MOSTLY A JERK
LIBBY
I’m lying on my couch in a pair of old, ratty cutoff sweats, a tank top, and a baggy man’s flannel shirt. My hair is in a bun on top of my head. There’s a half-empty carton of lo mein on the coffee table in front of me, along with an open bag of chips and the candy from the Christmas stocking my mom gave me. I stare at the TV, watching a woman attempt to get away from a ghost—the same ghost that has tried to kill her at least three times since the movie started.
“Don’t go in there,” I whisper to the TV as the woman puts her hand on the door handle of the room the ghost is currently in.
I’m so engrossed in the movie that I jump when someone knocks on my apartment door. I sit up quickly, causing tiny, empty, silver chocolate wrappers to fly out around me. Looking at the door, my heart races.
“Libby?”
Hearing Antonio’s familiar voice, I stare at the door in disbelief.
“Libby?” he calls as I get up off the couch.
I glance at the clock to see that it’s just after eight o’clock. I got home from my parents’ house on Long Island this morning after spending Christmas and a few days with them. It was nice to get away, but I’m happy to be home.
I look out the peephole when I get to the door. Sure enough, Antonio is standing on the other side. Shaking my head, I unlock the dead bolt and pull open the door.
“Antonio, wh—”
“I’ve been calling you.” He cuts me off as he pushes his way into my apartment.
“What?” My eyes go from the hallway to him.
“I’ve called you at least a dozen times, if not more,” he says.
I blink at him.
“What . . . ? Why?”
“You need to work tonight.”
“Pardon?” I hiss, not saying what I really want to say. That would be that I don’t actually work at Tony’s, and that if I go in to help out, I do it as a favor to his parents and him. Yes, I might be getting paid for the time I’m there, but I still don’t officially work at the pizzeria.
“They need me at the station. One of the guys called in, so they’re down a man. This normally wouldn’t be a big deal, but Marco’s off tonight, Peggy just went home to be with Valeria, and Hector can’t close the shop alone.”
“So you need my help?”
“Yes.”
“You could have just asked nicely,” I tell him.
He shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, looking uncomfortable.
“Can you please help me out?”
“Yes.”
“Really?” he asks, surprised.
“Yes.” I roll my eyes, then head for my closet. “I just need to get ready.”
“I’ll wait and walk with you.”
“I can find my own way after I finish getting ready,” I point out. “Don’t you need to head to the station?”
“I’ll wait,” he repeats, going over to my couch and taking a seat.
Trying to ignore the fact that there’s an extremely handsome man in my apartment, I grab a pair of jeans from my wardrobe, along with the T-shirt he gave me with the Tony’s logo on the front. I take everything with me into my bedroom and shut the door. I change quickly, then head into the bathroom to brush my teeth and my hair. Once I’m done, I go back into the living room and grab a pair of socks out of my drawer. I pick up my boots, then take a seat on the couch next to him to put them on.
“This is a lot of junk food . . . ,” he says, sounding slightly horrified.
I notice that he’s picked up all the wrappers from the candy I’ve eaten tonight and wadded them into a ball in his hand.
“No, it’s not,” I lie, looking at him.
His head tips to the side.
“I’ve never seen you without makeup,” he says suddenly.
I expect him to add something that will make me want to kick him, so I brace myself.
“You don’t need it.”
Okay, I didn’t expect him to say that.
Hearing a scream come from the TV, we both look at it.
“Scary movie?”
“Yes.” I grab the remote and flip off the television, then pick up my half-eaten container of lo mein and put it away in the fridge so I can eat it later.
“You don’t seem like the kind of girl who watches scary movies alone,” he states as he stands up from the couch and watches me put on my coat, hat, and gloves.
“And exactly what kind of movies would you think I might watch?”
“Ones with lots of romance,” he answers.
