Steal Me

by Lauren Layne

For three weeks, Maggie had been waiting for him to call. Waiting for him to see the light.

  Like she was one of the immature high school characters from her book.

  Old Maggie waited. Old Maggie let life happen around her.

  New Maggie…

  New Maggie fought for what she wanted.

  And she wanted Anthony Moretti.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  His siblings had forsaken him. All three had said they’d “probably” be headed to Staten Island for dinner.

  All three had bailed on him, leaving him to a lonely ferry ride out to his parents.

  Also? All three siblings cited the same reason for skipping dinner:

  You’re awful company.

  Adding insult to injury, even his own mother didn’t look particularly pleased when he’d let himself into the house.

  “Your mood better have improved since brunch,” she said on a sigh.

  He set down the bottle of wine he’d brought with him on the counter and frowned. “You’re my mother. Aren’t you supposed to ask me how I am?”

  “I already know how you are. You’re miserable.”

  He shrugged. Couldn’t argue with that. “Dad around?”

  “Tinkering with the gas grill out back. Don’t know why since we’re heading toward winter, but you know how he gets. He drives me and himself out of his mind unless he has something to do.”

  Anthony was barely listening as he blindly watched his mother stir something around and around on the stove, snapping out of it only when her wooden spoon clattered loudly against the homemade spoon rest one of the kids had made her in kindergarten.

  “Is your rotten mood because Maggie quit the diner?” she asked.

  His eyes snapped up, drilling into her, outraged. Nobody in his family had dared to mention her name to him since he’d practically ripped Vincent’s head off for calling him an idiot a couple weeks back.

  “Glare all you want, dear,” Maria said mildly. “I’ve seen far worse from your father. And you may be able to muzzle your brothers and sister with that snarl, but we mothers are made of firmer stuff.”

  “Grandmothers too,” Nonna said, wandering into the kitchen while smearing on a tomato-colored lipstick and smacking her lips noisily. She blew him a kiss.

  “Hey, Nonna,” he said dutifully. “Didn’t know you were here.”

  “Been staying here for days,” she said. “Not surprised you didn’t notice, what with the burying yourself in your office and all around having your head up your—”

  “Nonna,” his mother said.

  “What? If his grandmother won’t be straight with him, who will—”

  “I was trying to, before you came and barged in here—” Maria said, getting riled up in only a way that Anthony’s grandmother could manage to achieve. She took a deep breath. “We’ll tell him together.”

  Nonna nodded, a rare moment of quick agreement between the two women, and then they both turned to face him, speaking at the same time.

  “You made the wrong decision.” (His mother)

  “Dry rigatoni has more brains than you.” (Nonna)

  He glanced between them. “That’s nice. Thanks.”

  His mother sighed, gave whatever was in the pot one last stir, and then pointed to the kitchen table.

  “Sit.”

  He did, mostly out of habit from his mother making that very same gesture with that very same tone at least a million times throughout his childhood, usually after bombing a spelling test, or putting a spider on Elena’s pillow, or telling a very young, gullible Luc that he could fly off the back of the couch if he hummed Michael Jackson songs at the same time.

  “Sweetie, what we want to know is why, if you’re missing Maggie so much, you don’t go to her?” His mom patted his hand.

  “Also, if you make amends, maybe she’ll come back to the diner, and we can all get extra bacon again.” Nonna patted his hand as well.

  “I don’t want her to come back to the diner,” he growled.

  And he meant it, although perhaps not for the reasons they thought. On one hand, he’d give anything to see her again. Just once. To have her spill eggs, or a sandwich, or, hell, even scalding hot coffee on him again, the way she had back when things were simple and he could satisfy himself—mostly—on the warmth of her smile.

  But on the other hand, the diner wasn’t where Maggie belonged. It was a quaint, small place, for quaint, small minds, and Maggie was…

  Maggie was a dreamer. Who dreamed big dreams and thought big thoughts and wanted big love.

