“The thought of the great smells in this place drew me in.” I smiled and joined her on the server side of the counter, tying an apron snugly and jamming my Jivin’ Java ball cap on my head.
“When are you going to give up this job?” asked Devaney, her own cap tilting precariously on the back of her wild, springy curls. “Aren’t you a famous sportscaster yet?”
“Ha! I wish! You know I’m lucky to have the part-time hours there that I do. I definitely need the salary here to make ends meet—along with the formidable tips.” I rattled the tip jar and made note of the clatter of a few coins and bills that Devaney had accumulated on the day shift. I scooped those out, since those were hers, put them in an envelope, and tucked them under the counter.
When I moved into town to take my job, I had to get those sportscasting hours on my resume and on film, even if it was a part-time job. I also knew I had to supplement my income. When this opening at the cafe came up, I thought “why not?” since I had barista experience from when I was in college. My dad had always said, “Never be ashamed of honest work.” I remembered how Kurt Warner worked stocking grocery shelves when his pro football career as a quarterback was not panning out, and he went on to fame. So, slinging cappuccinos for a while couldn’t be too bad.
For a part-time job, it was perfect. My hours were flexible, my boss was a great person—and a sports fan who loved the fact that I could yammer on with him about football and baseball. Devaney was a great co-worker who never left the cafe in disarray when we changed shifts, and we worked well together when we needed to, like this evening.
We went about our prepping, slicing ingredients, assembling sandwiches, lining up cups and the coffee and tea fixings, and adjusting the tiny tables in the front of the house.
“Hey Maisie, do you ever wonder why people would come here for a sandwich and coffee for dinner rather than go for a real meal?” Devaney asked.
“I think they just like this cozy little place,” I shrugged.
“I have a theory,” she said. “I think they see you on TV and want to get a glance at you.”
“Ha!”
“Seriously. You are as close to a celebrity as we have around here.”
“As ‘close’ to a celebrity? Thanks for that.” I whipped the towel in my hand and popped her on the hip.
“Hey!”
“You deserved that,” I said, pretending to be hurt. “Besides, I don’t think anyone recognizes me in this glamorous uniform with my hair sandwiched up under this classy chapeau.”
Devaney tiptoed behind me and whispered into my ear. “I don’t know. That hottie who came in a few minutes ago and sat down has had his baby blues trained on you.”
She unsuccessfully hid, pointing to a tall drink of water in the corner. I glanced up and I know my face brightened when I saw him. Wiping my hands on my towel, I dashed around the counter, leaving Devaney in an amazed stare.
2
“Vinnie!”
I tackled the man in the corner and landed in his lap, covering his grinning face with kisses and hugging him tightly.
“Whoa! Calm down. You’ll wrinkle the suit and break the chair,” he laughed. But his own hug kept me tightly on his lap.
“What are you doing here?” I punched him on the shoulder and moved to the chair next to his, since I noticed we had attracted a fair number of gawkers. I motioned to my rubbernecking co-worker to come join us. She fluffed her hair and sashayed over.
“Vinnie, this is Devaney, the best barista in three states. Dev, this is my brother, Vinnie.”
Devaney was momentary stunned and looked from one to the other of us.
“Your brother? I thought by the way you greeted him that he was—”
“You haven’t figured out by now that Maisie is … enthusiastic?” asked Vinnie. He stood to shake her hand and gave her the full effect of his smile and sparkling eyes.
“Sit down, cover boy,” I rolled my eyes. My brothers were all enticingly tall and perpetually tanned, with dark Mediterranean curls and turquoise eyes. Their charm was legend, and I had spent a lot of my teenage years snapping my girlfriends out of crushes on them. From the rapid rate of Devaney’s blinking, she had obviously already fallen under Vinnie’s spell.
“Dev. DEV!”
Too late.
I turned to Vinnie. “Can you turn down the wattage just a skosh, bro?”
