“As much as it kills me to say it, you need to explore this. I’m worried about what will happen, but I know that if you don’t explore this thing between you two, you will regret it and you won’t be able to move on. So if he comes to you, listen to what he has to say, and then decide from there what to do.”
Biting my lip, I think about what he’s just said. I know he’s right. I won’t be able to move on until I figure out what’s going on between Antonio and me. I’m also scared to hear what he has to say.
“I’ll hear him out.”
“Good.” He gives my hands a squeeze. “Now I need to get back to work before Josie’s hair falls out. I left her in foils in my chair.”
I gasp. He never leaves a client.
“She’ll be okay.” He waves off my worried look and stands. “Are you done for the day?”
“I’m done here. I still need to run a few dresses back to clients,” I say as I stand.
He nods in understanding.
“Get home safe. If you talk to Antonio tonight, I expect you to tell me everything he says when I see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll call,” I say as he leans down to kiss my cheek before he leaves the office.
After leaving the salon, I head to one of my clients who lives just down the block. I drop off two dresses that she had rented out for New Year’s. Then I head to the East Side and drop off three more dresses to another client. By the time my cab pulls up outside my place, it’s already after eight in the evening. I’m not just tired—I’m exhausted. I haven’t been sleeping well these last few days. Not with everything that has happened.
I unlock the door and go inside the apartment, stopping dead when I see Mackenzie lying on the couch in a pair of sweats and a baggy T-shirt.
“Hey.” She lifts her head off the arm of the couch. I notice that her eyes are red and puffy. Then I see the mass of tissues that has collected on top of the coffee table.
“What’s going on?”
I shut the door.
She starts to sob, covering her face with her hands.
“Is the baby okay?” I ask as my stomach fills with worry.
“The baby is fine,” she whimpers, pulling her hands from her face.
“Is it Wesley?” I ask.
She covers her face once again and cries harder, making me worry about Wesley’s reaction to her being pregnant. I hope he didn’t say something about not wanting the baby. I resolve that if he did, I’ll get in a cab to go kick his ass.
Shrugging off my coat, I take a seat on the couch next to her and pull her into my arms.
“What happened?”
I rub her back and listen to her tell me about the fight she and Wesley got into this morning. A fight based on him saying that he wants to marry her but refusing to open up to her about his past. After she finishes telling me, I hold on to her as she cries. I try to comfort her. Eventually I help her up and get her into bed. Then I lie with her, listening to her tears as she continues to cry. In my gut, I know that she and Wesley will be okay—they love each other. Eventually they will find a way to work through this. Wesley will find a way to make this right. He looks at my sister like she’s the reason he’s breathing, so he will do whatever he needs to do. I just hate that they have to go through this right now—especially after just finding out they’re pregnant. Once Mac is finally asleep, I carefully get out of her bed and go to the bathroom. I change into pajamas, wash my face, and brush my hair. I leave the bedroom and shut the door, then get my cell phone so I can order some food. Seeing a text message from Antonio, I click on it as my pulse speeds up.
You haven’t texted me back. Is everything okay?
Sorry, everything is fine. I was just busy with work.
That’s okay. I’m on call this week at the station, but I was wondering if you will have dinner with me next Friday night? Seven?
I stare at the message, not sure how to reply. Part of me wants to jump at the chance to have dinner with him. The other part of me is freaked out at the prospect of having dinner with him. I don’t want him to do or say something that will hurt me again.
Risk it all . . . I remind myself quietly as I type my reply.
Sure, where do you want to meet?
I’ll pick you up at your place. We’ll go from there to the restaurant.
I’d rather meet you at the restaurant.
And I’d rather pick you up.
You’re annoying . . . Fine, I’ll see you at seven.
I press “Send,” then watch a little bubble appear, letting me know he’s writing me back again.
See you then, Princess. Sweet dreams.
Don’t call me Princess.
I type this quickly and press “Send” before calling in an order for shrimp fried rice. I have another message from him when I hang up my call. My heart thumps even harder as I read it.
You’re a girl who likes the color pink, heels, makeup, and designer clothes. A girl who wants to fall in love with your very own Prince Charming. You’re the definition of a princess.
Oh my god. He remembered what I said . . . almost word for word.
I have no comeback, so I type a vague response quickly.
Good night, Antonio. Be safe at work.
Thanks, baby.
Baby . . . ?
I stare at that one word while my stomach twists with anxiety. I know I can handle jerky Antonio—I’ve been dealing with him for years. I just don’t know if I have the strength to handle him being sweet, then letting me down by being a jerk once more. Biting my lip, I go to the fridge and pour myself a glass of wine. After I take a seat on the couch, I turn on the TV and flip through channels for something to watch while I wait for my food to arrive. I somehow end up being captivated by some stupid romantic comedy. As I watch, I root for the guy to figure out that he’s in love with the girl early on so she can get her happily ever after without the drama. Not surprisingly, it doesn’t happen. Still, in the end, it all works out.
Chapter 7
I’LL KEEP HIM BUSY . . . OH LORD
LIBBY
Hearing a knock on my apartment door, I look at the clock on my bathroom wall and see that it’s 6:20. Antonio’s early—as in really early.
