Valentine Kisses

by Reina M. Williams

  He grabbed the throw blanket off the back of the sofa and shook it out before handing it to her. She tucked it around her and eased closer to him, flashing him a quick—and devastating—smile. It took all he had to not offer to hold her close and keep her warm himself. It was enough that she was here, and trusted him, asked him for what she needed.

  Soon, they became engrossed in the episode, sometimes talking, sometimes nodding and making interested noises. Another episode came on. They both yawned, but he didn’t say anything because he didn’t want this to end. He hadn’t been so relaxed in a long time, and he enjoyed being here with Gina, her warmth and scent close enough to feel as if she embraced him. He leaned back and decided to surrender to the grace of this moment.

  Chapter Eight

  Gina started. A TV flickered images. She leaned against a solid shoulder. Vincente. They must’ve fallen asleep on his sofa. Just for a moment, she breathed in and stayed still, listening to his breathing and hers, sinking into his heat and strength. She turned to peek at him; his eyes flickered and he looked at her. Wow, did his gaze pack a lot of intensity. She hugged the blanket he’d given her—which, not helping, carried his caramel and coffee scent—around her chest. She was pretty sure her heartbeat showed somehow and made her feelings transparent.

  He wiped his hand over his face and gazed at her again. “Oh, uh... You’re here.”

  “Yes.” She’d been hoping for more than that lukewarm statement. She pulled the blanket tighter.

  “I, uh,” he said while glancing around, “didn’t mean... You’re welcome to be here.”

  “Thanks. Is that clock right?” It said one a.m., which meant she’d be missed at home. Where she’d left her phone. Her stomach dropped.

  “Yeah, we should get you home.”

  As if on cue, his phone rang. He picked it up. “Uncle Enzo, are you okay?”

  Gina tensed.

  “Yes, uh, actually, she’s here. We’d been talking, and fell asleep to the TV.” Vincente nodded but didn’t meet her gaze. “Yes, I’ll get her there. You too.” He pressed the end call button and set his phone down then rubbed his hands along his muscular thighs.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Your parents are...frantic. Your dad wants to call the cops, but your grandma stopped him. They wouldn’t do anything, anyway, you being an adult and it hasn’t been twenty-four hours.”

  “Right, right. That doesn’t help.” She stood, letting the blanket fall.

  Vincente picked it up, smoothed it, and folded it.

  “Argh, who has time for that!?” She sat again and hooked on her shoes. “You have no idea how my dad gets. What a nightmare.” Yet again, something she’d thought would be dreamy with Vincente was turning out to be the opposite.

  “I have an idea. You want me to get you home? Uncle Enzo said I could bring you over there and we could make some excuse.”

  She stood, smoothing her clothes and hair. “I’m not some damsel in distress. I can deal with my dad.”

  “I know you can. But do you want to? We’re just trying to help.”

  She plopped onto the sofa again. Relief washed into her. She didn’t have to face this alone, or even at all. While her parents had reason to be upset, what about those times she was in high school and her dad would disappear for the day, or the night, with no word, leaving her mom frantic and short-handed at the store? And then, he’d left, for over a month. That’s when she’d seen him, followed him one day after spotting him downtown. His false excuses played through her mind: “I had to be alone, my dad just died,” or “I need time,” or “I’m the father. What I do isn’t your business.” As if he were the only one affected by Grandpa Frank’s death and Uncle Raf’s illness? They’d all been grieving, Grandma Celeste most of all, and where had Dad been? Off having an affair, that’s where.

  She put her hands on her knees then raked through her hair.

  “You have a lot on your mind,” Vincente said. She couldn’t tell if he were asking her or just stating his observation. He edged near her and placed his hand on her arm. “Tell me. Maybe I can help.”

  “I can’t. You can’t.” Her voice was muffled.

  “You won’t.” The exasperation in his tone was obvious.

  She set her feet firmly on the carpet and spent a moment focusing on her breath. Then she said a quick prayer.

  “Thanks for being patient. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” She drew in another deep breath and exhaled. It was time to let this go. “Maybe you’d heard, but my dad had an affair after Grandpa Frank died, and while my uncle Raf was sick, and dying. Dad wasn’t there for any of us, and I still...get angry about it, and how he has a double standard for himself, and me versus my brothers.”

