Christmas and Cannolis

by Peggy Jaeger

  “Better. Thank you for…well, just thank you.”

  He squeezed my hand. “Want to tell me about it?”

  Before I could, we were interrupted by our server. Connor ordered water for us to drink and then a separate cup of tea for me. He gave her our orders after asking how I liked my meat cooked.

  “My mother always says a cup of tea helps make anything better,” he told me. “Now. Talk to me.”

  I don’t, as a rule, share things with people who aren’t family. It’s just another facet of my upbringing. I’d heard more times than I could remember Pop saying what happens in the family, stays in the family, kinda like that travel slogan. It’s clichéd to say old habits are hard to break, but when something is instilled in you at birth and then ingrained in you as you grow up, well, that cliché proves itself true time and time again.

  But just looking at Connor’s quiet and accepting face made me want to open up.

  “Today is a sad anniversary. I lost someone I loved very much.”

  He squeezed my hand again. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you. I was doing fine,” I said, “until I wasn’t. I visited the cemetery this morning, then decided to come see the tree, like I always do on this date.”

  “Did something happen? Something that scared you, because when I saw you, you looked panic-stricken. Like you were terrified.”

  “Not terrified, no. There were just too many people all of a sudden. Laughing. Happy. Being together.” With a shrug, I added some honesty I never would have to anyone other than family. “I got angry that I wasn’t feeling happy.”

  Connor’s eyes grew soft with sympathy. “I think that’s understandable considering what you’re going through today.”

  “Maybe.”

  Our server brought our water, my tea. For a few moments, I fiddled with making it to my liking. After taking a sip and letting it settle, I told Connor what had set me off.

  “I was watching a young mom and dad teach their little boy how to skate. Their family looked so precious, so happy. I was thinking how lucky they were, the mom and dad, to have that. To be a family. Then I got angry I didn’t have that anymore.”

  “You were married?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Young.”

  “You’re still young, so you must have been barely more than a child when you were.”

  “You’re sweet.” I sighed and then sipped my tea. “Some days I feel like I’ve lived a hundred years.”

  “You’re not alone in that.” His lips pulled up on one side. He dragged his free hand through that striking silver pelt and mimicked my sigh.

  “I was barely eighteen.”

  “Okay, that is young. How long were you married?”

  “Almost eight years. I’m thirty-two now.”

  “Still young. And your husband?”

  “He’s been gone for five years.” I lowered my head, shook it. I hated thinking about Johnny, hated how it had ended between us. When Angelina got sick, he couldn’t bear it. Started drinking, I swear he even started using drugs just to ease the pain. He never visited Angelina when she was in the hospital. In the end, I’d grown to hate him as much as he despised her illness.

  Tears swelled and then fell again just thinking about those horrible twelve months. The fights. The screaming. The one and only time he’d raised his fist to me in frustration and anger.

  “So you were twenty-six when this…happened?”

  “Twenty-five when it started. December tenth is the anniversary. Any death is miserable, but one so close to Christmas is, well, it’s almost unbearable.”

  Connor’s eyes clouded over for a moment as he nodded. “I agree. Any death is horrible, but when it’s someone you love, it’s even worse.”

  “That sounds like experience talking. Have you lost someone you’ve loved?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment.

  “My younger brother. He died of leukemia.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I put down my cup and reached for his hands as he’d done for mine. “Cancer just—” I shrugged. “—sucks. There’s no other word for it.”

  “I agree—”

  “Here you go.” Our server returned with our food, cutting off what Connor was about to say. At the same time a tall, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, well-dressed man of an age similar to my father’s sauntered over to our table. Connor slid out of the booth and was enveloped in behemoth arms and smacked on the back like a prodigal.

  “It’s been too long, boyo,” the giant said. “Too long. You’re looking well. Busy?”

  “Ridiculously.”

  “Aye, that’s good then. Keep ya off the streets and outta trouble. And who’s this vision, now?” He stared down at our table, and I did a quick side glance to figure out who he was referring to. Vision is a word no one would apply to me. Ever.