My nose scrunches up in disgust. “I hate romance movies. They are always so cliché. Guy and girl meet, guy is a jerk, girl is an idiot for him even when he’s a jerk. Still, the girl always falls in love with him, forgetting that he was a jerk to begin with, and in the end that comes back to bite her in the ass when he’s an even bigger jerk. She cries, usually a lot. He realizes at some point what he lost and then finally he begs her for forgiveness. Always—but always—she takes him back, even when she shouldn’t.”
“You really don’t like romance movies.” His lips twitch, and I roll my eyes again. “I’m learning a lot about you tonight, Princess.” He chuckles, and I glare at him.
“Don’t annoy me, Antonio.”
I open the door to my apartment and sweep my hand outward, indicating he should leave ahead of me.
“Even annoyed, you’re still pretty,” he says, stopping to look down at me.
My stomach dips, then knots in a way that it never has before.
“Definitely pretty,” he mutters as he walks out the door.
With a shake of my head, I step out after him and lock up behind me. Following him down to the first floor, my stomach still in knots, I stare at his back. I wonder what the hell is going on with him. When we reach the sidewalk, we walk side by side—so close that our arms brush.
“Here.” He hands me a key, and I take it. “Hector’s going to stay with you tonight, but he doesn’t have his key with him. So you’ll have to use mine. In the morning, I’ll pick it up from you.”
“I have work tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“I have to leave by seven thirty.”
“I’ll be by before that.”
Figuring it’s pointless to argue about this, I sigh. “Okay.”
“I’ll have my cell on if you need anything,” he says as we stop outside the door to Tony’s.
I look up at him when he dips his head down toward me.
“It will be okay,” I say quietly, seeing that he looks worried.
“I know it will.” His eyes scan my face, making me shift uncomfortably. “Call me when you get home tonight.”
“I’m not going to call you,” I mutter.
His lips twitch into a smile before he shakes his head and walks away down the sidewalk.
“You coming in, chiquita?” Hector asks, startling me.
I spin around to face him, feeling my cheeks get warm at the knowledge that I was just standing on the sidewalk like an idiot female lead in a romance movie watching the jerk she’s lusting after walk away.
“Come on.” Hector tugs my hand and drags me inside.
I follow him in, drop my stuff in the office, and get to work.
Hearing my cell phone ring, I reach out with my eyes still closed and pat the top of my bedside table until my hand lands on it. Picking it up, I squint one eye open, slide my finger across the screen, and then put it to my ear.
“Yeah?” I answer, half-asleep.
“You didn’t call,” Antonio says, his voice sounding rough. Like he just woke up.
“I told you I wasn’t going to call.”
“You get home okay?” he asks, ignoring my comment.
I sigh. “Yes . . .”
“Everything go okay tonight?”
“Yes.”
“All right, babe. Go back to sleep.”
He hangs up, and I pull my phone from my ear and stare at it.
“Babe? Now what the hell is that about?” I whisper my question into the dark, but of course get no answer in return. I drop my cell back to my bedside table, but it takes me forever to get back to sleep. The replay of Antonio’s deep voice calling me “babe” is on a continuous loop in my mind.
Hearing a knock on my apartment door early the next morning, I rush across to it, tying my robe as I go. I lift up on my tiptoes to check the peephole, then feel my heart start to beat a funny rhythm in my chest when I see Antonio standing outside. His head is turned to the left and tipped down like he’s looking at something. Glancing at myself in the mirror hanging next to the door, I cringe. My hair is a mess because I went to bed last night with it wet. There are bags under my eyes from not sleeping much. I look toward my bedroom, wondering in vain if I have time to put on some under-eye concealer or brush my hair.
“Libby?” he calls through the door, knocking again.
I jump. With no other choice, I open the door a crack and look out.
“Hey . . . ,” I say, hating myself a little for sounding as breathy as I do.
“Libby Reed, what is that man doing coming to see you this time of the morning?”
I wince, then poke my head out the door and look down the stairs. It’s Miss Ina, the old woman who lives on the first floor. She’s standing at the bottom of the steps dressed in a robe, her white hair flat on one side like she just woke up.
