The Redemption of Rico D'Angelo

by Michelle Douglas

  He rubbed his brow. ‘Sorry. It’s just...the café’s success is important.’

  It meant too much to him, and she didn’t understand why. It was as if his entire self-worth was tied to the success of this project. She pressed a hand to her forehead. Maybe he felt that way about all of his projects. And when they failed...

  She pushed her shoulders back. This one wouldn’t fail. She wouldn’t let it. ‘Go and do all your good deeds for the day. I don’t want to see you here until after two-thirty, when the worst of the lunch rush will be over. We’ll reward you with coffee and cake and give you a full report then.’

  ‘Right.’ He nodded and set off towards the door.

  She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Darn it! She couldn’t let him leave with that careworn expression on his face. ‘Rico?’

  He stopped and turned.

  She moved to stand in front of him. ‘Wish me luck.’

  His lips lifted a touch. ‘Neen, you’ve worked so hard I suspect you’ve made your own luck.’

  He reached out and clasped her shoulder. Beneath his hand, her pulse leaped. His gaze rested on her lips for a fraction of a moment, his eyes darkened and then he stepped back, his hand dropping to his side. Neen almost convinced herself the moment had never happened.

  ‘Good luck, Neen.’

  And then he was gone.

  Her pulse raced, her heart thumped and she found it suddenly hard to draw breath. She turned back into the café. This place was the distraction she needed. This! Not some uptight man who—

  She cut the thought off and drew in a deep breath, counted to three. Focus on the café. That was all she needed to do.

  * * *

  Their first customer—customers, actually, as there were three of them—walked into the café exactly eight minutes after Rico had left. They ordered scrambled eggs on sourdough toast, and Neen rewarded them with free coffee. Travis scrambled the eggs, she made the coffee and it all went without a hitch. They high-fived each other behind the counter.

  From then on they had a steady stream of customers. Nothing too hectic, but enough to keep them busy. There’d been plenty of radio advertising over the last week, and the warm September weather was luring people out to enjoy the sunshine, the parks that overlooked the harbour, and the harbour itself.

  The day didn’t go completely without incident. There were a couple of breakages, one spilled coffee and a burned pizza, but everyone took it in good humour.

  As the day progressed it became apparent to Neen that the café would be a happy place. Maybe it was the way the sun streamed in at the two bay windows. Maybe it was the café’s lack of pretension, with its scarred tabletops on display rather than tablecloths and fiddly ornaments. Or maybe it was the easy camaraderie that had developed among her staff.

  In her opinion, the fact they hadn’t packed the café with tables was a bonus too. It gave the room a sense of largesse and the tables a sense of privacy.

  One customer had confided to Neen, ‘I feel as if you wouldn’t mind if I just sat here all day.’ She’d bitten her lip then. ‘Would it be a problem if I brought my laptop with me on Wednesday mornings and sat at that table there and worked for a few hours?’

  ‘I’ll reserve the table for you,’ Neen had told her.

  She peeked at her watch—two-fifteen. She expected Rico to show up at any moment. The boys were busy getting on with their duties. As a new customer came through the door—a rather large Italian lady—Neen glanced at Luke and he nodded, setting down his cloth and whipping out his pad and pencil.

  Neen headed into the kitchen to unstack the dishwasher and ready it for another load. She’d just opened the dishwasher’s door when Jason came sliding into the kitchen, minus the cups and saucers he’d been clearing. ‘Uh, Neen.’ He gestured behind him. ‘I...um...’

  He didn’t need to spell it out. The expression on his face warned her there was a problem. She sent him an encouraging smile and headed out to the dining area. She hadn’t heard the sound of breaking china, or screams, or—

  She pulled up short when she saw the Italian woman haranguing Luke. Her maternal instincts ruffled up in an instant. Still, she made herself smile as she bustled over. ‘Hello, I’m Neen, the manager. Is there a problem?’

