Ready for You (A San Francisco Brides Book)

by Juliano, Celia

“Okay.”

  He put his hand on the small of her back and they walked over to Taxis. It took a lot not to sneak his hand lower. The outdoor walkways buzzed with talk and kids running. The air mingled the warmth of early summer with the smells from the restaurants lining the shopping center, Italian, American, Mexican, Asian, as diverse as the crowd around them.

  “Are you vegetarian?” he asked after they ordered.

  “No, I just like veggie burgers. I make my own sometimes, but only my boys and I eat them. Their dad is a meat and exotic foods kind of person.” She glanced away, at the other bright red booths and yellow and black décor.

  “You like to cook?” His knee bounced, an involuntary habit. He placed a hand on it to stop the movement.

  “Yes, but the clean up gets old. What about you?”

  Maybe this was a mistake. He didn’t want to listen to her complain about her husband and her chores.

  “I confess I still go to my parents’ to get a decent meal. I’d rather do dishes than cook.”

  “Your parents live in the area?” Her fingers traced a line in the hollow of her throat, as if expecting to find a necklace there to toy with.

  He cleared his throat and made himself think of his parents. “In the house I grew up in.”

  “Claire?” He cringed at the high-pitched squealy voice.

  “Hi, Suzy,” Chiara said. She rose and hugged her. Claire? She lied about her name? She sat back down and he coughed at the other woman’s cloying floral scent. “This is Rocco. We ran into each other. He’s an old friend of my brother’s.” He raised an eyebrow when she glanced at him but he rose and shook this Suzy’s hand.

  “Would you like to join us?” he said.

  “Thanks, you’re sweet, but I’m meeting a friend. Have fun.” He relaxed back into the booth, a little too much. His knee bumped hers and she sat taller. Suzy wiggled her fingers at them in a wave and turned. She stopped and faced them again. “Oh, did Phil and the boys get off okay?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Her lips set in an unflattering line.

  “He’s such a great dad, you’re so lucky. ‘Bye,” Suzy said. He’d heard her tone of voice a thousand times, a combination of jealousy and adoration. Was there a little something going on there? Though what kind of guy would prefer a pudgy too-cute blonde over Chiara, if that was her name, he couldn’t figure. Then again, better to have something to grab onto than all skin and bone. But Chiara had just the right amount of cushioning, firm yet soft.

  She rolled her eyes after Suzy walked away and he stifled a laugh. “I thought you said your name was Chiara?”

  “It is, but I was on an anti-family kick when I met Phil and went by Claire. He still calls me that. Suzy’s a coworker at the pharmaceutical company where he works.”

  “He a scientist?” Does she know her husband might be having an affair?

  “No, in sales.” She fiddled with her straw.

  “Where did you grow up?” he asked as their food arrived.

  “Fairvale.”

  “I’m surprised we never met.”

  “People say it’s a small town, but it only feels that way.” She took a bite of her burger, small and polite. Maybe he misjudged her. Maybe she was just an unhappy, conventional, thirty- something housewife.

  “You’re right. Did you go to college?” His knee started up again. His mom and daughter would’ve had a field day with his behavior tonight. Not that they’d be out on a date with him.

  “Yes, in San Diego. That’s where Phil’s from.” The husband again. Was this some kind of punishment for his misdeeds?

  “My daughter’s going to SDSU in August,” he said.

  “She’ll have a great time.”

  “Not too much fun, I hope.”

  “Protective father?” she asked as they munched on fries.

  “I know what guys are like. I got my girlfriend pregnant when we were only nineteen. I’d been playing minor league ball and had to quit. Lucky for me, my dad gave me a job at his construction company.”

  “Have any brothers or sisters?”

  “An older brother and younger sister. They’re both doctors,” Rocco said.

  “Impressive,” she said.

  “Yeah. I take it you have a brother?” The usual chit-chat. But he wasn’t bored like usual. He wanted to know about her. He shrugged his shoulders in a quick movement.

  “Two, both older, and a younger sister.”

  “What’s your maiden name?”

  “Vitale. Chiara Luna Vitale.”

  Vitale. Shit. Hopefully not those Vitales. “Your name rivals mine: Rocco Ugo Buffone.” They laughed. Her laugh rang out, a real woman’s laugh, not some girly giggle or polite ha ha.

  “R.U.B.? Do you?”

  “Depends, buff too.” He grinned then cleared his throat and glanced at the TV on the far wall. “So, what do you write?”

  “Novels. I got started again last year. I’m not published yet.”

  “Finished anything?”

  “Yes, two books. I might need to give it up, though, at least for now. We agreed, I mean Phil and I, I would get a job once Max, he’s my youngest, started kindergarten. I haven’t found anything yet and he starts first grade in the fall.”

  He chewed his burger and looked at her, or really at her shoulder, which she hunched a little. She took a bite of her burger. The air loomed heavy in the protracted silence. He watched the baseball game on one of the four TVs. Dishes clattered and the low beat of hip hop music joined the chatter of the other diners.

