Yesterday's Stardust

by Becky Melby

  “I’ll get it.”

  She held up her hand. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.” By the time she lifted her head, he was standing in front of her with a glass of water. She swallowed the tablet and stood slowly, determined to take the glass back to the bathroom herself.

  “It says you’re supposed to take this with food. I’ll get you something.” He turned toward the door.

  “No. Thank you, but I’m fine. I need to get going anyway.”

  He turned back to her slowly, rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Good idea.” Two words, thick with sarcasm. “It’s not safe to sleep in a locked car around here, but walking the streets at night is no problem, especially if you’re good and drugged up.”

  If he’d said it in jest she would have had a comeback, but there was not even a hint of amusement in his voice. She narrowed her eyes to block the glare from the overhead light. And his eyes. “Where’s my phone? I’ll call a friend to pick me up.”

  “At two in the morning?”

  “Yes, at two in the morning. Believe it or not, I have friends who will pick me up at two in the morning.”

  She stood, slower this time, and stepped toward him. He didn’t budge. She moved to his right. He blocked the way.

  No command in her repertoire would stop the tears. Her breath shuddered. The next thing out of his mouth would be a sarcastic jab about women using tears to get their way.

  “Look.” Nicky rubbed the dark stubble on his chin, leaving several unguarded inches on his left. She moved. His arm shot out. His hand grasped the doorframe. “You’re quick.” Ripples deepened above one eyebrow. He sighed. “Come downstairs and get something to eat first.”

  More of a command than an apology, his words seemed to compound the effects of the pill. She nodded, subdued as if the jagged tiger teeth hovered over her.

  Dani sat on the stool Nicky pointed to and looked around. Crocks of rising dough covered with white towels sat on the back of the black iron stove. Racks of drying pasta as long as Nicky was tall lined the counter. The smell made her stomach growl. Nicky buttered a piece of bread and cut several slices of cheese, then poured a glass of milk and set it in front of her without a word. He nodded at her thanks then turned his back on her, washed his hands and punched his fist into a mound of rising dough.

  He wore khakis, a form-fitting white T-shirt, and an apron folded at his waist. Biceps bulged as he worked. He stood at a slight angle, giving her a perfect view of his profile. Did he know how gorgeous he was? He could easily have been a model. All he lacked was a smile.

  “This place has so much atmosphere. What does it feel like to stand in the exact place your great-great-grandfather stood, making bread the same way he did?”

  Nicky shrugged. He rolled out dough, sliced it into strips, and lined them on baking pans. He brushed the breadsticks with melted butter and sprinkled them with parmesan cheese.

  This is going well. “I worked at a pizza place in high school. A chain. The breadstick dough was frozen, and we had to put this thick yellow junk on it—coconut oil and artificial who-knows-what.” She took a bite of the bread. “Nothing like this. Nothing. This is incredible.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  She watched his hands, mesmerized by his speed and skill. “Can I ask you something?”

  “You can ask.”

  “Did Rena say something to color your opinion of me before you met me?”

  He turned toward her, wiping his hands on his apron. “No. Did she know you before that night?”

  “Not really. I came in for dinner earlier, and I fed her some lines.”

  Nicky raised one eyebrow, walked to the sink, and washed his hands then dried them on paper towel.

  She’d seen glimpses of a smile. Flashes that disappeared like match light. Somewhere deep inside this man, there had to be more. What would it take to make Nicky Fiorini laugh? “When she told you you had delusions of grandeur—that came from me.”

  His eyes held just the slightest gleam. “Figures.”

  “So you formed your opinion of me simply on the fact that I fell asleep in a car.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So if I had met you before you called the cops on me, you would have had an entirely different attitude?” “Maybe.”

  For no reason she could come up with, she felt like laughing. She cocked her head to one side. “So if we started all over and pretended I’d never been here in the middle of the night—the first time—would you be nice to me?”

  Without a word, Nicky walked over and picked up the prescription bottle and read the label. “Maybe. When you’re done with these.”

  She giggled. “Can I ask you another question?”

  “Why not? You’re on a roll.”

  “When’s the last time you really smiled?”

  He opened a massive stainless steel refrigerator, took out a tub of butter and a carton of cream. Angled toward her now, he raised hinges on an industrial-sized mixer, raising the beaters out of a bowl. He added cream without measuring then put the carton away. Back at the mixer he paused, finger on the power button then sighed. He walked away from the mixer and pulled out the stool across from her. “How about if I ask the questions for a while?”

  Dani pushed her plate aside, folded her hands in front of her, and nodded.

  “You were at the memorial at the beach.”

  “That’s not a question.”

  Nicky bit the corner of his lip. “I’ll take that as a yes. So you do have a death wish, or the cost of my ad in the Times just went up because they’re paying you guys enough money to make risking your life worth it.”

  “Still not a question.”

  “Here’s one.” He fingered a strand of her hair. His fingers brushed her arm just above the bandage. “What’s with the weird hair?”

  “I was trying to blend in.”

  “With what? Tomatoes?”

  “With the kids. For a story.”

  His eyes widened. “You were trying to pass yourself off as one of them?”