  ‘You employ criminals and delinquents!’

  She glanced at Luke. He stared back at her, jaw set and eyes blazing. ‘I only asked if I could take her order. I didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘Have you ever met this lady before, Luke?’

  ‘Don’t speak as if I’m not here!’ the woman exclaimed.

  ‘No, never seen her before in my life. I don’t know what her problem is.’

  Neen took the pad and pen from him. ‘Thank you, Luke. I’d appreciate it if you could give Travis a hand out the back.’

  Luke barely nodded, but he did as she asked. Neen turned back to the woman. ‘Would you like to tell me what the problem is, madam?’

  ‘The problem is your café employs criminals!’

  Neen drew herself up. ‘We most certainly do not. We provide training for youth who haven’t had the advantages that other young people enjoy. My staff work hard and are bright and energetic. I’m proud of them.’

  The woman stood and towered over Neen. There was something familiar about her eyes. Neen tried to reach for what it was but it slipped away. ‘You should be employing good boys. Boys that your customers won’t be afraid will mug them or steal from them.’

  ‘My boys will do no such thing! Madam, you chose to come into this café knowing precisely what kind of programme we’re running here. Nobody twisted your arm behind your back and forced you inside.’

  The woman’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you telling me you don’t want my custom?’

  Neen slammed the pad and pen to the table and planted her hands on her hips. ‘I’m telling you that if you choose to frequent this café, you will treat my staff with the respect they deserve.’

  * * *

  Rico made his way towards the café. He crossed his fingers and glanced through the first of the bay windows. Three tables were full, and he could glimpse more people beyond them. The clenched fist in his chest loosened its hold.

  He opened the front door, stepped inside—and then froze. Neen stood four feet away, hands on hips, bristling and magnificent, and all he could do was stare. Heat flooded his veins. Hardness balled at his groin. He couldn’t move a single muscle.

  He forced himself to fight it. First he swallowed. Then he released his forefinger, his little finger and his thumb from the door to let it swing shut behind him. He moistened his lips. And as the rushing in his ears receded, he caught Neen’s words—treat my staff with the respect they deserve.

  His chin came up at that. He’d been an idiot, not putting this woman on the top of his list of candidates. And you’re not going to jeopardise that by kissing her again!

  He dragged his gaze from her to glance at the person on the receiving end of her rebuke and his chest clenched so tightly it threatened his very blood flow. He pushed a thumb and forefinger to his eyes for a moment.

  Very slowly he let out a breath and took a step forward. ‘Hello, Mum.’

  Neen froze. She lifted eyes that had grown so wide a grown man who should know better could fall into them.

  ‘This lady is your mother?’

  He wanted to close his eyes again.

  Neen turned back to his mother. ‘You’re Mrs D’Angelo?’

  ‘I am.’

  Neen suddenly pointed a warning finger at both Rico and his mother. ‘You are both welcome to sit here, and I will get you anything you want, but I will not tolerate a scene—do you understand?’

  ‘Of course,’ he assured her, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.

  Neen refused to move awa
y until his mother nodded her assent too.

  ‘Thank you.’ Neen retrieved her pad and pen. ‘Please be seated and enjoy yourselves.’

  They both sat and she started to move off. Rico shifted on his chair. ‘You haven’t taken our order yet. You don’t know what we want.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Just for a moment his lips twitched, because he had the distinct impression that she wasn’t referring to refreshments. Shaking his head, he turned to his mother. ‘Hello, Mum.’

  ‘Son.’

  He bit back a sigh. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I wanted to see for myself this café where you’ve been wasting all your time. I wanted to see the cutthroats you employ so I can identify them when you’re found dead in some alley.’

  Over his mother’s shoulder he watched Neen straighten Luke’s collar, lift his chin and make him pull his shoulders back. She said something that made him grin before putting a pad in his hands and pointing him in the direction of some waiting customers.

