That's (Not Exactly) Amore

by Tracey Bateman

  I stare at Nancy and Joe again. Joe doesn’t seem to remember he brought a different girl. Doesn’t he even wonder how I’m doing over here all by myself, sitting with people I don’t know? I mean, even if it is a non-date, I deserve the occasional glance from him. I think I do anyway. And so does Devil Me.

  “Wh-what sort of job?” Oh, boy. Dread infuses me. This can only end badly. Unless, that is, I turn to the light side and start listening to my inner angel.

  “I got a couple of rooms need changed. My husband, Ernie”—(sign of the cross)—“may he rest in peace, had the same nasty wood paneling in his office from the day we bought that house until he died two ye-ahs ago.” Another sign of the cross. “I been plannin’ to change it ever since. You want the job?”

  “B-but I don’t . . .”

  She takes a sip of her wine. “If you’re good enough for Joey, you’re good enough for me, honey.”

  Speaking of Joe, he just touched Nancy’s hand and then laughed at something she said. Even the feathers on my angel’s wings ruffle at that. Is it any wonder I suddenly turn to this woman and say, “I’d love to take a look. We’ll fix up your husband’s (may he rest in peace) space before you know it. Can I get your number?”

  All I can say is, the devil made me do it.

  Twenty minutes of discussing Bev’s dead husband’s office and I’m wishing I was a drinking girl myself. I almost cry real tears of relief when someone taps my shoulder. “You Miss Sullivan?” I turn to find two men, decked out in expensive suits and gold rings on their fingers.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m Tony.” He jerks his thumb at the identical man next to him. I’m guessing identical twins. “This is Sam. Joey says you’re looking for some business.”

  From the looks of these two characters, I’m not sure what kind of “business” we’re talking about, but since Joe sent them my way, I’ll listen . . . cautiously.

  “Hold on, you two,” Bev slurs. “This girl is going to design Ernie’s office for me. So I get her first.”

  “Design?” Tony frowns. “I thought you was a baker.” Oh, yeah. That was the purpose of tonight, wasn’t it?

  “I’m baking my way through design school,” I say, trying to suppress the sudden rise of laughter at the whole ridiculous situation.

  “Hey.” Frank pulls himself away from the blonde on his other side and joins our conversation. “What are you two guys trying to do? Nick ain’t going to let this girl go. She’s a gold mine.”

  Tony sends him a scowl. “Mind your own business, Frankie. Joey asked us if we wanted to try out some of her stuff.”

  “Look,” I say, swallowing hard, “you don’t have to. . . .”

  “Don’t be silly,” Sam says, placing a meaty hand on my shoulder. “We know what a profit your stuff is bringing to Nicky’s place.” He sends me a wink. “He can’t keep you all to hisself, can he?”

  I can’t help but smile.

  Tony grins back. “Shall we step out for a minute and talk business?”

  I glance over at Joe. He smiles and nods. My heart soars at the pride shining in those eyes. For the life of me I can’t look away, and neither does he. Is something happening here? Self-consciously, I touch my fingers to the base of my throat. His eyes flicker down to my fingers and back to my eyes. His lips part as he takes a long, slow breath. I can almost feel his arms around me.

  This moment is going on too long. I know that, but I’m powerless to stop it.

  Nana, on the other hand, has all the power in the world. She smacks him on the arm and that’s that. He drags his gaze away and I get a glare from Nana. Clearly, she’s determined that he’s going to marry “her” Nancy.

  I turn to the uncles. “Men,” I say, “let’s go talk business.”

  17

  Joe insists on riding the train with me all the way to Long Island after the party. We drop Nancy at the apartment, where I grab my bag, and off we go to Penn Station.

  “I mean it, Joe,” I say for the umpteenth time after we disembark from the train and hail a cab. “This really wasn’t necessary. I feel terrible that you came all this way.” And I do. Feel terrible, that is. Sort of. Mostly I’m thrilled he wanted to make sure I made it to Mom’s without being mugged.

  “Don’t feel bad. I couldn’t let you come over here alone at night.”