  “Regina San Valentino. She owns her own bakery and makes the most amazing things you will ever taste in your life.”

  “Is that so? Well, it’s nice to meet you, young lady.” He reached a hand across the table, and mine completely disappeared in it. “Aiden Gilhooly, this young hooligan’s favorite uncle, is me name.”

  “You’re my only uncle,” Connor said, shaking his head.

  “And happy you should be about it, boyo.”

  “Like I have a choice?”

  It was impossible not to smile at the loving, playful banter between them. Aiden Gilhooly looked and sounded nothing like Connor. If he hadn’t told me they were related, I would never have guessed it. Both were tall, yes, but that’s where the similarity began and ended. Connor’s complexion was olive and swarthy, while his uncle’s was vampire pasty, as if he shunned sunlight at all costs. A mop of mostly white hair tinged with faded patches of pale red sat on a head as round as a pumpkin. Eyes so blue they were almost transparent peeked out from under wooly white eyebrows while fat freckles danced across his nose and chubby cheeks.

  If I’d thought Connor’s heritage was anything other than full-blown Irish before now, meeting this uncle who had Ireland stamped across his features surely would have put an end to that thought.

  “This is my place,” Aiden said, a cheek-wide smile beaming at me. “And welcome you are, Miss San Valentino.”

  “Reggie,” I said, smiling back at him. “All my friends call me Reggie.”

  “And it’s delighted I am to be thought one.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles.

  Charm was stacked into this family’s genes by the fistful.

  “Now, boyo, sit yourself back down and eat before it gets cold.” He motioned for a waiter and held up an index finger. When Connor was seated back next to me, Aiden pulled a chair from a nearby table and sat with us.

  “I’ve been meaning to call,” Aiden said, “about that reservation app you set up for the place.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Not at all. In fact, quite the opposite. Revenue’s been up twelve percent since it went live. I’ve been meaning to call to thank ya for forcing me old keister into the twenty-first century.”

  Connor’s gorgeous face split into the most devilish grin, and a shock of pure lust whipped through me making the space at the top of my thighs tingle. How was it possible that just moments before I’d been feeling depressed and miserable, but one look at this man’s mirthful face and those feelings dissipated, to be replaced by sensations I hadn’t felt in forever?

  Madonna. I was glad I was sitting, my nether regions under the table. I was sure they were visibly quivering and shaking.

  “It only took me, what?” Connor cocked his head as he laughed at his uncle. “Ten years of asking?”

  “Pesterin’ and harassing me nonstop, is more the truth.”

  “Well, I’m glad it worked.”

  “Aye. Me, too, boyo.”

  While they’d been talking I’d taken a bite of the juicy burger sitting in front of me and discovered two things. One, I’d finally gotten my appetite back after not being able to eat a thing thi
s morning due to my cycloning emotions, and two, Connor was right. This was the best burger I’d ever tasted. That was saying a lot since Pop had any number of friends who owned restaurants he’d helped finance. And by finance, I mean he was a silent partner. Cash up front with no questions asked, for the right to come in any time he wanted and without the customary call-ahead reservation.

  Aiden’s burger put every other hamburger I’d ever tasted to shame.

  “So, young lady,” the man in question said as a tall drink glass appeared before him on the table. “You own your own bakery, do ya?”

  “Yes, sir. On the Upper West Side. I’ve had it for about three years.”

  “I can tell you were raised with beautiful manners, my girl, but calling me sir makes me feel as if I’ve got one toe dippin’ into the hereafter. My friends”—he emphasized the my—“call me Aiden. I’d like you to, as well.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “So. Three years? You don’t look old enough to vote, much less own your own business.”

  “Aiden.” Connor slanted him a glare.

  “Cool your jets, boyo. I meant no disrespect.”

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “Your nephew said much the same thing when we met.”

  The tips of Connor’s ears went pink.