Oh lord.
My heart starts to race, and my palms start to sweat. Knowing it’s now way too late to back out of dinner, I grab my robe and tie it tightly around my waist.
The last week has flown by in a flash with everything that has gone on. I’ve dealt with clients from Designer Closet, worked at the salon, met with the Realtor and the owner of the building the pizza parlor is in, spoken with a lawyer, and had discussions with the bank. I’ve also taken Mac to her prenatal appointment and played the go-between for her and Wesley. Thankfully, they’re back together. I’ve also worked at Tony’s a few times, and I had dinner with Palo last night to tell him that in two months, when I officially close on the pizzeria, I will no longer be working at the salon.
Palo was upset about my leaving, but happy for me all the same. I also had tea with Miss Ina this morning, who was funny and sweet in her grumpy-old-woman way.
“Coming!” I shout, jolting myself out of my thoughts. I don’t even bother looking through the peephole; I just unlatch the lock and open it. I start to tell Antonio that I’m not dressed, that he will have to wait for me. My mouth drops open when I see my mother standing outside my door.
“Mom?” I frown.
What’s she doing here?
She lives on Long Island, so it’s not like she just drops by often.
“Libby.” She moves past me, tosses her purse on the couch, then takes off her coat and tosses it, too, before she crosses her arms over her snowflake-embroidered, sweater-covered chest.
“What’s going on? What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Where’s Dad?” I ask, each question in rapid succession. I don’t even stop to take a breath.
“Apparently there’s a lot going on. I’m here because my youngest daughter is keeping secrets from me. Everything is not ok
ay, but your father is at home, in front of the TV where I left him.”
“Is this about the pizzeria?” I ask, figuring that’s the only thing I’ve kept from her.
Okay . . . so I haven’t told her about Antonio, but technically there is nothing to tell.
“Yes, it’s about the pizzeria!” she shouts, uncrossing her arms and planting her hands on her hips.
“Mom . . .”
“Do not ‘Mom’ me, Libby Alice Reed. You went to your dad and asked him to help you, and you didn’t even mention anything about it to me.”
“I was going to tell you,” I say, shifting uncomfortably.
“When? I’ve known about it for a week now, and you still haven’t even mentioned it, although we’ve talked every day!” She shouts the last word.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been a little busy.” I hold my hands out in front of me in a placating manner, hoping to calm her down. Her eyes move to my hands, then drop down the length of me and narrow.
“Busy doing what? And why are you getting dressed up? Where are you going?”
Oh lord.
I do not want to tell my mom that I have a date tonight. Seeing as how she’s standing in my living room and Antonio is supposed to be here soon, though, I realize I probably won’t have a choice.
“Ugh . . .”
“That is not an answer.”
“I have a date.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“A date?”
“Yes, a date. And he’s supposed to be here soon, so if you could please get out whatever it is you need to say about the pizzeria before he comes, that would be awesome. He doesn’t know that I’m going to buy it—and I don’t want him to know about it yet.”
“Why don’t you want him to know?”
Crap.
“I . . . well . . . it’s his parents’ shop. And . . .” I pause, trying to get my thoughts in order. “Everything has been a little weird between us. I don’t want to tell him I’m buying the shop and rock the boat. I know how he feels about the pizzeria, and I don’t want him to try to talk me out of it.”
“Seems to me you’ve gotten good at keeping secrets from people.”
Have I?
I’m not sure. I know that lately I’ve been more closed off with things going on in my life, but I don’t think I’m keeping secrets.
“Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the pizzeria. I promise I was going to tell you.”
“You have always been open with me about everything,” she says.
Guilt fills the pit of my stomach. I have always talked to her about anything and everything going on in my life. She never made me feel like I couldn’t share—no matter what was going on or how embarrassed it might make me.
“You’re right,” I whisper.
“And . . .” She stops speaking when tears fill her eyes. “I feel like I’m losing each of you.”
“You’re not losing us, Mom.”
I close the space between us and wrap my arms around her.
“Fawn got married in Vegas. Vegas, of all places! And then Mac finds out she’s pregnant and doesn’t tell me. While you . . . you buy a pizzeria and don’t even mention it to me.”
“I haven’t bought it yet, Mom. It’s a long process. There is a lot of paperwork before it’ll be officially mine.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean,” she grumbles, sniffling.
“I think we are all just trying to figure out who we are on our own. Don’t get me wrong—we love you. But sometimes you can be a bit overbearing when it comes to our lives and your opinions about them.”
“Overbearing?” she whispers, sounding offended. I cringe, knowing that wasn’t the right word to use with her, even if it is the correct word.
“You love us. It’s normal for a mom who cares about her kids to be overbearing,” I say, trying to soothe her.
She sighs.
“I do love you girls. I just want you to be happy.”
“We’re working on that, Mom. Each of us is just trying to figure out our own version of happiness.”
“And making pizzas is going to make you happy? I thought you loved doing makeup and hair.”
“Makeup and hair is something I’m good at, but I don’t feel fulfilled doing it. Not anymore. It’s not a challenge to me. I love working at Tony’s. Each time I walk through the doors there, I get excited.”