  “I...noticed. That must be hard, and lonely.”

  She blinked and swallowed down the lump that had been forming in her throat. But tears didn’t come. Instead, relief coursed through her, and muscles in her back and core that she hadn’t realized were tense relaxed. She nodded. As when she’d been younger, Vincente taking time to listen to her, to really see and hear her, soothed her hurt and helped her find glimmers of clarity and ease.

  He met her gaze. “It’s a kind of grief. For what you lost and what can’t be found again.”

  A small noise emanated from her. She’d rarely been so heard, seen. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “Thank you,” she whispered. Then she realized she’d invaded his space without consent, so she backed up. “Sorry.”

  He shook his head. “I... Let’s get you to Uncle Enzo’s.” His phone rang again. He checked it. “It’s him.” Vincente picked up and carried on a brief conversation. Then he turned to her. “He finally got ahold of your brother Frankie. He’s going to say you were there, okay?”

  She nodded. “Thank you. And I’ll need to thank Enzo.”

  He stood and held out his hand. She slid hers in his, her lips curling up at the way their fingers pressed together and fit as if they’d done this hundreds of times. In her mind, they had. A sigh escaped.

  “You all right?” he asked, leading her back through the kitchen.

  She stopped and faced him in the low-lit kitchen. The scent of coffee lingered, the scent of him. “Why did you kiss me...on my hand that night, and on the cheek yesterday?”

  He rubbed his free hand across his mouth. “I felt...”

  She waited. It seemed an eternity. “You felt sorry for me?” Her throat tightened again. Maybe it was a mistake, asking him. But, as he’d said, mistakes were human. She needed to know how he felt.

  “No.” He squeezed her hand. “I wanted more than those friendly gestures.” His gaze fell somewhere over her shoulder.

  Relief flooded through her. “So did I.”

  “You did?”

  “No, I just got you alone for giggles. On Valentine’s Day weekend.” She tugged him closer with a slight grin.

  “I thought...I don’t know.” He shook his head. “We need to get you to your brother’s.”

  Didn’t Vincente want to kiss her? She moved closer. He stepped away and his hand slipped from hers. Grabbing his keys and wallet, he slid them in his pockets. She bit her lip to keep from saying any of the jumble of words that rolled around her brain.

  He opened a closet then held out a sweater. “It might be chilly out.”

  She turned and he helped her on with the garment. His scent embraced her again. When she faced him, his gaze seemed to sear her, causing her core to heat.

  Stepping forward, she brushed her lips on his, her hands falling onto his chest. His strength, his warmth, the pressure from his return of her kiss made her moan lightly, even from the brief, seemingly innocent kiss. Rocking back on her heels, she glanced at him and her cheeks fired. His expression shifted so quickly, she couldn’t tell what he felt or thought.

  “I...should’ve asked...” She blinked. Impulsive. She’d hadn’t ever thought much about getting a man’s consent to kiss him. Usually, they asked her, or didn’t bother a
sking. She didn’t want to be a person who just kissed and touched other people without knowing they wanted the gesture.

  He still stood there, seemingly unmoving. His throat jittered, but he said nothing. Awkward.

  “Sorry, again.” She looked down then back at him, trying to figure out what was going on and failing. “I didn’t mean to invade your space or presume...but you did say. This shouldn’t be this hard.”

  “I did say, and you’re right.” He rubbed his throat. “I... Look, it’s late and your brother’s waiting. Who knows if your dad will decide to show up there.”

  “Good point.” Her ears hurt with the pent-up emotions pulsing through her. Why had he said he wanted more, but then seemed to brush her off when she tried to take it there? And where was her confidence? She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Meeting Vincente’s gaze, she spoke. “I feel like I’ve made it clear that I like you and I want to get to know you better. And now the ball’s in your court. That’s all.” Or, that was all for now.

  “You’re amazing.” He touched her fingers.

  “Glad you finally noticed.” She pulled off a smile.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ve noticed. Will you go to dinner with me, day after tomorrow?”

  “Like, on a date?”