  A giant hand reached inside his chest to squeeze his heart. Just once he wished the woman opposite had shown him that same kind of tenderness.

  He met his mother’s eye. ‘It’s not a waste of time. We’re doing good work here. And, just so you know, these boys have never been in trouble with the law. They’re not a threat to anybody.’

  Least of all to him.

  ‘Humph.’

  If only it was concern that had brought his mother here, rather than ten years worth of bitterness and anger.

  Bitterness and anger you fully deserve.

  He’d long given up hope of winning his mother’s approval. He’d let her down and she’d never forgive him for it. If he could turn the clock back...

  But he couldn’t.

  Neen set two mugs of steaming cappuccino in front of them, and two magnificent slices of her apple sour cake complete with generous dollops of cream. King Island cream. His mouth watered.

  She pursed her lips, folded her arms and stared down her nose at them. ‘Well, come on, then. Try it.’

  He didn’t need any further bidding. He spooned up a large piece of cake and cream and popped it in his mouth. His eyes half closed as the taste hit him. He had to bite back a groan. This was even better than the first time he’d tried it.

  His mother stared at him. He shrugged an apology. ‘I skipped lunch and I’m hungry...and this is seriously good.’

  She deigned to try a sliver of the cake and her eyes widened. ‘You made this?’ she asked Neen, the belligerence gone from her voice.

  ‘I did. It’s my grandfather’s recipe.’

  ‘Did Rico tell you I run my own restaurant?’

  Neen stuck out a hip. That made his mouth water too.

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Would you consider sharing this recipe with me?’

  ‘It’ll cost you.’

  Rico choked, but his mother immediately reached for her purse. ‘How much?’

  Neen started to laugh. ‘Put your purse away, Mrs D’Angelo. It’s not your money I’m after.’ She glanced across to where Luke was serving two milkshakes at a nearby table. ‘It’s his first day,’ she said softly, turning back, ‘and you very nearly shattered his confidence. If you apologise to him, I will give you the recipe.’

  His mother stared at the boy, and then down at the cake. She leaned back and surveyed Neen. ‘Rico tells me these boys have never been in trouble with the police?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  She pursed her lips and then nodded. ‘Send him over when he has a free moment. And then will you join us?’

  ‘I’d be delighted to.’

  ‘You’re a good girl.’

  ‘As squeaky clean as they come,’ she agreed.

  A few moments later, Luke appeared at Rico’s elbow. ‘Neen said you’d like a word with me, ma’am?’

  In that instant Rico was proud of the boy. He was trying hard to remain professional despite Mrs D’Angelo’s prejudice, but he knew it was a struggle for a boy who was used to fighting his battles in a different way.

  ‘Young man, I owe you an apology. I jumped to some rather hasty conclusions and said some mean-spirited things to you. You’re obviously working hard, and your employer has every right to be proud of you.’

  Luke’s eyebrow shot up to the ceiling, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Eyes everywhere but meeting hers, he managed a strangled, ‘Thank you ma’am,’ and then, giving Rico a quick glance, went back to the kitchen.

  Thirty seconds later Neen returned with a coffee and slice of cake for herself. ‘I’m afraid I skipped lunch too.’

  ‘It’s an occupational hazard.’ His mother stuck out a hand. ‘Bonita D’Angelo.’

  Neen shook it. ‘Neen Cuthbert.’

  Rico suddenly felt like a third wheel at the table as both women quite literally ignored him. He understood it in his mother—‘I wanted so much for you, Rico’—but Neen?

  He glanced at her and recalled the way he’d sniped and griped at her this morning. He grimaced. Her skin looked flushed and soft, her lips warm and inviting, and a throb started up in his groin. He reefed his attention back to his cake and coffee.

  ‘I owe you an apology too, Neen, for talking to your waiter like I did. But...’ She heaved out a sigh. ‘I live in fear of hearing Rico has been stabbed, or worse, by one of his clients.’