“It’s just pizza . . . ,” she says, sounding confused.
“I know, but it’s also the idea of starting something on my own, doing things my way, and building a business that I’m proud of—one that I’ll be proud to have my name attached to.”
“You have always been determined to make a name for yourself in this world.”
“I get it from you. You taught me to be independent, to go after what I want. To be confident about who I am.”
“I did teach you that, didn’t I?” she mutters, sounding pleased with herself.
I laugh. “Yes, you did.”
“So you’re really going to own a pizzeria in New York?”
“Hopefully . . . ,” I say quietly.
Her expression shifts, and warmth fills her eyes. She rests her hand against my cheek. “I’ve always been proud of you. So has your dad.”
“I know you both have.”
“I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too, Mom,” I whisper back over the lump that has formed in my throat.
She wraps her arms around me again, and her hand smooths its way down my back. Eventually, she leans away to look at my face.
“Now tell me about the guy you’re going out with tonight.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “He’s just a guy.”
“Just a guy?” She narrows her eyes, and I sigh.
“He’s a guy that I have had a stupid crush on forever.”
“Antonio?” she says, sounding excited and surprised.
I realize then just how much I used to share with my mom. Maybe she’s right—maybe I have gotten really good at keeping things to myself.
“Yes.”
“Oh my,” she whispers. Her eyes go to the clock on the wall in the kitchen. “What time is he coming?”
“Seven,” I say, realizing that I now only have a few minutes to finish getting ready before he is supposed to arrive.
“You’re not dressed.”
“I know. I was getting dressed when you showed up.” I wave my hand down my body at my robe.
“Go. Go get dressed. If he shows up, I’ll keep him busy while he waits.”
Oh lord.
“Mom . . .”
“It will be fine. Promise.” She takes a step back, waving off my worried look.
“Mom . . . ,” I repeat.
“Go. Hurry, you don’t have much time. You don’t want to keep him waiting when he gets here.”
“Don’t you need to get back to Dad?” I ask hopefully.
“No, I’m having dinner with Miss Ina tonight at seven. I’m just going downstairs, so I have time to wait for your date to arrive before I head down to meet her.”
I don’t have time to ask her when she and Miss Ina became so close. I know I won’t be able to convince her to leave, so I sigh.
“Fine. I’ll be quick.”
I go into the bedroom and shut the door. I left the outfit for tonight on my bed. Taking off my robe, I put on a pair of sheer black panties and a matching bra, then I grab my high-waisted blue jeans that are so tight I have a hard time getting them on. I pair them with a black long-sleeve, body-hugging top that I tuck into my jeans. I weave a black belt through the belt loops, fastening the fancy designer buckle before I sit on the edge of my bed. I zip on my thigh-high suede boots with the pointy toe and four-inch heels, then grab a long camel-colored sweater. I don’t hear voices in the living room, so I go back into the bathroom to check myself out in the mirror.
I wonder what Antonio will think. I didn’t want to dress up, because he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would take m
e to a fancy restaurant. I still wanted to look put together and sexy, though.
I do look sexy, with my dark hair down around my shoulders in a mass of stylish waves, my makeup more dramatic than I wear it every day. I did a smoky eye and added false lashes to make my eyes pop even more. I added a light lip, lined and glossy. Nervousness starts to kick in, causing my heart to race. Tonight could either be the beginning of something that could be amazing or the end of my crush on Antonio.
God . . . I’m really hoping for the first.
Pulling in one breath after another, I take a step toward the mirror and look myself in the eyes.
“Libby Reed, you’ve gone on dates before. You know better than to get your hopes up,” I whisper to my reflection before I turn off the light in the bathroom and walk through my bedroom.
I swing open my door to find Antonio standing just inside my living room, wearing a black peacoat over a beige sweater. The high collar accentuates his strong jaw. He’s also sporting dark jeans that look great on him. And of course there are his ever-present boots. Seeing the amused smile that he’s giving my mom, I wonder what she’s been telling him.
“Sorry you had to wait,” I say.
His head turns my way, and his eyes scan me from boots to hair before they lock with mine. The moment they do, the intensity I see there makes my stomach do a different kind of twist. The space between my legs tingles.
“Oh, honey, you look beautiful! Doesn’t she look beautiful, Antonio?” Mom asks him with an elbow to his side.
I bite my lip.
“Yeah, Katie, she looks beautiful,” he agrees quietly.
I wonder if my mom can feel the sudden charge in the air around us—a charge I feel every time I’m around him.
“Thank you.”
I feel my cheeks get warm, and it takes everything in me to pull my eyes from him and look at my mom.
“You’re supposed to meet Miss Ina, Mom . . . ,” I remind her.
“Oh, right. I should do that and leave you two to your date.”
She hurries to the couch to grab her things. I pick up my coat, only to have Antonio take it from me and hold it out. Turning my back to him, I slip it on. My eyes meet my mom’s happy ones. I give my head a little shake, not wanting her to get her hopes up about this, but she just grins at me like the crazy woman she is.
Tossed Into Love (Fluke My Life Book 3) Page 8