  “Yes, on a date.”

  “Yes.”

  “Great.” His lips quirked up as held open the door to the garage. Then he placed his hand on her back as he led her to his truck. The protectiveness of his touch, and of his concern for her, sank in. He did care.

  She walked on clouds. She had a date with Vincente Bianchi. She had a dream coming true, maybe even answers to her prayers.

  Chapter Nine

  Vincente eased the truck out. He glanced at Gina. Tensing his body, he ignored the shooting heat blasting through him. Her hug, innocent and heartfelt, had both fired him up and soothed him. And her kiss had thrown him, causing him to forget everything for a blissful moment. Her bright clothes brought out some sort of sparkle in her skin and hair, which were, alone, enough to make him lose his cool. And he had, the way he’d been acting, stammering and unable to tell her how he felt. At least he’d managed to ask her out to dinner. So much for her being off-limits. That self-made rule needed to go. So what if Frank didn’t like it? If Gina liked him, that was what mattered. They could weather the family storm together. Maybe. It was too soon to be sure.

  “Ready?” he said before opening the gate with the remote.

  She nodded, smile beaming. How had he not noticed before the ball that she was the most beautiful woman in the world? Yes, she was also intelligent and honest and impulsive. And he didn’t know if they could be together. He didn’t want her to resent him for his money, or for their family discord, or for his ordered life.

  The moon was obscured by grey clouds and low-lying fog. He could barely even see the trees lining the street as he drove down toward Sal’s, near where Frankie lived in a rented basement room in a building up the street from the restaurant. As they approached the intersection of Columbus and Green, Gina slid next to him.

  “Thanks again, for everything. I wish things could be different.” She kissed his cheek, her lips warm and gentle. A sweet kiss. He gripped the steering wheel harder. Maybe they could...

  She edged away. “Can you just drop me after you pass the light?”

  Of course she didn’t want anyone to see him drop her off, though who might be out at this time of night... Her father was one possibility.

  “What do you wish could be different?”

  “Our family situation. But, I’m going to try praying. Maybe that will bring some peace, even if only in me.”

  He nodded to her. He’d be praying too. The light turned green. He drove through and pulled up to the curb. She motioned to the sweater.

  “Keep it, for now. Don’t want you to feel cold.”

  She wrapped the garment tighter around her and nodded. “I don’t, anymore.” Her voice, quiet now, sang with surety, each syllable landing in his heart. She slid out, waving as she closed the door. He watched her, driving to keep her in sight as she walked up the street. Her brother waited outside the downstairs door to his building. Vincente waved to them and turned the truck around, toward home.

  He rolled his shoulders and drove on. He wished things could be different too. He wished he and Gina could be more than friends.

  He drove home, continuing to picture Gina, to feel her lips on his, to ache for her to be in his arms, and more. This was bad. He hadn’t ever let himself feel this way. His late wife, Marie, had been as methodical and practical as he was, actually more so. They’d agreed, as practicing traditional Catholics, that marriage was the next step to their dating. But it turned out they weren’t compatible, and Marie didn’t want a family while he did. She didn’t want to live in San Francisco, so they’d stayed back east, even though by then, Grandpop was alone. Then, after filing for divorce, she’d gotten cancer. So he’d stayed to take care of her. Moved home after she passed. Those had been rough years, processing all the grief: his parents’ deaths, his aunt’s death, his marriage failing, his great aunt Angela and Grandma Theresa passing, Marie dying, and the slow demise of his hope. Though he’d wanted to find someone to love, he’d only had dates all those years—no one ever lasted, no one made him feel the way...

  A car honked at him, brakes screeching. He started. He gripped the steering wheel. He’d just run right through the stop sign near home. Get your mind in the moment. Gina was the moment, for him. And it wasn’t bad. It was a gift. It was grace.

  Thank God.

  VINCENTE WIPED HIS mouth with his napkin and thanked Marcella as she cleared the table after lunch. He and Grandpop had spent the meal discussing Bianchi Construction business, though Vincente’s mind pulled toward thoughts of Gina at every turn. Less than twenty-four hours before, she’d been in his arms. Her storm-washed scent still lingered on his clothes, distracting and muddling him.