  Not just for herself but for everyone else, which made her even more remarkable.

  What does your dream feel like? she’d asked.

  She hadn’t told him his priorities were out of whack. Hadn’t condescended to his dream of being police commissioner. She’d only supported. Lifted him.

  And he’d done the same for her.

  By leaving her.

  “Did she break up with you?” Nonna asked bluntly. “I break up with my fellas all the time when they stay moody for too long.”

  “No,” he said quietly. “I let her go.”

  “Oh Lord,” Maria said. She never used the Lord’s name in vain, which meant this was a desperate prayer, perhaps for patience, and Anth resisted the urge to squirm in his seat.

  “You didn’t fall into that ridiculous, ‘it’s for her own good’ nonsense, did you?” his mother asked.

  He remained silent.

  “Oh, Anth.” It came out on a sigh. A tired sigh.

  Nonna giggled gleefully. “Oh, you’re gonna get it now! That’s the preamble to a lecture if I’ve ever heard one.”

  “With all due respect,” he began, “I don’t think either of you understand—”

  “Probably because it’s silly, but go ahead, dear, explain it to us,” Maria said, setting her chin on her hand.

  He eyed her warily. “Well. Um, okay. It’s just…you both know that I want to be the police commissioner someday. That if I play my cards right, I’m on my path to get there. That everyone expects it of me. That I want it. Really truly want it.”

  They both nodded.

  He fell silent.

  They too were silent, waiting for more.

  “That’s sort of it,” he said awkwardly.

  His mother’s mouth dropped open. “Wait, that’s it? That’s your big reason? Did she not support your choices?”

  Nonna wagged her finger. “I like Maggie, but if you tell me she’s one of those pansy girls who gets all faint at the notion of her man having a dangerous job, I’d be happy to go shake some sense into her.”

  “No—” he held up a hand. “She was…she understood. She more than understood, she wanted it for me.”

  “So then what’s the problem?” his mom asked, relaxing slightly.

  “I can’t have both.”

  “Well, that’s just silly,” Nonna said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Of course you can have both. You should have both.”

  He looked at his hands folded on top of the table. “You saw what happened with Vannah. I never took her on a date. Stood her up more times than I can count when she tried to plan something. I missed dinners she’d cooked, outings she’d planned…I forgot her birthday…”

  “So your job came first with Vannah,” his mom said with the smallest of shrugs. “That doesn’t mean that it would be that way with Maggie.”

  “But it would be that way. It already is that way. Look at the way the Smiley case worked out. Had I been her boyfriend, I could have comforted her…been there. Stayed at her place, made her feel safe. I could have hugged her after she was held at gunpoint. But I didn’t get to be Anthony. I had to be Captain Moretti.”

  I had to choose.

  His mother’s hand rested over both of his, squeezing. “Those were exceptional circumstances. I’m certain that Maggie understood that.”

  He felt a little flare of hope ignite in his chest, but he stamped it out. “But there will be oth
er times—”

  “Other times when your work comes first, yes, but sweetheart, that’s true of all jobs. Anyone with any career is going to have to work late sometimes, or leave early sometimes. When you have children you may even miss the occasional ballet recital or soccer game because of it. But that doesn’t mean you’ll have to miss all of them. You just…you do the best you can.”

  “What your mother is trying to say is that you’re smelling a wee bit high-and-mighty, aren’t you? Thinking your job’s more important than other boyfriends and husbands and fathers.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but Nonna charged forward. “And you of all people should know that it is possible to have both. You had your father.”

  “Who frequently missed dinners,” Anthony was quick to add. “And who missed more than a handful of soccer games. Who made Mom cry on more than one occasion when he had to reschedule an anniversary dinner.”

  “Yes, there were occasional hiccups and tears. But you think Gloria and Bruce Varni next door didn’t have those very same issues? That anniversaries and piano recitals weren’t missed occasionally?”