  “What better way to get the inside scoop?” She smashed a crust crumb with her fingertip and let a slow smile spread. “It worked.”

  “Then how’d you get hurt? They didn’t beat you up for being a poser?”

  “No.” She took a gulp of milk. “China was there. She saw me and flipped out.” She left out the part about the gun. “She hit me with a stick, and then she passed out. I’m guessing she’s on her way to juvie.”

  Gripping the bottom of the stool, she waited for a blast like the one he’d ambushed her with the night they’d met.

  It didn’t come. Smile lines framed sculpted Roman lips. “Gotta learn when to duck.”

  I thought I had. All her training in bobbing, weaving, and blocking, and she hadn’t even had time to strike a defensive pose. “Guess I need some lessons.” If I’m going to keep up this charade. “So it takes a woman making a fool of herself to get you to smile?”

  “That’s some of the best motivation I can think of.”

  Her head felt suddenly heavy. She propped it up with her hand. “You’re really a lot nicer than your sister says you are. And you’re cuter when you smile. You look scary when you’re mad.”

  “Can I have some of that stuff you’re on?” Nicky stood and walked back to the end of the table. He sliced the rest of the dough into strips, put them on pans, and set them on the counter next to the massive stove. He scrubbed the area where he’d been working and where he’d been sitting across from her, then lifted another enormous bowl of dough and carried it to the table. He punched the smooth, rounded dough until it hissed and fell, then dumped it on the table directly across from Dani. “Cinnamon rolls. Want to help?”

  “Sure.”

  “Wash your hands.”

  She wobbled to the sink. Warm water flowing over her wrists seemed to slow time.

  “You okay?”

  She blinked. “Yeah. Sure.” She cranked the faucet to cold and splas
hed some on her face.

  Cutting the dough down the middle, Nicky pushed half toward her, handed her a rolling pin, and set out containers of butter, sugar, cinnamon, and pecans. Dani pushed the rolling pin out across the dough and winced. Without a word, he rolled it out for her then went back to his own. She didn’t thank him in words, just nodded. “Did you always want to do this—run the restaurant?”

  “In a way. I always thought when it was my turn to take over I’d transform Bracciano into something spectacular. I wanted to live in Italy for a year, just soaking up the atmosphere and learning techniques to make our food even more authentic. I wanted to keep the flavor of this place, but buy the building next door and turn it into an upscale dining room.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “Life. And a father who can’t handle responsibility.”

  Dani reached for a gob of butter and slathered it across the flattened dough. “What happened to your mother?” Her voice lowered of its own accord. “Is she still living?”

  Nicky handed her a paper towel. “More or less. It’s a long story.”

  Sprinkling sugar over the dough, Dani stared into eyes haunted by stories she wanted to hear. If she could stay awake. “I’ve got all night.”

  Nicky sharpened a knife and laid it on the table. “My dad cheated on her. A million times, according to the arguments I heard. One day—I was eleven and Rena was just a baby—my dad came home after being gone for three straight days. My mother handed Rena to him and waved a plane ticket in his face. She never came home.”

  Dani slid her hand over his. “I’m so sorry.”

  He didn’t breathe until she pulled her hand away. He rolled his cinnamon-covered dough into a cylinder and cut it into one-inch slices then handed the knife to Dani.

  “So that left you in the role of parent.”

  “Yeah. There’s a lady who stepped in to help. That was huge, but Rena’s not a little girl anymore.” He looked toward the back door. “I see how she’s messing up, and I get mad. So I yell and she shuts down, and we never get anywhere.”

  “She’s at a scary age. One wrong choice can alter the course of her life. But you can’t make decisions for someone else. I know. That’s what I tried with China. Maybe someday I’ll learn I can’t keep taking on other people’s problems as my personal project.”

  “No, you can’t, but living with regret is worse than saying too much.”

  Her tired eyes took on new focus. “I get the feeling you’ve experienced regret.”

  “Haven’t we all?” For a moment, he considered saying more. But he couldn’t lose sight of the fact that she was a reporter. He stood. “You need to get back to bed.”

  “Only God can fix broken people, you know.”

  “Convince Rena to let Him, and I’ll be forever in your debt.”

  She stuck out her hand. “Deal.”

  He shook it and held it. “Just name your price.”

  “I think I already have.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Lunch. Today.”

  “Look at this.” Rena slid her phone across the counter.

  Dani wiped cinnamon roll frosting on her napkin and read the text. WDYT ABT LN? CHI CRAZY. CHICK OK? SC. CM.

  “Um…” Dani bit the corner of her lip. “It would be a lot faster if you translated rather than me guessing. I text, but I’m an English major. My friends know I’ll go nuts on them if they do that to me.”

  “You gotta learn this stuff if you’re going to be writing about us.” She ran her finger across the screen. “This is from one of the Sisters.”

  “Sisters?”

  “I’ll explain that later. One of the girls who was at the beach last night. It says, ‘What did you think about last night? Chi’s crazy. Chick’—that’s you—‘okay? Stay cool. Call me.’”

  “You got all that out of that?”