  He reaches across me in the backseat of the cab and I draw back, a little startled that he’s making a move. If I want to fudge the numbers, I can call this a first date, even though we’ve both made it clear it isn’t. Still, I can’t exactly go to a kiss yet. I could hold his hand, maybe let him put an arm around me.

  His face is close. So close that if he wanted to, he could move in for a kiss and there’d be absolutely nothing I could do about it. Really, he could. Like, right now. If he wanted to, that is. Is it really fair to hold him to a set of rules that I haven’t shared with him?

  My stomach lurches as he turns his head to look at me, smiles, then pushes the lock. “Don’t want you falling out.”

  Be still my heart.

  He settles back onto his side of the car, leaving me breathless and let down. And I’m pretty sure there’s a tiny smile lurking at the corners of his lips. As though he might have done it on purpose, knowing how amazing he looks and smells tonight. But hidden in the shadows, I can’t be positive. And why would he toy with me that way? I dismiss the thought as unlikely and relax as the cab whirs through the wet streets.

  Joe breaks the silence. “Nana is relentless about Nancy and me,” he says. “I want to apologize again for forcing you on Aunt Bev and my dad.”

  I shrug, still smarting a little over the image of Nancy and Joe with their gorgeous Italian heads together. Why did he have to go and bring that up anyway? “Actually,” I say, turning away from the window (which I’m starting to fog up, incidentally), “I had a nice chat with Bev. She might be interested in hiring me to redo her late husband’s office.”

  His eyebrows go up. “You agreed to that?”

  What is his problem?

  “I agreed to take a look.” I narrow my gaze at him and muster as much attitude as the situation warrants. “Why? Do you have a problem with it?”

  He shakes his head. “Not at all. I just thought you’d have your hands full with the other stuff.”

  “What other stuff? I don’t plan to pursue the contract until I get my degree.”

  “The catering business. How did it go with my uncles?”

  I smile at him and have to resist the urge to pat his cheek as though he’s a sweet ten-year-old boy. “I don’t have a catering business, Joe. Just an outside source for making supplemental money while I’m in school.”

  “You plan to stop baking when you get your degree?”

  I open my mouth to say, “Of course.” But I can’t quite bring myself to do it. Because I hadn’t really put two and two together and calculated the cost of getting that degree. If I work for another designer, which is the plan, I won’t have time for baking. And if I’m going to contract my own work—well—I won’t have time for baking then either. Not the amounts Joe and his uncles are asking for.

  “Well?” Joe’s one-word question pulls me from my reverie.

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see what sort of job I line up after I get my degree.” It’s the easiest answer I can think of. And thank goodness the cabbie pulls up to the curb in front of my mom’s house, sparing me the necessity of elaborating. I pull on the handle, but the door doesn’t budge.

  Oh, the lock. Joe and I reach for it at the same time. His hand covers mine and we lift the button together.

  “Thanks,” I say, trying to be cool.

  “No prob.”

  I take a deep breath of cool March air as I step out of the cab. Then I realize that I didn’t pay and open the door just as Joe stuffs some bills into the cabbie’s hand.

  “Close the door, lady,” the cabdriver grumps.

  Sheesh.

  He speeds off, leaving me to
stare at Joe. “Hey, I was going to pay for that. I would have had to take a cab whether you came with me or not.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  Joe walks me to the door and, of course, I ask him in. I can’t expect the guy to take a train and then a cab (for which he paid) and not at least offer him a cup of tea. Even if he did leave me at the mercy of his drunken aunt.

  He wrinkles up his nose at the mention of tea.

  “I could put on coffee.”

  “You mind?”

  “Not at all.” I’ll be up all night, but he’s worth it.

  The kitchen light is on when we step inside, but there’s no sign of my mother. “She must have already gone to bed.” I glance at the clock. After all, it is eleven o’clock.

  Joe shifts his position from one foot to the other. “Should I leave?”

  “No. We’ll just have to be quiet.”

  Suddenly a rakish grin appears. “We could make out. That doesn’t require talking.”