  “Did he, now? And you still decided to step out with him?” To Connor he added, “She’s a keeper, she is.”

  It took me a moment to understand his meaning. When it sunk in, I felt heat scorch up my cheeks like an out of control wildfire. “Oh, no. It’s not…I mean, we’re not…Connor’s a customer. I’m making a cake for him. For an event. A charity event that he’s having next week. He needed a cake and, well”—I shrugged—“I’m a baker. So…” My mouth slammed shut when both men stared at me.

  Gesu.

  If my father had been sitting with us, he would have smacked the back of my head and said, “What’s up with you? You’re talking like you’re pazzo. Crazy in the head.”

  Connor took a bite of his burger, then chased it with a swig of his water. To his uncle, he explained, “It’s a custom cake for the Pearl’s Place party.”

  “Aye, that’s coming up soon.” Aiden nodded.

  “Five days,” Connor said.

  “Will be you attending?” I asked in a much more lucid, normal tone after taking a deep calming breath.

  “Aye.” His jolly demeanor slipped a bit, and he looked…sad, all of a sudden. I wondered why. “Aye. That’s an evening I never miss. ’Tis a good man you are, boyo,” Aiden told his nephew. Something passed between them, something I couldn’t read. A deep, shared meaning without the use of words. My family communicated like that all the time. A simple gesture or a one-word response that told a story to no one but the two speaking.

  Aiden lifted his glass and saluted Connor before taking a drink.

  “I can’t wait to sample your cake now,” Aiden told me. “Me boy, here, doesn’t give praise where it’s not due. If he says your cake’s amazing, I can be sure of it.”

  I tried not to blush, but it was next to impossible.

  “Well, now, I’ll let the two of you finish your lunch in peace.” He rose, glass in hand. “It’s busy I am and happy to be so.”

  Connor stood as well, and the two embraced again. I loved seeing this kind of easy affection between men who shared a family history. Despite my father’s habit of nicking his kids on the head when he was annoyed, he was always the first to grab any one of my brothers into a bear hug, kiss them on both cheeks, and tell them he loved them. I loved that being in public did nothing to deter them from showing their affection. It was nice to see that kind of behavior in families other than my own.

  “Reggie, darlin’, it’s been a delight.” He bowed, and I had to restrain the urge to jump up and hug him.

  “It was nice meeting you, too.”

  That jolly grin was back as he winked before he left us.

  “There it is,” Connor said, his gaze running across my face.

  “What?”

  “Your smile. It’s back. Good.”

  I tilted my head and tucked my chin, but I knew he could still see the blush I was trying to hide. “I think it’s impossible not to smile at your uncle. He’s darling. My nonna would have called him un uomo affascinante. A charming man.”

  Connor snorted. “A charming devil would be more truthful.” He reached over and took my hand in his again. My entire body relaxed, infused with a welcome tranquility that had been eluding me lately, today especially.

  “Are you feeling better now?” he asked.

  “Much.” I nodded and, for once, squeezed his hand to underscore the truth. “Thank you. Thank you so much. For rescuing me. For making me eat. For listening. Today’s been…harder…than it has in the past. I don’t know why.” I looked straight into his eyes, and I swear I could have dove into them, they were so inviting, so tempting. “You came along just when I needed help the most, so thank you, again.”

  “Regina, you don’t have to thank me for any of that. I should be thanking you.”

  “Me? Why? I haven’t done anything except collapse in your arms like an ill-timed soufflé.”

  His grin was quick and deadly. “Cute analogy for baker.”

  I shrugged because, well, I was a baker. As my nonna would say, è la verità. It’s the truth. “Really, though. How have I helped you?”

  Something thoughtful skirted by in his eyes as he stared at me. A corner of his lips quirked up, and he tilted his head, mimicking mine.

  “In ways you can’t begin to realize,” he said, cryptically. “The least of which is you’re taking on a substantial project for me at the last minute during what has to be the busiest time of the year for you.”

