by Dee Lagasse
Upon entering the ballroom, the first thing I did was find the bar. Once I did, I couldn’t help but overhear the bartender telling the woman next to me that the guy she had been spending the night with was a cheating douchebag who had a girlfriend.
I had felt like such a creep, staring at her as she waited for him to make his way over to where she was standing in place. I don’t know if it was because it was something that hit so close to home for me, but a ridiculous need to protect her came over me. Before I knew what I was doing, I was walking behind her, making up some excuse for being “late,” implying that I was her date for the night which allowed her an easy escape from Captain Douche.
She thanked me for bailing her out by buying me a drink, and when I asked her for her name, she told me to “leave it up to fate.” We toasted to “fate,” and that was the last time I saw her. I tried to find her again, looking for her on the dance floor, by the bar, taking the long way from the bathroom to walk by all the tables, but had no luck.
When I saw her behind the doors of Senator Christian’s office, I had to do a double take. There was no lasso of truth hanging on her hip, and her amazing body that had been showcased in the Wonder Woman costume was hidden behind wide-leg pants and a sweater today, but there was no mistaking that blonde hair and her piercing blue eyes.
Thanks to the Batman mask, she had no idea I was the same guy from last night. Seeing her stumble on her words and very indiscreetly look me up and down might have given me a slight ego boost. And when I realized she was the senator’s daughter, the one and the same that was there to talk to her mom about making me, the new guy in town feel welcome in Abbott Hills, I suddenly believed in the fate she was talking about last night.
____
The GPS on my phone tells me that “in one mile my destination will be on my right,” so, I start looking for Capparelli & Co. I thought it was a little odd to have an interview for a general contractor at a restaurant, but the orange sticky note that Helen’s assistant handed to me on the way out the door unmistakably says, Ask for Tucker Merrimack, 3PM at Capparelli & Co.
Pulling into the almost empty parking lot, I wonder if I’m in the right place. When I cut the engine, I hear the text alert ding on my phone and grin when I see “Just Cole” at the top of the message box.
Hey Paxton. Hope this isn’t too weird. My mom gave you my number, so hopefully you already put it in your phone, but this is Cole Christian. My friends and I are going pumpkin picking and carving Jack-O-Lanterns this weekend. If that’s something you might be down for, we’d love for you to join us. If not, that’s cool, you have my number. Text me if you need anything.
Smiling, I tap on the iMessage text box at the bottom of her message to respond…
Hey, Cole. It’s Pax. Just Pax…
Chapter Three
COLE
“Anything else?” I ask into my phone, sending a voice memo to Ellis.
Capparelli & Co. won’t open to the public for another thirty minutes, but it isn’t out of the ordinary for me to show up before business hours to get dinner on Mondays. Other than Capparelli & Co, the only other restaurants in our small town are a 1950s themed burger joint, a small, hole-in-the-wall pizza place that serves New York-style pizza by the slice, and a couple diners that only serve breakfast and lunch. We don’t even have a fast food chain in town.
Within the next fifteen minutes or so, the parking lot would start filling up and people would start lining up outside the door for the dinner time rush. Tonight would be just as busy as any Saturday. There’s no such thing as a slow night at Capparelli & Co.
Scanning the parking lot, I check to see whose cars I recognize before grabbing the handle of the front door. With my head still cocked back, I spy Tucker Merrimack’s SUV parked in the last row. He’s employed by a Capparelli, but it isn’t here.
The Capparelli family is a small-town version of the Italian mafia. You know, minus the whole murdering people who cross you and doing illegal things behind closed doors aspect of it. They do, however, have their hand in just about everything, monopolizing the town of Abbott Hills. In addition to the restaurant, the Capparelli family also has Capparelli Cuts & Curls, Ellis’s mom’s hair salon, and Capparelli Construction & Carpentry, owned by Lorenzo Capparelli, Ellis’s uncle. Tucker is one of three foremen, running his own crew for Capparelli Construction & Carpentry.