  My face goes hot, and I can just imagine the splotches on my neck. I know he’s kidding. Joe can’t help himself. He’s probably never gone to a girl’s house and not made out. Is that what he expects? Oh, good heavens, I think I feel a migraine coming on. Hyperventilating. That’s it. I’m going to die right here and now.

  “You okay?” He reaches for me, a frown creasing his brow. “Hey, I was kiddin’.”

  Escape! “I—um—I have to use the bathroom.”

  I hear his chuckle as I run away to the safety of the second room on the right, down the hall.

  I take breaths. Deep trembly breaths that should steady me, but instead are sort of making me dizzy. I guess I really am hyperventilating. Where’s a paper bag when I need one? Fighting for control over my breathing, I stare into the mirror. Yep. I’m splotchy. It’s no wonder a guy like Joe will never be truly interested. But how could he just callously throw out the image of me making out with him like it’s nothing? I guess in all honesty, to him it is nothing. To me, well, it’s not, you know, nothing. It’s something.

  I stare into my own eyes in the mirror. Why do you care, Laini? Seriously. Mark is just as—well, practically as good-looking. He’s just as nice. Actually, I think Mark is nicer than Joe. And Mark has one more thing going for him. He really does want to kiss me. And I like kissing him too. Okay, his mouth is a little big for me. But it’s not bad. And his arms hold me just right. Joe hasn’t ever actually made a romantic move. Not even the night I spent in his bed. Not that anything would have happened. Even if I were that kind of girl, there was that whole migraine–throwing-up thing going on. Still, though. It’s a little humiliating.

  Okay, my breathing has returned to normal. Practically. My face is no longer red. For the most part. I think I can return to the kitchen with some semblance of dignity.

  I’m about to reach for the door when a scream resonates through the house.

  “Who are you? Y-you better get out of here if you know what’s good for you. I have mace!”

  Oh, good grief. Mom’s up. How could I forget her four bathroom breaks a night? I fling the door open and beeline down the hall into the kitchen. Mom is holding Joe off with a broom. She sees me from the corner of her eye. “Get back, Laini! Call 911.”

  Joe’s eyes are fixed on the broom, which is pointed a little low for his comfort, I’m sure. “For crying out loud, Laini. Tell her who I am, will you?”

  A giggle rises from my belly, and I can’t help but let it out. Actually, more than a giggle. “Ma, put down the broom,” I say through a constricted throat. “This is Joe.”

  “Joe? Joe who?” She frowns. “And why are you laughing? This isn’t funny. I nearly had a heart attack. And only two months before my wedding. That would have been tragic.”

  Truly. For more reasons than one. I sober up on the spot.

  “Sorry, Ma.” Stepping forward, I take the broom from her and watch Joe relax. “Joe is Nick Pantalone’s nephew. From the coffee shop? He’s my friend.”

  “Oh.” She nods and makes her way to the sink, where she fills the teapot I abandoned a few minutes earlier. “The coffee shop.”

  “We went to a dinner party tonight. He escorted me home.”

  She turns to me with a frown. “What about Mark? Don’t you usually see him on Saturday?”

  Oh, please. Tell me she didn’t.

  Joe bristles, which just might make the entire incident worthwhile.

  Is it wrong that I enjoy his getting bent out of shape at the sound of Mark’s name?

  “Mark’s working tonight.”

  “So you went out with another man? That doesn’t look good, even if he is only a friend.” She gives him a once-over and then stares back at me with a look that indicates she doesn’t believe I could ever be just friends with a guy like Joe. And of course she’s right. But I’m not going to own up to that. Ever.

  Joe clears his throat and steps forward, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sullivan.” Mom sets the teakettle on the burner and eyes him. I know that look. She’s determined not to believe anything he says. “I’m not trying to come between Laini and Mark. I asked Laini to come to a family function so she can drum up business for her cinnamon rolls and other baking while the coffee shop is being renovated.”

  Reluctantly, Mom takes his hand. “So this wasn’t a date?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Her eyes narrow, and I know she’s thinking, Why? My daughter isn’t good enough for you?

  I can’t help but laugh. “Sit down, Ma. I’ll get the tea. What kind do you want?”