“It’s a curse,” he grinned, giving the answer that he usually gave, being the tallest, handsomest of my six brothers.
For the second time, I snapped Devaney with the towel I had hanging from my pocket. She cleared her throat.
“So, Maisie’s brother Vinnie, what brings you to our little burg?”
“I’m on a business trip and just decided to stop in, to make sure my little sis isn’t getting into any trouble.”
“And what is it that you do for business?” She batted her eyes prettily.
“I’m a scout for the Pittsburgh Steelers. Do you like football, Devaney?” He straightened the crease on his impeccably tailored slacks as he sat back down, and reorganized his collar and cuffs.
Devaney leaned forward on the small cafe table with a move that accented her best assets, and answered, “I love it.”
“Okay. That’s it.” I pulled her to her feet. “You know you hate football and don’t know a quarterback from a quart of milk. You also know that there are customers waiting.”
She stared at me pointedly, noting that I worked there as well.
“Dev …” With one word, I managed to convey all I needed to.
“Hmph.” She turned to head back to the counter, but her sassy walk was not wasted on Vinnie.
He cleared his throat and turned to me.
“She seems like a nice girl.”
“You are a merciless flirt, brother dear.”
He splayed his hand on his chest in an innocent gesture and blinked his eyes.
“Yeah, Vin, that virtuous act doesn’t work on me.”
“You are too much like Ma, baby sister.”
“Good thing. So fill me in on why you are really here.” My eyes narrowed.
“I have a running back and a long snapper at the college nearby that I need to check out.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh.” I nodded. “And where are they playing, seeing as how football isn’t in season, the draft is over, and they haven’t started practice yet?”
Vinnie threw his head back and laughed.
“You think you are so smart because you are a ‘sportscaster,’ don’t you? As it turns out, I’m just here to review tapes with the coach.” He reached over and tweaked my nose, in a gesture that harkened back to childhood.
“Um, that’s not usually your beat and—hey, wait. Stop putting the word sportscaster in quotes. It IS what I do.” Well, that is, when I’m not frothing cappuccinos and serving muffins.
He caught my eye and realized that I wasn’t in the mood for teasing.
“C’mon, Mais, you’ll get your breakthrough. Seriously, I do have some off-season meetings in the area. But when I was on the phone with Ma and accidentally mentioned that I would be near here, you know she insisted that I make sure that you were alive.”
“And eating.” I smiled. My mother was only half-Italian but had enough of the blood running through her system to be concerned about everyone’s dining habits.
“She just worries,” Vinnie said.
“I know, I know.”
“Pop also was worried.”
“About what?”
“Well …” Vinnie glanced meaningfully at my barista garb.
I blew a puff of breath, attempting to maintain my composure. After all, Vinnie didn’t deserve my irritation. Of all my siblings, he had always been the most patient with my practicing the art of sportscasting, no matter how much he teased.
“He knows that this part-time job is just financial, to make sure I can pay the rent, right?”
“Oh, he knows.”
I contemplated before attempting another
comment. Then what was the problem? Did Pop not have faith in me? I sat back and crossed my arms.
“Oh, Maisie,” Vinnie uncrossed my arms and took my hands in his. “He just loves you. You’re his baby girl. He knows you’ll be successful someday. He just wishes you would let him help you more.”
I shook my head vigorously.
“No! You boys didn’t use his connections, so I’m not going to, either.”
Being the daughter of a nationally known university football coach could have opened so many doors, but I wanted to stand on my own feet.
“You may think we didn’t, but the truth is, there aren’t too many places where Pop isn’t known. We may not have consciously used his name, but I’m sure it helped in some way.”
I pondered that for a moment.
“Sammy didn’t have advantages because of Pop.”
“What? At the seminary? Uh, maybe not.” Vinnie was forced to agree, letting my hands drop. After a moment, he sat up brighter and added, “But remember, he was asked to coach the soccer team at the high school at the parish where he was assigned. Do you think that was by accident?”