If he’s here trying to get dibs on Nonna’s cannolis, I will fight him. It’s one thing to be secretly sleeping with my best friend, it’s a whole other thing to be trying to get your hands on the most delicious Italian pastries this side of the Atlantic Ocean.
Before I can finish that thought, the door not only opens on its own, but I find myself face-to-face with none other than Mr. Perfection from a few hours ago.
“Sorry, ma’am, I wasn’t paying attention,” he says. There are only inches that separate us as we stand outside the little foyer used as additional waiting space between the outside and the restaurant itself. The lingering woodsy scent from his cologne is so light, but it’s still enough that I need to quickly put myself in check.
Sniffing a man that you don’t know makes you come off as a weirdo, Cole.
But damn. What is it about a good smelling man that is so damn sexy?
“We really have to stop meeting like this,” I chuckle, as his eyes light up in recognition.
The inner door is propped open with a small wooden stopper, allowing the smell of roasted red peppers to waft right over to us. In response, my stomach grumbles. Loudly. In a failed attempt to muffle the sound of my stomach crying out for sausage arancini, I place my hand over my stomach and look past him into the lobby.
And that’s when he does it. My eyes find him again, just as he smiles.
“Pax!”
By the time the familiar voice calls out from the lobby, I have long forgotten about death threats concerning cannolis. There’s no way to hide the surprise on my face when Tucker Merrimack comes through the doorway.
“I need you to come in like a half hour earlier than we talked about to fill out paperwork before we can get started tomorrow,” he says. “Payroll, insurance, all that fun stuff.”
Pax.
Holy shit. Mr. Perfection is the reason my mom bribed me with strawberry frosted donuts.
When an old friend from high school e-mailed her, explaining that her son was just getting over a bad break-up and was looking for a fresh start, my mom did what she does best. All it took was a few phone calls and she had him set up with an apartment referral and an interview with Capparelli Construction & Carpentry.
Which is why he’s here…with Tucker. And why he’s looking at me with a mischievous smirk right now. He knows that I just figured out who he is.
After giving me the rundown, my normally all-business-in-the-office mom ordered us lunch and all but begged me to invite him to hang out with me and my friends. Before lunch was over, I had sent a run-on text, rambling on about being awkward and eventually invited him to hang out.
I planned on doing some social media stalking when I got home tonight and I would have put the pieces together then anyway, but Mr. Perfection?! I never would have guessed.
I only knew the abridged version of why he was here in Abbott Hills, but seriously what fucking woman in her right mind would cheat on that?!
“Yeah,” Pax says, turning away from me to face Tucker, who awkwardly smiles when he notices me waiting outside the door. “Sure, man. I can do that.”
“Oh, hey, Cole,” Tucker nods, curtly. It’s unlike him to be so formal, so cordial. I’m going to go ahead and assume his coolness toward me has something to do with the fact he’s tiptoeing around what happened this morning. “This is —”
“Pax. Just Pax,” I smirk, glancing over to Pax, who is now watching me intently. “We’ve met. He’s actually coming pumpkin picking with us Sunday.”
“Oh yeah?” Tuck raises an eyebrow, looking back and forth between us curiously before checking his phone.
“I’m going to need the full story on that tomorrow. Right now, I gotta run and grab the little lady from school. I’ll see you in the morning, Pax. Later, Cole.”
The sound of Tucker’s SUV starting and pulling out of the parking lot fills the empty space as Pax and I play a silent game of “So, who’s going to break the ice.”
“I don’t think they’re quite open yet,” Pax says, winning this round. “I was just in there for an interview with Tucker.”
“Well, being best friends and the sister-in-law of the owners’ grandkids and an employee happens to have its perks,” I wink. “You thirsty? I’ll buy you a welcome to Abbott Hills drink while I wait for my food and you can tell me all about what brings you here to our tiny little town.”
“I would love to have a drink with you,” he starts, stepping back, allowing me the space to walk past him. “But if it ever got back to my mom that I let a pretty girl buy me a drink, I would never hear the end of it. And since our moms know each other pretty well, I really just can’t afford to take that risk. So, how about I buy you a drink?”