  I swiped my hand in the air and pressed my lips together. If I’d had a mirror, my guess is my mother’s reflection would be looking back at me. “You’re paying for that. A lot,” I added, stressing the word.

  Connor laughed. “But every bite will be worth it,” he said. “I’ve been having dreams about that chocolate flavor combination for days. Ever since tasting it in your workroom.”

  His gaze shifted, changed, heated as it strolled down from my eyes to my mouth. I knew he was remembering the other thing he’d tasted that day—namely, me.

  I swear he knew that I knew what he was thinking because his ears pinked again and he cleared his throat. With a subtle shake of his head, he glanced down at his empty plate and then back up at me with that half grin that turned my insides to mush.

  “Have you started on the cake?” he asked. “I imagine it’s not the kind of thing you can do all in one day.”

  “You’d be surprised what you can accomplish if a deadline is looming,” I answered. “But I plan on starting the baking tomorrow. I should be able to decorate it over the next few days and then deliver it, as ordered and requested, on Saturday night.”

  “Will you be delivering it, personally?”

  I’d thought about it, especially after speaking with my mother on Thanksgiving. I usually do accompany a custom cake when it’s delivered, just to ensure everything goes as planned. Don’t get me wrong, my delivery staff—made up of two of my nephews—is top notch and professional. We’ve never lost a cake yet, and by that I mean none have fallen of the delivery truck—literally fallen off, like from an accident—and we’ve been lucky enough to never deliver a cake to the wrong address, or on the wrong day, or at the wrong time. I’m a little obsessive when it comes to details, so delivery slips are checked numerous times before the cake leaves the bakery.

  Sometimes obsession is a good thing.

  Connor’s event wasn’t at Pearl’s Place, so I wouldn’t be walking back into the space that had such horrible memories for me. A major plus, there.

  I told him I would be, and we verified the time of delivery.

  Our waiter asked if we wanted any dessert or anything else. I shook my head when Connor’s raised eyebrows shot to me.

  “Thank you so much
again,” I said when the waiter left us alone. “You made what was turning into a miserable day so much better.” A thought whizzed into my head. “You know, I didn’t think about this at the time, but how did you happen to be there, just when I needed—?” I’d almost said, you, but switched it to “help,” at the last second.

  Connor shook his head and said, “Dumb luck. I had a meeting with a new client at 30 Rock. When it was done, I thought I’d take a walk and see the tree up close. I don’t get up this way much during the holiday season. I spotted you and called your name a few times. When I realized you hadn’t heard me, I sprinted after you just as you were about to cross the street.”

  My gaze dropped to my hands, folded in my lap as I settled against the seat back. “It was a wonder I wasn’t hit by a car. Or decked by someone I pushed out of the way. All I could think about was getting home as fast as possible so I could just shut everything out.” I lifted my gaze back up to him. “I’m so grateful you came along when you did.”

  Watching the colors change in his eyes was mesmerizing. Like the storm clouds they favored right before a rainfall, the expression in Connor’s eyes turned dark and tempestuous, exploding with a swirl of emotions I couldn’t decipher.

  “I don’t want your gratitude, Regina,” he said as he moved closer to me in the booth.

  “Oh?”

  Pathetic response, I know, but my mind shut down the moment his hand snaked into my lap, around my wrist, and then up my arm. His grip, like before, was gentle, but I knew if I tried to escape, I wouldn’t be able to break the hold he had on me.

  “No. Gratitude is the least of what I want from you.”

  “What…what do you want?”

  Why I felt the need to ask when his intent was so obvious I can’t explain. Chalk it up to those lonely teenaged days when I thought boys didn’t find me worth asking out.

  My throat grew tight as he dipped his head while at the same time tugging on my arm. A tiny line grooved between his brows as his gaze ping-ponged between my eyes, searching for…I don’t know. Every nerve in my body shot to attention, craving, begging for him to kiss me like he had at the bakery.