  Her show of maternal concern was a front—he knew that—but it made him ache just the same. Behind it was a will of iron, and she was still determined to bend him to it if she could.

  ‘I can understand that.’ Neen shrugged. ‘But he’s a grown man who can handle himself. I can assure you that the staff here are no threat to him.’

  ‘I can see that now. Thank you.’

  Neen sipped her coffee. ‘Now, I’ll write the recipe out for you, Mrs D’Angelo, and pass it along to Rico to give to you.’

  ‘No, no.’

  Both he and Neen stared at her.

  ‘You and my son—you are friends, yes?’

  Neen glanced at him. Her mouth opened and closed but no sound came out.

  ‘You order him about as if you are the boss instead of him.’

  Neen snorted. ‘I try to when I can get away with it.’

  His mother stared at Neen, and then at him, with a light in her eyes that he didn’t recognise. ‘So—friends, yes?’

  He wasn’t sure what idea she had in her head, but she could be a dog with a bone and he hated it. He opened his mouth—

  ‘Mrs D’Angelo, Rico and I have known each other for not quite a fortnight. We’re work colleagues first and foremost. But...’

  His mother leaned forward so quickly she almost knocked Neen’s coffee flying. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, he’s completely demanding—which drives me insane—but...’ She shot him a veiled glance. ‘He’s also helped me out with some stuff too. I appreciate that. So, yes, maybe Rico and I are becoming friends. But that’s all.’ She sat back then, and folded her arms. ‘Do you want to contradict me, Rico, and tell your mother you don’t have time for friends?’

  ‘I would never say anything so ungentlemanly.’

  Neen shrugged at his mother and one corner of her mouth hooked up. ‘You certainly raised him with good manners.’

  His mother sat back, a satisfied smile lighting her lips. ‘Excellent! Rico needs a friend far more than he needs a floozy.’

  Neen choked on her coffee.

  ‘Maybe you’ll get him to see sense.’

  He closed his eyes.

  ‘So, you will write out that recipe of your grandpapa’s and bring it along to dinner next Monday night. Rico will collect you. We eat at seven-thirty.’

  Neen blinked.

 
Rico leaned forward. ‘Mum, Neen might have other plans that night.’ It was one thing for her to order him about, but not his staff.

  ‘Do you have plans?’

  ‘Well, I...’

  ‘See—she doesn’t!’ And then she glared at Neen. ‘You do not want to try my cooking?’

  To his relief, Neen started to laugh. He blessed that sense of humour of hers.

  ‘I’d be delighted to come to dinner, Mrs D’Angelo. Thank you for the invitation.’

  ‘Such nice manners.’ She reached across and patted Neen’s cheek. ‘Now it’s time for me to go.’

  She rose and proffered her cheek to Rico, who dutifully kissed it. She glanced around the café once more and huffed out an audible sigh, shaking her head.

  ‘Oh, Rico...’

  He tried not to let her disappointment burn him too badly.

  And then she was gone and he fell back into his seat.

  Neen stared after her and then sagged. ‘Wow, she’s a force to be reckoned with. She doesn’t approve of your job, then?’

  He scowled. ‘That’s hardly news.’

  ‘Chin up, Rico. “It’s a truth universally acknowledged...” that our mothers are designed to embarrass us.’

  ‘Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen?’ he identified absently.

  ‘Pick the first line—it’s my favourite game. I used to play it with my Grandad.’

  There was so much warmth in her voice whenever she mentioned her grandfather it made him ache. And there was so much longing and grief tearing through her eyes now it made him want to gather her up in his arms and offer whatever comfort he could.

  Which would be a very bad idea on more than one front. He stared down at his half-empty coffee mug.

  ‘“It was the best of times...”?’

  He could at least play this game with her. He forced a smile to wooden lips. Too easy. A Tale of Two Cities. He opened his mouth to reply, but a great smash sounded from the kitchen.