  “Yup. You’ll learn. I’ll teach you.” Rena set the phone down. “Last night didn’t scare you off, did it? It was a freaky night. I keep thinking what woulda happened if Rabia hadn’t charged at Chi like that. She’d be…” Rena shivered. “Anyway, do you still want to do this?”

  Dani sucked frosting off the side of her hand. “I’m scared, but not ready to quit. If you think we can still pull this off.”

  Seven silver earrings, four in one ear, three in the other, jiggled. “I think what happened last night gave you a little street cred, girl.”

  “Even though I wasn’t smart enough to duck?”

  “You wait. You’re already turning into kind of a hero.” Rena picked up her phone and typed a message so fast her fingers blurred. She held it up.” ICBW, BUT IMHO, UR IN.

  Dani dug her fingers into her hair and faked a scream.

  “I could be wrong, but in my humble opinion, you are in.”

  “I hope you’re right.” She fingered the bottom edge of her bandage and stared over Rena’s shoulder, picturing the man who slept upstairs. The man who was, now and forever, in her debt. Lines were blurring, and she couldn’t blame it on the pain medication. Lines between her job and her heart, the law and her passion.

  She forced her foggy thoughts back to the moment. “At least I think I hope you’re right.” She slid her hand in the back pocket of the distressed and now blood-specked jeans she’d borrowed from Rena, and pulled out a digital recorder. “We only have a few minutes.”

  Rena’s spine seemed to stiffen. Her hand rose to her mouth, and she bit down on what was left of the fingernail on her pinky finger.

  “You’re not going to use my name, are you?”

  “No.”

  “And no one in my family will hear this?”

  “No.”

  She got up and closed the door to the stairway, sat back down, and nodded.

  Dani turned on the recorder. “Renata Fiorini, do I have your permission to record you?”

  Rena swallowed audibly. “Yes.”

  “What do you see as the biggest problem facing—” Dani’s phone dinged. She pointed the screen at Rena and shut off the recorder. “See? This is how old people text.”

  Evan’s message—I’M OUT FRONT. ARE you READY?—forced her to gulp the last bit of coffee.

  “So what’s with you and Razzi? You said you weren’t going out with anyone.”

  Dani laughed. Evan would be thrilled she’d used the nickname even though, after hours in the waiting room, she knew his real one. “We’re just friends. We met at church, and I got him a job at the paper. He’s an amazing photographer. Always my first choice.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Twenty-two. He’s kind of like the little brother I never had.” “Is he single?” “Yes. He is.”

  Rena nodded. A slow, contemplative nod. “He’s cute. And funny.”

  “I’ll tell him you said that.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “No names, remember?” Dani slid off the stool and picked up the recorder. “I’ll just tell him one of the girls from the bonfire has a crush on him.”

  “I do not. I’m with Jarod.” No love-light lit her eyes. “So what are you guys doing today?”

  “He’s just giving me a ride home. I have a…lunch meeting at noon.” She walked around the table and gave Rena a quick hug. “We’ll talk.”

  “No.” Rena grabbed the napkin and marker and scrawled T2UL.

  Dani laughed, took the pen, and wrote a series of letters. TRKOTULU

  “I don’t get it.”

  Dani turned around when she reached the door. “Think about it. You will.” She walked along the side of the building to the H1 parked in front.

  Sliding into the passenger seat, she grinned at Evan. “I’ve always wanted a private chauffeur.”

  “Hope you realize you’re buying me lunch for this.” Dani swallowed hard.

  Evan pointed to a poster on the front door. “Let’s come back here. They have a buffet on weekends.”

  “I really need some time to relax.” It wasn’t a lie. She’d relax. At the par
k. With Nicky. “How ‘bout a rain check?”

  “Tomorrow then. After church.”

  “That sounds”—her mouth felt lined with beach sand—“fun.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Dani waved a honeybee away and pulled a sweet-and-sour chicken wing out of the box. Her fourth one. She rested her elbows on the picnic table. “This wasn’t what I expected.”

  Nicky dipped a celery stick in bleu cheese dressing. “Do you eat potatoes for every meal?”

  “That’s a weird question.”

  “Gallagher. That’s Irish, right?”

  She laughed. “So there’s more to you than pasta and pizza. I get it.” She looked out across an expanse of green grass bordered by a split rail fence. In the opposite direction, birthday balloons swayed in the breeze under the roof of a field stone shelter. Two young girls pushed toddlers on swings. “Do you come here often?”

  “A few times a year. When the weather’s decent, I pack rollerblades and try out different parks. Pet Springs might be my favorite. I can’t do vacations, so I need mini getaways during the week.”

  “I should do that. Kind of resets your brain.” She glanced at him. “There must be some way you can do vacations once in a while. Your father’s around some of the time, isn’t he? Do you own the restaurant or does he? Can’t you—sorry. Questions are my life.”

  “You’re good at it.” He shifted so he faced her without turning his head. “You’d think it would work that way. My grandfather owns the business. He’s in a nursing home. My dad doesn’t have the heart to have him declared mentally incompetent. My dad’s a chef, not a businessman.”

  “So a lot of the responsibility falls to you.”

  Nicky nodded. “We have good employees, but my dad and I are the managers and he’s AWOL half the time. If I left I just might come home to no business at all.”