  “Anything, just as long as it doesn’t have caffeine. I don’t need to be awake all night.” She’s right about that. Because if she’s awake all night, I’m awake all night.

  “I’ll make you chamomile.” I turn to Joe. “It’ll just take a minute for the coffee to brew.”

  Joe glances at his watch. “Actually, I think I’m going to take off. It’s getting late.”

  A curious disappointment clutches at me. This is why I don’t live with my mother.

  “Do you need to call a cab?”

  He shakes his head. “I told the cabbie to come back in twenty minutes.”

  So he had no intention of dropping me at the door and leaving without a few minutes of conversation anyway. That makes me feel good.

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Sounds good.” He turns to my mom and inclines his head ever-so-slightly. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Sullivan. I apologize for scaring you.”

  My mom’s expression softens. “I’m sorry I mistook you for a thief.”

  Joe grins. “It’s okay. It’s not the first time I’ve been accused of being a crook.”

  I fight hard not to cringe at his statement as my mind races back to the rushed-through city hall permits.

  The word crook won’t let go as we walk through the living room on the way to the door. I’d like to ask him about those doggone permits, but I don’t have the nerve.

  Joe glances at the boxes littering the floor. “Going somewhere?”

  “Mom’s getting remarried in a couple of months. She’s selling the house.” I give a wave to include all the clutter. “Thus the packing.”

  “This is a great house.” His eyebrows go up. “You don’t want it?”

  “Of course I do.” I try not to sound pathetic. “It’s just that she has to sell it, and I don’t have a real job, so who’s going to give me a loan?”

  “You graduate soon, though.”

  “Hopefully . . .”

  I open the door and we step into the cloudy night. Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, he rocks back on his heels. “Don’t sell yourself short. Your ideas for the coffee shop are pretty solid. Even Nancy said so. Plus, Nancy’s getting acquainted with quite a few people in the business. Architects, designers, contractors. Those guys all know each other.”

  I nod. “Yeah.” If I had more confidence in my own abilities, I’d b
e a lot more comfortable with the concept of asking for Nancy’s recommendation. But I’d hate to put her on the spot if she doesn’t feel she can honestly put in a good word for me. It’s not fair, and I don’t like to be put in that position myself, so I won’t do it to my new friend.

  Headlights loom and my heart sinks as instinctively I know it’s the cab returning for Joe. Only, I’m not ready to let him leave. I mean, after all, we didn’t really have much time together since he spent the evening with Nancy while I had the misfortune of listening to Bev rattle on about Ernie (may he rest in peace) and his rotten taste in decorating.

  “Looks like it’s time for me to go.”

  Joe unstuffs his hands and places them on my arms. “Listen, I’m sorry you didn’t have a great time tonight. But did you at least get some business?”

  I nod. “Your uncles ordered a ridiculous amount of baked goods. I had to rein them in.”

  “Have you ever thought about getting some menus made up? You could probably open your own shop or catering service or something. Then you wouldn’t even need to work for someone else.”

  Is he serious? I can’t hold in the laugh that bubbles to my lips. “Joe, cooking is a hobby. If I make it a business, I might stop loving it.”

  He frowns. “How could that happen? Look at Uncle Nick. Only Aunt Nelda could pull him away from that coffee shop.”

  “True.”

  His shoulders lift in a shrug. “So what’s wrong with you baking for a living? You’re good at it. Better than anyone I’ve ever known.”

  My heart soars, and I can’t stop my cheesy grin. “Thanks, Joe.”

  The cabbie blares the horn. “Yo! You want a cab or not?”

  “Hey, lay off that thing,” Joe calls. “People are sleeping.”

  “You’d better go before he leaves you.”

  “Yeah.” But he doesn’t look like he’s even close to leaving. He reaches out and fingers a springy strand of my hair. “Your curls are pretty.”

  I avert my gaze. Embarrassed. I don’t like my hair. Too red and too curly, especially on nights like this when the humidity is pretty much a hundred percent. And compliments make me feel uncomfortable. Like the person on the giving end is telling a whopper. But sincerity flows from Joe. “Thanks.”