That's (Not Exactly) Amore

by Tracey Bateman

  I hail a cab for the short ride since my hands are full. Plus, I want the cinnamon rolls to stay as warm as possible.

  The cabbie, a stocky balding man wearing a cap and a five o’clock shadow even though it’s barely seven thirty in the morning, smiles. “Mmm. Whatever’s in that big basket smells good. Reminds me of my mother’s kitchen when I was a boy.”

  I smile back. How could I help it after a remark like that? I lift the cloth covering the enormous basket and hand him a cinnamon roll plus the fare and a tip before exiting the cab.

  His eyes light up with surprise. “Hey, that’s nice of ya, doll.” And then he does something cabbies never do. He slams the car into park, even though it’s illegal to double-park, and walks with me, opens the door, and tips his hat.

  “Thanks,” I say, truly meaning it. Four dozen huge cinnamon rolls (minus two) can get awfully heavy. Even on a short walk.

  “You’re a good girl. You married?”

  My senses go on high alert until he continues. “You oughtta meet my boy, Dale. He’s a nice one. Goes to church and everything.”

  Oh, good grief. But what are you going to say to a sweet cabbie when he carries your cinnamon rolls for you? “Sure, um, maybe sometime. Thanks again for the help. You have a wonderful day.”

  When I step inside, I feel everyone’s eyes on me. I even hear a few whispers. “Freshly baked cinnamon rolls.”

  I swear, it’s like being Santa Claus at an orphanage on Christmas Eve.

  I’m beginning to feel claustrophobic, like a whale in a fish tank, when Joe strides across the room. My knees nearly buckle when he slips a warm, firm hand around my upper arm and leads me to the counter. He reaches for the basket as soon as I’m safe from the fray. “Let me take those.” His smile has returned. I’m so glad. Apparently whatever was making him so grumpy has been resolved. “These smell good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Four dozen?”

  “Well, three dozen and ten. I gave one to Nancy and one to the cabbie on the way over here.”

  He winks. “You’re a good kid.”

  “Yeah, that’s what the cabbie said, just before he asked me to date his son.”

  Laughter rumbles that beefy chest of his. I swear, Joe’s all man. “You told him you have a boyfriend?”

  “Of course not.”

  “That’s the easiest way to get rid of unwelcome attention from a guy.” He sends me a good-natured wink. “I should know. I get the brush-off like that all the time.”

  I’ll just bet he does. But that’s not the point right now. “I don’t lie just to get rid of guys.”

  “Lie? What about you and the cop?”

  A short, and might I add bitter laugh bursts from me in an unladylike fashion. “I haven’t heard from Mark since a week ago last Monday, and that was our first date. Probably our only date.”

  I didn’t mean to spill so much, but I’m feeling a little raw from it, to be honest, especially since it’s Valentine’s Day and once again I’m out in the cold alone.

  “Joe!” one of the employees calls from the register. “The line won’t move until those rolls get up here. People want them.”

  I grin. “Glad I’m good for something.”

  “You’re good for a lot more than baking,” Joe says. It’s an odd thing to say, but I get his point. And my heart kicks into high gear. “And if Mark doesn’t know that, he’s more of a dope than I already thought he was in the first place.”

  You can’t help but appreciate a guy like Joe, saying something like that. I mean, sure, I know he’s just being Joe. Nice, polite, make-the-fat-girl-feel-better Joe, but still, it feels nice to be on his radar for a few minutes.

  “Excuse me!” a testy female voice interrupts our conversation and Joe turns. “Can I please get some service? I’m going to be late for work.”

  “Sure.” Joe sends me an apologetic look. “I have to go,” he says warmly, then glances over my shoulder. “Your friends are already sitting in the dining room anyway. They’re starting to look impatient.”

  “Oh?” I hadn’t noticed. I turn, and sure enough, there they are. And by those grins, I’d say they apparently saw the exchange between Joe and me. They’ll make more of it than it could possibly be, but maybe I’m in the mood for that today. It’s better than hearing all about what my friends are doing with their romantic men on the most romantic day of the year.