The playful tone in his voice mixed with the intensity in his brown eyes sends my body in a conflicted state. While the beat of my heart and my pulse pick up speed in excited anticipation, my stomach flips and my mind races nervously.
“Alright,” I concede, despite having no intention of letting him pay for my drink. I point back to the restaurant behind us. “The bar’s straight up the stairs.”
“Ladies first,” he says, opening his arm, insinuating he wants me to go first.
Brushing past him, I purposely sway my hips a little more than necessary. Sashaying back and forth, I swing my hips like the spheres on a Newton’s Cradle pendulum. I don’t even know who I am right now. Offering to buy drinks, shaking my hips? Will the real Cole Christian please stand up?!
“Hey Cole,” hollers JoAnna, the Monday night bartender. “Did I miss a whole day? Is it Tuesday already?”
“Nah, girl,” I laugh, shaking my head and waving her off. “You’re good. I’m just here to grab some food for me and Ellis—” Turning to Pax before adding, “And to buy a drink for the new guy in town.”
Nodding to Pax behind me, JoAnna waves as she gets the Malibu from the shelf. “Okay, I know what she’s drinking, what’s your poison, New Guy?”
“Ha. It’s Pax, and Oktoberfest, please,” he says after scanning the beer on tap, reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his wallet and tosses his credit card on the bar. “Also, drinks and dinner are on me tonight.”
“What?!” I shriek, spinning my bar stool to face him. “No. We said a drink. I’m not just grabbing dinner for me. It’s for my roommate too.”
“Hey, I tried to tell you that you buying me a drink wasn’t going to happen.” He shrugs. “You can just tell her...wait, your roommate is a chick, right? I just don’t want to do this and then come Sunday, you introduce me to your boyfriend. I know I wouldn’t be too impressed with another dude that was trying to flirt with my girl.”
“Yes, Ellis is a chick,” I chuckle, while repeating his specified terminology. “And there’s no boyfriend. At home or otherwise.”
The fact that he just openly admitted he is trying to flirt with me makes my stomach do a fluttery flip. It was different than the nerves I felt downstairs. Butterflies. God, I haven’t felt butterflies in a long time. Not since Jeremiah.
JoAnna brings our drinks over to us, dropping coasters on the bar before putting my Malibu and Sprite and Pax’s beer on them.
“To go?” she asks, referencing the dinner I’m here to order as she walks over to the small service screen toward the middle of the bar.
When I nod, she recites Ellis’s and my typical order, “Two orders of arancini, eggplant rollatini, and four cannolis. And for you?”
Pax’s eyes grow wide when he realizes JoAnna is now looking at him.
“I don’t know,” he says as he looks over the menu. “This menu is insane. I’ve never seen a menu so, I don’t know, authentic?”
“You mean, it’s not like Olive Garden,” I laugh. “Yeah, the Capparellis are the real deal.”
“Help me pick,” he pleads adorably. “Pleaseeee.”
The extended e’s of his plea and his puppy dog eyes are the cutest damn thing I’ve ever heard or seen in my life. And I’ve seen lots of babies…and puppies. He could have just asked me to rob a bank with him, and I would have agreed to it without hesitation.
“Okay, well are there foods you don’t like?” I ask. “It will be easier to start by crossing things off that you don’t want. And how hungry are you?”
“Um, just slimy seafood,” he says, his face twisting in disgust. “Like mussels, clams, you know, that kind of stuff. And I’m starving.”
“He wants chicken francese with a side of penne rosate and a mini cannoli sampler,” I tell JoAnna, without looking at the menu. Turning back to Pax, I add, “Nonna makes the cannolis fresh on Mondays. You picked a good night.”
After she’s done putting in Pax’s order, she tells us that she needs to grab some fruit from the kitchen downstairs. Normally, the bar is never left unattended, but JoAnna knows it’s safe to leave me up here. While the bar is definitely safe, I do know an opportunity when I see it.
Hopping off my stool, I make my way around the bar to the computer screen JoAnna was just standing in front of. Picking up the little plastic card all employees use to log into the Capparelli & Co. system marked “JoAnna,” I swipe it in the credit card reader on the side of the screen. Our order is the only one she has, so it pops up on the screen right away.
