and Maria sat in the little coffee shop at the corner and held hands across the table. Little potted palm trees scattered about the shop offered a feeling of privacy, even though their table sat close against the glass with the First Avenue crowds just beyond. The coffee was good enough to justify the price.
“Is he still alive?”
She shrugged again.
“Are you still married to him?”
At that she blushed for a moment and inspected her coffee.
“Mama?”
“I was young. He was so beautiful, you look much like him. He too was a chef. He taught me to cook and he taught me to make love.”
“But you weren’t married?”
Again the eloquent shrug.
Angelo looked around as if someone else had the answer among the people waiting for coffee or walking the trek from the Market to Pioneer Square. He was a bastard, born out of wedlock. He probed the feeling, like you might a sore tooth, with great care. Every memory of his mother was a fond one, he had not suffered. His mother had seen to that. Fine. He’d often wondered about the man, and now, surprisingly, found that he didn’t care about him any more. It didn’t matter that his father was useless, his mother was only all that much more amazing for it.
“I just hate to think of you having been alone all these years, Mama.”
“Who said I was alone? Did I say I was alone?”
Again they were abruptly in a territory Angelo really didn’t wish to tread. Mothers weren’t supposed to have sex and lovers, not even beautiful Italian mothers.
“I was not so foolish as to flaunt my men in front of my teenage son no matter how many empty-headed girls my son flaunted in front of me.”
“They weren’t empty-head—”
“Feh! The only boy in this whole world with worse taste in women than my son is Russell Morgan.”
She held up her hand to stop his protest before he even made it.
“It took a good woman with good sense like our Cassidy to see what was there beneath all of the dirty clothes.”
Okay, but it wasn’t just Cassidy. “Melanie was good for hi—”
“No!” She stopped him again. “She wasn’t.”
“But she—”
“Yes. She is nice lady, I know that. But all she did for Russell was stroke his ego. She did no hold his heart even if he so dumb he almost break hers.” She placed a hand over her heart in sympathy
. “That one, she is so pretty and so lost.”
Lost? Melanie was about the least lost person Angelo had ever met. Successful supermodel, her own manager, as sharp a businesswoman as he’d ever met, and still a fun lady. Before he could form a coherent protest, she pinned him again with her dark gaze.
“Who holds your heart, my Angelo?”
How in the world had they looped back around to Jo?
“See,” his mother aimed a neatly trimmed nail at his heart. “I see even if you are too stupido. So, I ask again, when do I see this girl my son is sleeping with? Sleeping with.” She smacked her hand to her chest again as if mortally offended. “I can no believe you are so stupido.”
“Fine, Mama. You win. Monday. The restaurant is closed Monday. I’ll see if she is available Monday.” Oh, God. He’d just agreed to “bring Jo home for approval.” First, Jo just might kill him for doing that. Second, was it possible he was actually serious about her? Serious enough to bring her home?
He was.
Angelo took a deep breath and tried the thought again. From the first time he’d seen Jo Thompson, his ability to be seriously intrigued by other women had been swept away. Had he even gotten to a second date with anyone since then? Not that he could recall. All he could think of was Jo Thompson. God above! He really was gone on her.
Bring her home for approval? Bring her home for keeps was more what he was feeling. He’d never felt that before. He knew almost nothing about her, but in some ways he knew her better than he knew himself. He could read her moods easily and enjoyed every one of them. She’d gotten all the way under his skin. Russell was right, he was in so much trouble. Who knew it would feel so good when it happened?
“Good,” his mother must have read something in his expression that she acknowledged with a very satisfied nod. “I cook a wonderful dinner. You have such a nice kitchen in your condo. You have not such good taste in decorating, but you are smart, the kitchen is good. The location too I like very much. It is such a nice change from the Morgan mansion. So much happens in Pioneer Square. You are such a good boy to let your Mama live there.”
As if he’d had a choice. Angelo buried his face in his hands. His head ached. This had started as such a simple conversation. At least Jo had told him it would be simple.
At the warm touch of his mother’s hand, he looked up into her eyes.
“Of course, I would love to be your pastry chef. Though you must hire at least two more in the kitchen and another for front of house and do it very fast. They must be good people, I will help you pick them out. You will train them right.” She brushed her hands together as if dusting them clear of all of the impossibly complex problems which she now declared resolved.
“Now, tell me about your new restaurant,” she took a sip of her coffee.
He eyed her carefully, wondering where the trap lay.
“I thought you were angry I didn’t consult you first?”
“Surprise? Yes. Angry? With my Angelo?” A brush of her hand over his hand again. “I am so proud I could die. I’m only angry I did not think of it first. So tell me.”
So Angelo did.
Chapter 24
Jo was just returning from a half hour swim in the lapless, jet-current pool on the fifth floor gym of her condo. She still preferred to work out at the gym on Eastlake. They had more machines, on-site trainers, and classes whenever she needed the motivation. But they didn’t have a swimming pool, and the condo had three of the powered tanks where you could swim in place against a driven current. She wore a light robe over her damp swimsuit and flipflops as she headed down the hall to her condo. Cassidy and Perrin were coming back down the hall, clearly not finding her home.