  Anthony chewed the inside of his cheek. The Varnis owned a small specialty food store, and he immediately understood the point his mother was trying to make. Cops aren’t the only ones who struggle with work/life balance.

  “And more important,” she said, squeezing his hand once more. “In spite of everything you just mentioned about your father working, you grew up wanting to be just like him. Just like him, Anthony. Had it been so bad for you kids—or for me—I don’t think four out of four sons would have followed in his footsteps.”

  He pulled his hands away, running them over his face. Considering. “I need to think.”

  “Okay,” his mom said softly. “But one other thing…”

  “God, there’s more?” he muttered.

  “Definitely,” Nonna chimed in, her expression gleeful. “Can I be the one to tell him?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “That none of what we just said is really the point.”

  “It’s not.” His voice was flat. Confused.

  “Nope,” Nonna crowed, and tapped her temple. “That’s all head stuff. Logistics. What you really need to figure out, what will really matter at the end…is do you love her?”

  Anthony stared at his grandmother, then his mother, who shrugged. “Your grandmother’s quite right for once, darling. Either you can live happily without Maggie, or you can’t. Decide that, and everything else will fall into place.”

  Love.

  The word buzzed in his ears. Toyed with the edges of his mind. Settled in his heart, only to realize…

  It was already there.

  He loved her. He loved Maggie.

  And the women of his family were right. It was all that mattered. It was all that mattered all along.

  If someone told him right now that he couldn’t be a cop tomorrow, he’d be crushed, devastated. But he’d get over it. Eventually.

  But when it came to Maggie, there was no getting over her. Ever.

  The back door slammed shut as his father came back inside, skidding to a halt when he saw the three of them at the table. “Whoa, what did I miss?”

  Tony walked to the sink to wash his hands.

  “Your son just had a revelation,” Maria said, sounding quite pleased with herself as she stood and resumed her usual position by the stove.

  “Oh yeah?” Tony asked, turning to give his son a steady look. “What about?”

  “Maggie,” Nonna said, her voice even more blatantly smug than his mother’s had been.

  “Ah,” his dad said, grabbing a towel and drying his hands. “That’s good to hear.”

  “It is?” Anthony asked skeptically.

  He’d been prepared for his father to have some dark words about the dangers of getting involved with an informant when he should have been focused on his work, and that women would come and go, but the NYPD was forever, and blah blah blah.

  “Definitely,” Tony said. “That means you won’t bite my head off when you find out I invited her over for dinner tonight.”

  Anthony’s spine slowly straightened, and all the nerve endings that had felt deadened for weeks slowly came back alive. “Say that again.”

  “Maggie,” his father said, pouring himself a glass of wine. “I invited her over for dinner tonight. Someone had to take action.”

  Anthony stared at his father before transferring his gaze to his mother who looked…not shocked. “You knew about this.”

  “Of course, darling. Now why don’t you do something useful and go fetch your girl from the ferry dock. Oh, and ask her if she likes lamb. Oh, and—”

  But Anthony wasn’t listening.

  He was already out the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It hadn’t been exactly like she’d envisioned it. And she’d been doing a lot of envisioning on how to win Anthony Moretti’s heart.

  Everything from the classics (showing up on his doorstep with naught but a trench coat and high heels) to the more modern (declaration on Twitter) to the truly iffy (getting ahold of a police radio) had crossed her mind, but nothing had felt right.

  In the end, she’d settled on simply calling him. Asking if they could talk.

  But before she could get there, Tony Moretti had called her.

  Invited her to family dinner. Actually, invite was a gentle, inadequate word. Her presence had been demanded.

  So here she was, standing on a Staten Island ferry dock, wearing the best of her new dresses, a pretty blue wrap-dress thing with her new boots, and…no sign of Anthony. Or any Moretti.

  Tony had told her all she had to do was make it onto the Staten Island ferry and someone would be there to meet her.