After adding two additional drinks to the order, just in case, I pull my credit card out of the small crossbody bag slung over me. Swiping my Mastercard through the credit card reader, I close out the check and print it so I can sign it.
“Tell me you didn’t do what I think you just did!” Pax exclaims, his mouth opening wide with shock when he realizes what I’ve done. “I told you I was paying!”
“I’ll tell you what,” I start, as I sign my name on the credit card slip and leave a tip for JoAnna. “You can buy dinner the next time. I promise.”
“Oh? Dinner?” he asks, his eyebrows cocked in intrigue. “Like, a date?”
“I mean, if that’s what you want to call it.” I shrug. “I certainly wouldn’t argue.”
“Pinky swear?” he asks, holding up his pinky finger as I make my way back around the other side to the middle of the bar where he’s sitting.
“That I won’t argue about it being a date or that I’ll let you pay?” I question. “This is serious business, Paxton Callaghan. I don’t mess around with my pinky swears.”
I’m not sure why I called him by his full name, but his loud, full belly burst of laughter in response is quite possibly the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life.
“That you’ll let me take you out on a date and let me pay,” he says when he regains his composure.
Lifting my hand, I extend my pinky and wrap it around his. Our eyes lock together and the longer we stare at each other, the more I feel like I know him…from somewhere. It’s not the connection between us, as intense as it is. It’s his eyes. There’s something about them that just seems, I don’t know, familiar?
Shaking it off under the presumption that I am just reading too deep into the situation, I smile when he asks when I’m free. After letting him know I have Wednesday nights, Friday nights, Saturday days, and most Sundays free, I take a sip of my Malibu and Sprite.
“Wednesday, six o’clock?” he asks as JoAnna comes back up carrying two separate bags of food, placing one in the empty space next to Pax and the other one next to me.
“It’s a date.”
Chapter Four
PAX
Walking Cole to her car, it takes more restraint than I am willing to admit to not invite her to watch a movie or to go to dinner, even though we already had food, take a drive…to Vegas…to see Elvis…at A Little White Wedding Chapel…
> Okay, so maybe I’m getting carried away. But fuck, there’s just something about her. Anyone with two eyes in their head can see that she’s a smoke show, but there are a lot of good-looking women in this world. If the last few months of being single has taught me anything, it’s that a pretty face doesn’t always mean a pretty personality.
Cole is pretty on the outside, sure, but it’s her ability to keep up with me, her sass, and her humility that has me impressed. When we first bumped into each other outside, she told me that she “worked for” the Capparellis. It wasn’t until we were about to walk out of the restaurant, and the incoming bar patrons acknowledged her did I realize that the “Cole” mentioned on the big “Karaoke by Cole” sign hanging by the stage and she were one and the same. Which means, the hilariously spunky blonde is more than just a regular employee.
Even after I told her that I was going to buy her a drink and then, her dinner, the little sneak ninjaed her way behind the bar and paid for everything herself. And by the smell coming from the brown paper bag sitting on my passenger seat, I can already tell I’m going to enjoy what’s in those takeout boxes as much as I enjoyed the time spent waiting for them.
Pulling up behind Cole’s white Subaru Legacy, we both wait to turn left and continue to drive in the same direction for another two miles down the road. When it’s time to turn right into the gated apartment complex I now call home, her directional light starts flashing, indicating she is turning too. There’s no fucking way.
Sure enough, she turns right. As soon as her car gets close enough the gate in front of us rises, but instead of driving through it, Cole spends a minute talking to the gate attendant. When she finally goes through, he steps in front of the open gate, stopping me from just pulling in behind her.
Pressing down the button to roll down my window, I wait for the gate attendant to make his way back over to me. The man is older, maybe in his early sixties. His wavy all-white hair and bushy beard gives him a hippie Santa Claus vibe. But as he walks over with such ferocity, even with the thirty or so years difference between us, if I was doing something that would land me on the naughty list, I would be thinking twice right now.