  “What did you do before?” Better to talk, he had to at least finish dinner.

  “I worked at a book store until we moved here seven years ago. I majored in English lit in college, not very practical in the job market.”

  “Must help in your writing.”

  “Hard to say. Did you hope to get to the majors?”

  “Sure, doesn’t every ballplayer? But I had to do the right thing. I wasn’t that good anyway.”

  “Good enough to get drafted,” she said. He shrugged. “Do you still play?”

  “Only with my nephews.” He wadded his napkin and shoved it by his plate. She ran her fingers across the rough paper and wiped the edge of the table then stopped. Was she one of those neat freaks? “Would you like to see a movie?” Why did he ask?

  “I don’t know what’s out. Here,” she said, handing him some cash. He shook his head. She’d offered when they’d ordered at the front counter, but he’d refused then too. “Please, take it.”

  “I got it, thanks. I invited you.”

  “Thanks.” He stood and waited for her. She fumbled with her purse before she clutched it in her hand and followed him out.

  They read the movie marquee and she glanced around at the posters. A cool breeze rustled over them, but a fine line of sweat wet his forehead.

  “Comedy, chick flick, or action?” he said.

  “Action.” He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “What, women can’t like action flicks?”

  “Sure, ‘Salt’ or ‘The Expendables’?”

  “I’m sure you’d prefer Angelina Jolie, but I’ll go with Stallone.”

  “Now who’s making assumptions?”

  “Oh, you like to check out Sly Stallone?” she said, a playful challenge in her eyes.

  “Would you?”

  “He’s Italian. My grandpa says all the best things in life are.” She smiled as they waited in line.

  “Sounds like my dad. You didn’t always agree, did you?” If she was one of those Vitales, maybe she didn’t see her family anymore. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t in for a relationship.

  “No, it’s taken me a long time to realize they may have been right.”

  “They?” he asked.

  “My family. Let me pay for the movie?”

  “Nope.”

  “Thanks.” She studied him as they waited to enter the theatre. “Dinner and a movie, I hope--”

  “Don’t go there,” he said in a gruff voice.

 
“Sorry.” She blushed and brushed her fingers through her thick, wavy hair. He was unfair, she was probably right. He’d like to get his hands in her coffee bean hair, shiny and smooth. Was it her real color? He knew the best way to find out.

  “Want a drink?” He sure as hell needed one.

  “Only if you let me buy,” she said.

  He nodded--he was losing his resolve. He sipped his Coke as he followed her, failing in his vow to not watch her rounded, swaying hips and her firmly curved ass while both tweaked her dress, a centimeter here and there. She must work out. No everyday woman with two kids could look like that and not. Maybe she was on that sex diet he’d heard about several years back. He should be so lucky.

  The movie was all crazy man action, shooting and blowing up, but they both laughed at the same moments. He shifted in his stadium style seat every ten or fifteen minutes, both from her proximity and the warm sensation her robust laughter sent through him. Her hand lay on the armrest. He smoothed each finger with his. She shivered as he placed his hand over hers. In the flickering dark, he could push that armrest out of his way, slide next to her, and his fingers could have some real fun under that convenient dress of hers. Instead, he left his hand on hers, smiling when she shifted her hand and laced her fingers in his. No need to rush, they had all night. He sat still until the movie ended, their moist palms cemented together. When they stood, she pulled away and walked out. He followed, all the way to her car in the huge, bright, packed parking lot.

  “What’s wrong?” he said while she unlocked her door.

  “Nothing. Everything.” He squeezed her arm. “Don’t.” She faced him, so close he could have leaned her right against the car and… “I know what you must think, but I’ve never cheated on Phil. I’ve never even tried until now.”

  “I didn’t think you had.” Liar. Shit, and he had to go to church tomorrow for his niece’s christening. “Were you trying?” Her face went as red as…okay, get your mind off it.

  “I’m going. Thanks for the night out.” She hesitated, fingering that sweet spot right above her cleavage.

  “Is your brother’s name Santo?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “You weren’t lying. We went to high school together. We weren’t exactly friends…” Can’t stay friends with a guy who bangs your girlfriend.

  “Thanks,” she said. He held her gaze, sparkling but almost scared. He caressed her arm, her skin warm and smooth, her scent all heat and sex. He leaned in, but she ducked into her car and slammed the door.

  “Wait,” he said. She wouldn’t look at him. He stepped away to let her car back out. She sped off. He ran his hands over his hair. No luck tonight. Or maybe he had gotten lucky, just not the way he’d hoped. He rolled his shoulders back, stretched, and strode to his truck.