  I hurry over to them. “We ordered for you,” Tabby says, smiling.

  “Thanks.” I drop into the wooden chair next to Dancy, where my latte awaits. My bag, carrying my textbook, notebook, and that Tex-Mex cookbook, thuds to the floor as I slip it from my shoulder.

  “So, tell us about Joe.” Tabby leans forward with a Cheshire-cat grin, her shoulders stretched in front and her elbows on the table.

  “What about him?” I’m going to make them pay for it if they want to hear anything juicy from me.

  “Don’t play coy with us,” Dancy growls. “Spill it before we call him over here and ask him if he likes your eyes.”

  They wouldn’t. But it’s enough for me to give in. It’s not like there’s anything to tell anyway. I relay everything except the last remark about me being good for a lot of things and Mark being a dope.

  “Hmm.” Tabby strokes her chin, detective-style. “Interesting how he just assumed Mark was your boyfriend.”

  “Yeah,” I say, sarcasm kicking into full gear. “Interesting considering I had one date—and a daytime one at that. And we all know what that means.”

  They don’t even pretend otherwise. A daytime date is for guys who are just testing the waters before committing to a nighttime date. If Mark had been scheduled to work that night, it would have meant something different. Because daytime would have been the only time he could take me out. But since he was, in fact, off that night, took me on a daytime date anyway, and then never called . . . Well, there’s no point in going on, is there?

  “Who needs that dope anyway?” Tabby says. “What ever happened between you and Jeremy?”

  I shrug. Jeremy is a guy who played an extra on Tabby’s soap opera. He hit on me last year at a Legacy of Life cast party I attended with Tabby. “He was okay. I don’t think I was his type, though.”

  A frown mars Tabby’s face. “What do you mean?”

  “He pretty much told me to lose weight.” I grin. “And that was before I gained the last ten. Can you imagine spending a lifetime with him?”

  Dancy sets her cup down. “What a creep.”

  “Guys like skinny,” I say, shrugging again. “It’s not their fault. Society conditions them for it.”

  “Okay, back to Joe. He doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong with you.”

  I follow her gaze and suck in a breath. “Tabs! You could have told me he was looking over here.”

  “And spoil the moment?”

  “You’ve played in too many romantic scenes on that soap opera of yours.” I roll my eyes.

  “Maybe so, but I know a guy who’s interested when I see one.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  She opens her mouth to continue the fight, but her phone begins to sing “Home” by Chris Daughtry. “Hi, honey.” Her eyes are bright, and she’s suddenly gone breathless.

  Dancy and I roll our eyes. She’s obsessed with her new family. Don’t get me wrong, we’re thrilled for her. But “Home”?

  But then her expression drops. “Oh, well. It’s all right,” she says, trying to be brave. “There’s nothing we can do this late. We’ll just spend the evening at home with the kids.”

  Dancy and I exchange frowns. “What is it, Tabby?” I whisper.

  She holds up a shush finger. “I’ll see you at home. Love you too. I know it’s not your fault. I’m fine with this. We’ll order in.”

  She hangs up a moment later.

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, really.”

  Dancy fishes in her purse and hands Tabby a tissue. “It’s something, o
r you wouldn’t be about to cry your eyes out.”

  “Our babysitter fell through for tonight.”

  A little gasp works through Dancy’s chest and exits her mouth. “For your first Valentine’s Day together? What happened?”

  “Strep throat. And there’s no one else we can call.”

  “Surely there’s someone!”

  I hate to state the obvious. “Uh, guys.”

  They don’t seem to hear me. Dancy continues. “What about Freddie?”

  A rueful smile tips Tabby’s quivering lips. “David would never allow it. Freddie doesn’t watch his mouth enough. Last time ‘Uncle Freddie’ watched the twins, Jeffy had to have his mouth washed out with soap four times in ten days before he stopped swearing, poor kid. So that’s that.”

  “I’d offer . . .” Dancy begins.

  “You’re going to have a fabulous time with Jack. Maybe he’ll propose.”

  Dancy shakes her head. “Too cliché.”