  And she’d hoped—oh, how she’d hoped—that that someone might be Anth.

  Only, Maggie wasn’t entirely sure Anthony knew about his father’s invitation. Tony had been particularly vague about that, which would have made the old Maggie chicken out.

  But new Maggie almost hoped he didn’t know. Hoped that surprise would work in her favor, would jolt him into realizing what was right in front of him, and—

  And then he was right in front of her.

  Walking toward her, his stride slow but purposeful.

  Maggie sucked in a long breath, letting herself relish the sight of him. He was wearing jeans and boots and a long-sleeved white shirt. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his down vest, and he looked wonderfully, boyishly handsome.

  She didn’t move toward him. Couldn’t make her feet move. Or her brain either, for that matter.

  Maggie had spent the past several days trying to figure out what she’d tell him when she saw him again. She had whole speeches prepared on how she wouldn’t stand in the way of his career, and how she wanted to be his partner, and now she couldn’t remember a single word.

  He stopped in front of her.

  “Hi,” she said softly.

  He said nothing. Didn’t smile, just stared down at her with that familiar, unreadable expression.

  “I, um…your dad invited me to dinner? Which, I’m thinking maybe from the scowl, you didn’t know.”

  Still nothing. Not even a hint of a smile.

  Maggie rubbed her hands over the sides of her jacket. Darn sweaty palms.

  “If you don’t want me here, I can leave,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to leave, but I will. Because while I adore your family, and your dad is sweet, I didn’t come for them. I came for you, and to tell you—”

  His hands found her face seconds before he tilted her head up, his lips hovering above hers just briefly before he kissed her sweetly. Tentatively.

  It was a kiss that spoke volumes, but not as much as the look in his eyes when he pulled back slightly. They were softer than she’d ever seen them.

  “Oh,” she breathed slightly.

  He smiled then, slow and sexy before he lowered his mouth to hers again, one arm wrapping aroun
d her back while the other cupped the back of her head.

  Someone passing them whistled, and another grumbled about getting a room, but Maggie barely heard them. She was too busy wrapping herself around the love of her life.

  They kissed endlessly, and when he finally pulled back they were both out of breath.

  His fingers brushed along her temple, a little line between his brows. “I’m not good at speeches, Maggie. I don’t know…I’ve never known what to say in these situations—”

  “I know, I—”

  “—but I know I love you.”

  Oh. Oh. She hadn’t known it would feel this good to hear it. She thought nothing would ever feel as good as loving him, but knowing he loved her back? That was better.

  “I think you’re supposed to say something,” he grumbled.

  “I was supposed to say it first, you insanely bossy man,” she said, her palms resting against his chest. “And I’m not sure I want to say it second.”

  “Say it anyway,” he said, a little desperate. He bent his knees so they were eye-level, his gaze pleading. “Say it, Maggie. Say—”

  “I love you too.”

  Anthony Moretti’s grin was gorgeous and Maggie was pretty sure she fell in love all over again at the sight of it.

  “You should smile like that more often,” she said, her fingers finding his lips. “Or on second thought, don’t. Save them all for me. Just for me.”

  He kissed her again, then trailed his lips over her cheek to her ears, and he kissed her there too. “You’ll always come first. You’re everything. You know that, right?”

  “I do. But I’ll never make you choose, I swear it. I’ll be your biggest fan.”

  He pulled back, his grin wicked. “Could you also be my nakedest fan?”

  “Um, I better be your only naked fan.”

  He laughed and the sound was wonderful. Then he reached for her hand, and that was wonderful too.

  “I’m supposed to ask you if you like lamb. Or maybe chicken,” he said as they walked hand in hand toward his family’s house. “I can’t remember.”

  “I’m sure I’ll like anything your mother cooks. Do you think she’ll let me help serve? Maybe I can dump something in your lap for old times’ sake, and then you can scowl at me for old times’ sake.”