  Chapter Three

  Chiara gripped the steering wheel so hard all the way home her hands started to numb. Her house stood, empty and dark, save the light shining on it from the car’s headlights. Phil’s car. What kind of person drove a Prius and used an air freshener in it? The citrusy, sweet smell made her throat itch. She breathed deeply as she walked up to the front door. She thought about smelling her hand, just to see if any of Rocco’s powerfully natural scent lingered. Instead, she went into the bathroom, washed her hands and face, and stared at herself in the mirror. She gripped the counter and smirked at her reflection. She wouldn’t cry. She didn’t deserve her own sympathy or anyone else’s. Time to drown her troubles in wine and chocolate.

  The morning after, but not in bed with a hot guy. She would have regretted that anyway-- just as well the bed stretched next to her, empty. She opened one eye. Light high beamed in through the crack in the bedroom curtains. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “So! Are you still in bed?” The front door slammed. Why had she given her sister a key? And why did Isabella insist on using those old nicknames: So and La, from the song in “The Sound of Music”? Because her little sister liked to annoy her.

  “Yes, La.” Chiara held her head as she sat up. She should not have had that wine last night. And the chocolates--her stomach plunged. Her sister, Isabella, bounced in, a bagel bag in hand, which she shook at her with a grin.

  “You don’t look so good.” Isabella set the bag on the dresser, sat next to her, and placed a cool, slender hand on her forehead. “No fever. Did you drink last night? Ohh, while the Phil’s away, So goes to play?” She waggled her eyebrows. Chiara groaned back onto her bed. “Were you? Oh my God! Who? What? Where?”

  “Shut up. Why are you here?”

  “So nasty. Where’s the CD? I’ll put it on.”

  “Nooo,” Chiara wailed. Isabella patted the bed and went out. The thump of the CD case echoed in before Julie Andrews’ high voice sang out “Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La…” and Isabella joined in, off key as always. Chiara flattened a pillow over her head. Why had “The Sound of Music” been her favorite? Isabella would never let her forget it. Though she was five years younger, Isabella had a prodigious memory. “Turn it off,” Chiara shouted, her mouth sticking out from the bottom of the pillow.

  “Happy now?” Isabella’s voice boomed in the blessed quiet. “Now, I need a favor.”

  “Figures.” Chiara propped herself up.

  “Matt had to go up to San Francisco, a problem at his shop, and I need a date for a christening party.”

  “A christening party? Go by yourself.”

  “No, you know I can’t stand going to these things alone. It’ll be sooo much more fun with you.”

  “Who is it? Not one of your friends?”

  “No, the woman I’ve been covering for. And I need to go. I’m hoping she and her partners will ask me to join the practice. You’ll probably make a better impression than Matt, anyway. She comes from a crazy Italian family like ours. You know how they love women like you.” The woman most people thought she was: a proper, respectable housewife and mother.

  “Shut up.”

  “Then you wouldn’t have to drive to Oakland for the boys to see me, their office is right here…” she said in a sing song.

  “It’s a deal, if you toast me a plain bagel and get me a glass of juice. Did you get light veggie cream cheese?” Chiara eased herself out of bed and padded toward the bathroom for a couple of Tylenol.

  “Of course. Find something nice to wear, but no black. It’s a daytime thing and you don’t need to hide that body, you know.” Isabella winked before going to the kitchen.

  Chiara studied herself in her boy shorts and tank in the closet mirror, still not used the person she saw. Huh, not bad for the thirty-five-year-old mother of two. She went on tiptoe and circled around, admiring the relatively new firmness and definition of her curves, where before there had been just jiggle and flab. Still a little cellulite, a few old stretch marks, her breasts not as uplifted as they were pre babies…she sagged and dropped to her heels. Thank goodness things didn’t go anywhere with Rocco, though he must be forty if he’d been in her brother Santo’s class. A guy like him could probably get some sexy young things. She trudged into the bathroom.

  “Is this all you’ve got?” Isabella said half an hour later as they surveyed the outfits laid on the bed.

  “I’ve been a stay at home mom for almost seven years and I gave most of my old clothes away when I lost the weight last year. I only have this one suit, if you want me to look dressy.”

  Isabella frowned. “Too bad you can’t borrow something of mine.”

  “Yeah, right,” Chiara said. It was her sister who ended up looking like Julie Andrews, tall and slender, a dancer’s body, while Chiara inclined toward dumpy. Isabella rifled through the closet and pulled out a cap sleeve A line fuchsia dress.

  “What about this?”

  “I thought you wanted me to make a good impression.”

  “This isn’t Phil’s family and you look good in bright colors,” Isabella said.

  “It’s from last year.”

  “Big deal. Put it on.” Chiara obeyed. “I know yo
u. Where are the matching shoes?” She dug in the back and found the box.

  “I can’t.” It was the first, the only, outfit she’d bought after her forty-pound weight loss. She’d been saving it for a special occasion, but after a year it was still unworn.

  “Why not? They’re cute.”

  Chiara sighed but put on the strappy heels. Thank goodness she’d shaved and given herself a pedicure yesterday.

  “Ready?” Isabella said.

  “Now?”