  “Guys!”

  Finally, some attention. They both stare. “What’s wrong, Laini?”

  “Well, it might have escaped your notice that I don’t happen to have a date for tonight—being that I’m single and all.”

  “We’re sorry, Laini. We didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Sometimes those two . . . “Why didn’t it occur to you that I’d be more than happy to stay with Jenn and Jeffy tonight so you and David can go have your romantic evening?”

  Tabby’s eyes light up for a second, then cloud again. “I can’t ask you to do that! What if Mark comes through at the last minute?”

  “Yeah, right. It’s been ten days since I heard from him. What are the chances?”

  Neither responds to the rhetorical question. I appreciate it, actually.

  Dancy lifts her chin toward the counter, but there’s no way I’m falling for it this time. “The hunky Italian might come through.”

  “Not a chance. And even if he did, how desperate would I be to go out last-minute on Valentine’s Day? I’d much rather eat pizza and watch a kids’ movie with the twins.” I give Tabby a pleading look. “As a matter of fact, it would answer the question of what I should do tonight. And I’ll have an answer if anyone asks what I did on Valentine’s Day.”

  The girls laugh so I keep going.

  “I’ll just say, ‘I couldn’t accept a date, I was babysitting for my best friend’s steptwins.’” I grin. “See how perfect it is? You would be saving me from humiliation. And you know the kids adore me.”

  “That’s true.” Tabby smiles. “You always bring them homemade brownies or cookies or something equally beyond my abilities.”

  “All right, then my Valentine’s Day plans are set in stone.”

  “You girls need refills?”

  I nearly jump out of my skin as Joe sneaks up behind me. “Geez, Joe.”

  “What?” He frowns. Great. The frown is back. “What’d I do?”

  “Nothing, you just scared me to death, that’s all.”

  “Sorry.” He looks past me to Tabby and Dancy. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No. We’re good.” Tabby stares at me. “How about you, Laini? Need anything?”

  “No. Thanks anyway, Joe. I’m good.” I hop up. “As a matter of fact, I have to do some studying.”

  I say good-bye to my pals, feeling good about my offer to sit with the twins. It’ll be fun. I like them.

  I can’t help wondering if maybe I’ll have some just like them one day. Kids of my own. The sound of my ticking biological clock drowns out all of the obnoxious sounds coming from the street as I head back to my apartment.

  7

  An evening with a couple of energetic seven-year-olds is two things: fun and exhausting. But one good thing about Tabby and David being married now is that they don’t stay out late. A nice dinner and they’re home by nine thirty. By ten, I’m hopping off the subway (even though David tried to give me cab money). I like the subway. I know it’s weird. But it reminds me of Dad taking me to work with him during the summer when I was a kid. It was what we did together.

  Shops are closing up, but people still clog the sidewalks. Of course there are a couple of clubs and restaurants open. I peek inside Pierre’s, a little French restaurant, as I walk past. Next to the window, a man is on his knee, offering a ring to a stunned woman. I stop and stare. “Say yes,” I whisper.

  As though she really needs my prodding, she hesitates before reaching forward. Tears spring to my eyes and start to roll. I reach up to wipe them from my cheeks and that’s when they notice me—the Peeping Tom. The woman says something to the would-be groom. He turns and scowls.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, even though there’s no way they can hear me.

  I move on. And my heart nearly stops. Coming toward me, utterly handsome in his uniform, is Mark Hall. He smiles as though he’s genuinely glad to see me. “Laini! How are you?”

  Lousy, I want to say. Lousy because you never called me, you jerk. Instead, I swallow my pride and smile. “Good. Just headed home.”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

  “Oh. It’s okay. Really, don’t worry about it.”

  He falls into step beside me. “I wanted to call. Truly. But they put me on midnight shift for a few days to cover for a guy that broke his arm, and it lasted longer than I expected.”

  “You couldn’t have called after you got home?” Oh, I could just kick myself for bringing that up. Why do I have to say what’s on my mind all the time?