  “Close the door, please, Marcella,” Grandpop said. He had returned this morning from his long weekend away. They had a house in Carmel where Grandpop sometimes went. His stay had been longer than usual, and Vincente wondered if something else was going on. But Grandpop couldn’t have known about what was happening with Gina.

  The door swung shut from the hall that led to the kitchen. Vincente glanced around the compact, sparse, comfortable sitting room and dining area. Grandpop had redone what used to be a ballroom into a private suite for himself after Grandma had died four years ago. Grandpop had hoped Vincente would have a family living upstairs by now, but it wasn’t meant to be.

  “I had a good weekend, nipote. How about you?” Grandpop ran a broad hand over his greying, thick hair. That hair was the trait he and Uncle Enzo shared; where Uncle Enzo was tall and lean, Grandpop was shorter, with a muscular, powerful frame and personality.

  “Fine, thanks.”

  “You had dinner with Enzo and the Marchesis, eh?”

  Vincente nodded. His thoughts drifted to that evening, when Gina had been both sweet, enticing, and angry. He understood better now that they’d talked, why she had that anger. Grief could do that to a person, and while she had Celeste, it sounded like she hadn’t had as much support as he had when he’d gone through his losses. His chest lightened—she’d let him support her last night, and more.

  “That Frank’s a real piece of work, just like his grandfather.”

  Vincente leaned back in his chair, ready for a story. Grandpop rose, stretched, and poured himself a small glass of Limoncello from the bar.

  He sipped it, walked to the dark green couch, and sat. Pausing, he relaxed into the cushions, crossing his legs and leaning into the armrest. Vincente stood and ambled around the room, giving Grandpop time to relax into whatever he wanted to say. As he walked, he picked up the few artifacts around the room—glass paperweights, a conch shell, an old inlaid box.

  “Bring that here,” Grandpop said.

  Vincente did. Grandpop pulle
d the gold chain he always wore from around his neck. It had a tiny key on it. Grandpop fitted it in the lock of the box and opened it.

  Vincente sat down. He’d never known what that key was for. Inside the box were a ring, a locket, and a few locks of hair. Grandpop pulled out the ring. The diamond set in the thin gold band caught the afternoon light from the window. Grandpop handed it to him. The lightweight gold was slightly burnished, as if it had been handled over the years, but not worn. It was a simple ring, and all the more beautiful in its sparse, elegant design. It should be on the finger of a beautiful, caring woman. Like Gina. Vincente swallowed and handed the ring back to Grandpop.

  “I presented this ring to my first love, Marina D’Angelo, when we were eighteen. But her father refused my suit. And she wouldn’t go against him. Her father and his friends believed my family was corrupt.”

  “I thought Grandma was your first love.”

  Grandpop set the box on the coffee table. “I loved your grandma very much. But we, even so young, had both loved and lost. It was one of the things that brought us together.”

  “Okay, so, what? What does that have to do with the Marchesis?”

  “The Marchesis and the D’Angelos were friends back in Italy. Celeste, being who she is, has not held any of this grudge, but her son, he takes after his grandfathers. And he’s sniffing around our business. He thinks we are all corrupt and worthless people. So judgmental, eh?”

  “We’re not exactly innocents, Grandpop.” Some of Grandpop’s friends had done him some questionable favors. The privileges of the rich, so they would say. That was why Vincente’s dad had moved, made his own way, and why Vincente had too. But once he’d come home after Marie’s death, he’d convinced Grandpop to stop taking those “favors.”

  “I know. And I was sorry for how we treated people, but I’ve made my peace with it. Now, I want this ring to be a part of a happy, fulfilled love.”

  When Vincente had married Marie, he’d been on the outs with Grandpop—and Grandpop hadn’t approved of Marie or their marriage. Vincente rubbed a hand over his mouth. He’d lost faith in himself, in finding lasting love. He closed his eyes a moment. That’s why he’d stopped dating. All his excuses about work and family commitments, about getting his life just right before he found the right woman, were just that, excuses. Like Gina had said. Gina had rushed into his life and helped him feel—alive, hopeful. He leaned forward and straightened the magazines on the coffee table.