I laughed.
“I’ll give you that one. Sammy has never been separated from a soccer ball. Do you think his homilies always reference Pelé or Lionel Messi? Or that he talks about heaven being the ultimate goal?”
“Oh, I’m sure he works in a comment or two about not going offside.”
We both laughed, thinking of how our oldest brother had always been light as air on the soccer pitch and how amazed we all were when he dropped out of his professional career to pursue his calling as a priest.
“Back to you, though, Maisie,” Vinnie sobered. “Why won’t you let Pop just make a phone call or two? You could probably at least get a full-time gig at that mom-n-pop TV station you are at now so that you wouldn’t have to deal with making espresso.”
“They don’t have a full-time gig right now, and I don’t want them pressured into thinking they have to create one because Coach Valenti made a call,” I said. “And doesn’t Pop say not to be ashamed of honest work?”
“Yes, but I don’t think he means that you have to purposely take a job outside your career field if you can get one inside it, do you?”
Hmm. He might have had a point. No, I had to stick to my guns.
“Why don’t you guys just let me work my way up in my own way, okay? No one ever told any of you what to do, did they?”
“Sis—”
“No. I wouldn’t respect myself if I did this differently. And admit it, you guys wouldn’t either.” My violet eyes challenged his blue ones.
He clapped his hands on his knees, knowing he wasn’t going to win this battle. Girl or not, baby sister or not, I was always able to stand up for myself.
“Okay then.” He stood and pulled up a handled brown grocery bag from the floor next to him. “But you have to take this from me, since Ma specifically instructed me to stop and get these items for you.”
“What? Are you kidding? Even though she’s not here, she’s managing to leave a goodie bag? That woman is incredible. How did she—never mind!”
I opened the bag to find boxes of Barilla pasta, the only commercial brand my mother would use, cans of San Marzano tomatoes to make acceptable pasta sauce, packages of my favorite biscotti, and a huge bag of Swedish Fish, my favorite chewy candy.
“Does she think I can’t buy these things here?”
“No, she just knows you won’t. And she’s probably not too far from right. I know you’ll sacrifice your favorite goodies if you’re on a budget.”
He was right. I hadn’t bought Swedish Fish in a long while. I broke open the bag on the spot, just to have a few.
“Mm. Want some?” I offered as I chewed noisily.
“No, no. I’m enjoying watching you.” He stood up, cleared his throat, and reached into his jacket pocket.
I put my goodie bag on the table.
“You better not be reaching for any kind of currency, Vincent.”
“Ssh. You better take this, because I’m not going to lie to Pop and say you took it if you don’t. And I’m not going to try to explain to Ma how I couldn’t get you to take it.” He handed me a check.
I didn’t look at the number on the check. I tried to push it back, but I soon realized this was a battle I WOULDN’T win.
“Okay, how about this. Can we call it a loan?” I asked finally. I didn’t have to cash the check, after all.
“If that makes you feel better. But just know this. I’m not going to come collecting for at least fifty years. And don’t play that game where you don’t cash the check.”
Rats. He knew me too well.
“You’ll mess up my bank account if you don’t cash it, and I know you don’t want to do that, do you?” He flashed that Valenti smile.
“Look, we’re starting to get busy, and I don’t really want to lose this job, you know?” I didn’t want to argue further. Even if I cashed the check, I didn’t have to spend the money, and I could pay him back at a later, less contentious date. I hugged him tightly. Gathering my goodies, I pushed him toward the door.
“Hey, don’t I get a chance to say good-bye to your friend Dana?” He attempted to move toward the counter.
“Her name is Devaney, and no. She doesn’t need another dose of your charm, and I don’t think I can watch you slay another victim. Just get going.” I hugged him and nudged him out. He blew me a kiss and winked ostentatiously as he left.
I shoved my goodie bag into the back room and hurried back to the counter.
“Wow, Mais, why didn’t you tell me your brother was so smoking hot?” breathed Devaney.