  A completely apologetic expression stretches across his handsome face. “The schedule threw me for a loop. Working all night. Sleeping when I could and still doing everyday stuff like laundry. I felt half dead. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I pat his arm because it seems like the thing to do. “I forgive you.”

  His hand shoots up and covers mine. “I want to see you again.” The intensity in his eyes convinces me.

  “All right.”

  “How about Saturday night?” He grimaces. “No. You go to your mom’s on weekends. I don’t mind coming to Long Island for a date . . . if you don’t mind.”

  Is he kidding?

  “I don’t mind. But I have to warn you—my mom is pretty against me dating a cop. She’s got fear-of-death issues since my dad passed away.”

  He nods gravely. “I understand. Not everyone can be married to a man in law enforcement. It’s a dangerous job. She’s right to be concerned for her daughter.”

  Great. Mom’s going to love that. “Call me tomorrow,” I say, sliding my hand out of his. “I’ll give you the address and we can decide on a time.”

  I watch his mouth as it spreads into a smile. Wow. He’s really cute. Even cuter than I remembered.

  “Do you want me to walk you home?”

  I shake my head. “I’m sure you have a beat to walk or something.”

  Amusement covers his face. But not the kind that makes me feel mocked. It’s more like delight. “I do have somewhere to be. If you’re sure you’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s barely ten.”

  Reaching forward, he squeezes my shoulder. “Okay, I’ll see you Saturday night, then. That’s the day after tomorrow.”

  As if he really had to tell me.

  When I walk in the door, I’m shocked to find all evidence that someone has just moved in swept away. There are no boxes, no packing bubbles or crates . . . nothing. Just a clean room. I would think I’d imagined the whole thing if not for the sound of someone singing in the shower. Off key, I might add. Which makes me feel better. I sing great.

  I slip on a pair of lounge pants and a loose sweatshirt and head to the kitchen. I run water into the teakettle and set it on the stove. My mind is buzzing from the events of the day. I snatch up the phone and start to dial Tabby to thank her for inadvertently getting me a date, but then I realize newlyweds do not want to be interrupted on Valentine’s Day after the kids are in bed. So I set the phone back i
n its cradle and slowly back away.

  Nancy shows up wearing a white terrycloth robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. She smiles. “Did you have a date tonight?”

  I shake my head and use the excuse I’d planned (God bless the former babysitter and her strep throat).

  Her eyes widen. “Really? I thought Joe was taking you out to dinner.”

  “Joe?” I laugh. “Why would he?”

  A shrug lifts her very slender shoulders. “Just a hunch. Guess I was wrong.”

  “Slightly. Joe and I have never been like that.”

  “I see.”

  “So what did you do tonight?” I practically dare her to make me jealous. “Go out on a date?”

  “No way. I’ve sworn off all guys for as long as I can stand it.”

  “For as long as you can stand it?”

  I never noticed before, but her nose wrinkles when she grins. “Well, I’m not exactly a nun. Right now I’m getting over a pretty bad breakup. But eventually I’ll need a man with big arms to sweep me off my feet.”

  As if to demonstrate, she drops into a chair at the table and props her feet up on the chair across from her.

  You have to admire her spirit. And those toenails. Pedicured. Figures. “Who did your toenails?”

  She wiggles her toes. “Me. I have a kit. Want me to do yours?”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. What are roomies for?” She stands. “Besides, after that cinnamon roll, I owe you.”

  Just wait until she gets a taste of my cheesecake.

  Saturday morning when I get out of the cab, Mom greets me with a smile on her face. No, not that sad thanks-for-noticing-me smile. I mean, a genuine I’m-truly-not-depressed smile.

  The blinds are pulled back and actual sunlight is bursting through the windows. If I had the guts I’d make a vampire crack, but better to leave well enough alone.

  Only, another weird thing . . . There are bouquets all over the room. Gardenias on the table. Roses (roses?!) on the coffee table. And daisies, which happen to be my mom’s favorite flower but are not in season in February.

  “What’s up with the flowers?”

  Mom blushes. Is this an alien invasion? Mom doesn’t blush. Or open blinds, or smile without a darn good reason. What is going on?