“You’re all wet,” Perrin observed as they hugged. Today she wore a simple summer dress that looked shockingly normal when compared to the other clothes she usually wore.
“I know. I know.” Perrin looked down at herself. “It’s so…pedestrian. But I wanted to remind myself of how it felt. Streetwear rather than fashionwear. I’m playing with some ideas. We came to see the dress.”
The dress. Jo had managed not to think about the dress. Cassidy simply smiled at her. No, she wasn’t humoring Perrin, she’d come to see the dress as well.
What the hell. Jo led them back down to her condo.
In the bedroom, Perrin stooped and pulled something from under the edge where the quilt brushed the floor.
“What’s this?” Dangling from her finger by its elastic band was a pair of dark red men’s briefs, Angelo’s underwear that they’d been unable to find as he was leaving. It must have slipped free as she was making the bed before her swim. Thank God she’d done at least that much.
She took it quickly, “Nothing.” Though she imagined it felt warm against her palm.
Perrin grinned wickedly even as Jo stuffed it in her robe’s pocket.
“Gee,” she placed a red-painted nail to her lips and turned to Cassidy. “I wonder if a certain Mr. Parrano is walking the streets of Seattle commando this morning.”
Cassidy smiled back at Perrin conspiratorially but winked at Jo, “Oh, I hope so. I really hope so.”
Jo fought the desire to stare down at the rug and hide her face behind a fall of hair. Instead, she faced it head on.
“I am pleased to report to this court of inquiry, that he is indeed walking the streets without underwear.” She clenched her hand on them in her pocket. Nor would he be getting them back anytime soon. Like a scalper’s prize, they were hers now, though she had no idea why she’d want them.
“And is he well sated?” Perrin always wanted details.
“If he isn’t, it’s not for lack of trying.”
She held her pride for a moment longer and then the three of them burst out laughing together.
Then she went into the bathroom to dry her hair before she tried on the dress.
# # #
“Oh, Jo.” Cassidy’s sigh said it all.
Perrin looked so pleased when Jo had put on the high-heeled shoes. She fussed with the hem a bit.
“I’ll change it just a little so that you can wear these down the aisle, but dance in low heels.”
“You won’t change a single thing on this dress,” Cassidy brushed Perrin’s hands away. “You don’t mess with perfection. Jo can take dance lessons.”
Jo didn’t know when she’d ever find time for a class, but Cassidy was right. It would be worth learning to dance in these so that she could look this good. She considered the woman in the mirror. This time, rather than the dark of night with closed curtains, the room was flooded with sunlight. The fabric revealed another facet that hadn’t been visible before. Its pale blue material was ever so slightly iridescent as if Jo herself was glowing.
If Angelo could only see her now, he’d maybe keel over dead and need that “weak mind and sound body” phrase for his will.
Had she really just had that thought? Had she really just thought of Angelo while wearing a wedding dress?
Of course she had. They’d just spent a whole night and morning together. And true to his promise, he had thoroughly ravaged her leaving her head spinning and her body buzzing. So, of course she was thinking of him. But that’s all it meant. She was thinking of him. And she was wearing a wedding dress. It didn’t mean the two were related in any way other than a coincidence of timing.
The phone rang. She swished over to the nightstand to pick it up. She’d never swished before in her life.
“Oh. Hi, Angelo.”
She glanced back at Cassidy and Perrin who weren’t even for a moment considering leaving the room. Perrin grabbed Jo’s robe from where it draped on the bed and fished out Angelo’s underwear then began waving them at her.
“I found something you lost.” Oh, no. She hadn’t said that. She really needed to cut her own tongue out. Maybe she’d just kill Perrin as soon as she got off
the phone. She turned away to concentrate.
“Oh thanks. I’ll have to get those.”
“Just like that? Just ‘get those’?”
Angelo spluttered for a moment.
“I’m at the restaurant.”
“And…” she teased him, knowing she had him trapped. “That’s no excuse. What is it worth to get them back?”
“Go, Jo!” Perrin was giggling in the background. Jo closed her eyes to block out her friends. This was a very private conversation and they both were having it in public.
“Well,” she could hear dishes clattering over the phone which must be the only reason he hadn’t heard Perrin.
His voice went soft.
“I did have this one idea. If we ever have a day off together. There’s a very private spot atop a mountain on one of the San Juan Islands that a friend showed me.”
“And would this friend have been female?”
“Crap!” she could imagine him flushing red and looking around to try and find a way out of the hole he’d just dug. She let him dangle for several seconds before deciding to rescue him.
“Consider it a date.”
“Really? Uh, really? That’s wonderful.” His voice went smooth for a moment as if someone was passing close by. He dragged out the start of the next sentence until whoever had finally passed out of earshot.
Jo would bet he wasn’t fooling a single person on his staff except himself.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he finally continued. “After all, I like my underwear.”
“I like it better when it’s off you.”
Perrin cheered again and Jo wanted to slap herself.
“Okay. Whew. That took my breath away.”
They appreciated the mutual images of being unclothed together in silence for several moments.
“Was there a reason you called?”
“Oh, yes,” Angelo’s voice shifted from smooth and warm to practically businesslike, as if he were suddenly afraid of her or something.
Where Dreams Books 1-3 Page 46