“Maybe because it would be creepy if I described my brother that way?” I scrunched my face. “He may be a flirt, Dev, but I think he’s pretty close to becoming serious with the girl he’s been dating for a while. After that, he’ll be totally off the market. Sorry.”
“I just wish they made more like him in the world,” she leaned on the counter.
“Well, full disclosure—my parents did. Five others.”
“Five! How did you stand it growing up with six awesome brothers like that?”
“Oh, I managed,” I laughed. Devaney obviously couldn’t see it from the perspective of the sister of six “smoking hot” brothers.
As more customers entered and we became busy, my mind wandered back to growing up with my brothers. Obviously I couldn’t see them as other girls did, but they were awesome in a different way to me. I smiled as I thought of how Vinnie proved that by coming out of his way to stock me with encouragement and Swedish Fish.
3
Switching from efficient barista to efficient sportscaster was not a difficult task, especially when I had several nights to sleep between the two. On Monday morning, I pushed open the glass doors leading into the station—admittedly with a bit of effort, since every furnishing in the station, including the doors, had seen better days. Let’s just say that Walter Cronkite and Howard Cosell would have felt right at home in these ’70s-era offices. Sure, Gordon had kept up with technology, but he hadn’t worried too much about aesthetics.
Our cheery receptionist Genette peered over her monstrous, scarred wooden desk, and a wide grin spread across her face as I entered the office.
“Maisie, my sweet girl, so good to see you this morning! You need to try one of the peanut butter chocolate brownies I brought in.”
She lifted a platter of enticing treats toward me. In a politically correct sense, Genette could be described as “plus-sized,” but she herself preferred the term “voluptuous.” She dressed stylishly, and her curves were always accented tastefully. More than one sales guy who visited the office gave her quite the second glance. Alas, Genette was happily married to her equally robust childhood sweetheart, Joe, who was the primary beneficiary of her cooking and baking skills. She was generous to a fault in sharing all sorts of baked goodies at the office. I was sure that the brownies she offered me that morning
were one of her own concoctions.
“Genette, you are a wiz in the kitchen,” I said around a mouthful of chocolate-y, peanut-y delight. “I can cook, but I wish I could bake as well as you.”
“Girl, I could teach you how like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Would do you good to put some meat on those bones, anyway.”
“Genette, you and my mother think everyone is too thin!” I laughed.
She leaned forward conspiratorially.
“Besides, new man wandering around the office. Might be your type.”
In addition to cooking up delicious goodies, Genette could be relied on to cook up gossip in our little office family.
I tried to shush her, since her stage whisper could be heard throughout the entire building. What is it about happily married people that makes them want to pair up everyone in the world? Don’t they realize that some of us are not ready to bake the wedding cake and buy the big white gown and flowers? I was sure the new man in the office was entirely pleasant, but honestly, Genette!
“Thanks for the goodies, but I need to get back to see what my assignments are.”
I took another brownie for good measure and, balancing it on a napkin on my papers and laptop, turned to walk back toward the sports broadcasting area. Unfortunately, I wasn’t paying attention and smacked into another human, dropping not only my brownie but everything else I was carrying. Great. Chocolate-peanut butter mess—I was a human Reese’s cup.
“Sorry about that,” said a sincere, mellow baritone.
I looked to see who had caused the chaos, moving my glance from the floor up.
Shoes: stylish, yet sturdy leather high-tops. Were they Belgravia? Pants: perfectly fitting distressed black denim. Jacket: black, leather moto with an asymmetrical zip, worn over the simplest plain white T. This guy got aces for style, that’s for sure. He pulled me up, and I tipped my face slightly and saw his face.
Oh I knew that countenance. Coal black hair with a slight wave surrounded a rugged, clean-shaven face with high Slavic cheekbones. Piercing gray eyes hooded with intense, dark brows. A smile as sincere as the voice that had just spoken.
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