“Miss Ina, it’s okay. It’s just Antonio. You can go back to bed.”
“Go back to bed?” She plants her hands on her hips, and I sigh.
Until a few days ago, I’d never shared more than a handful of words with the woman—honestly, she scared the crap out of me. Then Mac befriended her and invited her to our parents’ house for Christmas dinner. It was during the drive to Long Island that I learned she’s actually kind of nice in a grumpy-old-woman sort of way. I’m also starting to figure out that she’s nosy. Okay, I already knew that she was nosy, but now that we’ve started to talk, she’s become even more nosy.
“I can’t go back to bed now that I know you’re going to be alone in your apartment with a man while you’re wearing nothing but a dressing gown.”
“Miss Ina, he’s just picking up a key. My virtue is safe,” I mutter.
Her eyes go to Antonio and narrow.
I peek up at him to see him fighting back a smile.
“It’s a little funny, Princess,” he says, looking at me.
Rolling my eyes, I look down the stairs at Miss Ina. “He’s not even coming inside. You can go back to bed.”
“Fine, but I’ll be calling your mother about this later,” she says.
I don’t reply, just watch her hobble away with her walker.
Once she’s out of sight, I look at Antonio. “I’ll be right back.” I leave the door open a crack and go to my bedroom. I find his key in the jeans I had on last night. I grab it and head back to the living room, then stop dead when I find Antonio in my kitchen and the door to the fridge open.
“What are you doing?”
“I didn’t have a chance to have breakfast,” he tells me.
I blink at him.
“You didn’t have breakfast?”
“It’s only six. Nothing was open.” He shrugs, then looks into the fridge once more.
“Okay . . . so pick something up when you leave,” I suggest.
His eyes move back to me. “Why? I’m here now.”
“Antonio—”
“Have you eaten yet?” he asks, cutting me off.
I feel my head twitch. “No . . .”
“So I’ll make us breakfast while you get ready for work,” he states.
I stare at him, wondering if he’s been abducted by aliens. First he tells me I’m pretty, then calls me “babe,” and now he’s offering to make me breakfast?
“Babe, you might want to get a move on. You need to get ready to leave,” he says.
I look from him to the clock, then feel my eyes widen when I see that he’s right. I don’t have a lot of time before I need to leave for work. It’s going to take me forever to sort out my hair. With no time to deal with whatever is going on with him, I drop his key to the restaurant in the kitchen and grab an outfit from my wardrobe. I go into my bedroom and shut the door behind me. On autopilot, I shower, do my hair and makeup, and get dressed. I’ve chosen a pair of black slacks and a black scoop-neck sweater with a bow that ties behind my neck—its cream ribbon matches my boots. When I’m done, I open the bedroom door and find that Antonio is no longer in the kitchen. He’s sitting on my couch with two plates of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him on the coffee table, along with two cups of coffee.
“You gonna stare at it, or are you going to eat it?”
At his words, I meet his gaze, head across the room, and take a seat.
“Thank you,” I mumble, picking up my plate.
“You have nothing but junk food in your fridge. How the hell do you have that body?” he asks as I take a bite of toast.
I almost choke on it when I try to swallow.
“I’ve always been skinny. I have healthy food, too . . .”
“Where?” he counters.
I look at him and narrow my eyes. “There’s some canned veggies in the cupboard, and you found the eggs,” I point out.
“Right . . . canned veggies and eggs.” His lips twitch, and my stomach does that weird dip thing it’s been doing a lot lately.
“I work a lot. I don’t have time to cook three-course meals all the time, so I normally eat on the go,” I say by way of self-defense as I grab the remote and turn on the TV. I flip around to find a morning news show.
“Do you make good money doing makeup and hair?”
Even though the question is asked casually, it still makes me feel a little strange—like there is a deeper question hidden behind it.
“Can I ask you why you’re asking me that?”
“You told me the other day that the top you had on cost you two hundred dollars. I’m just curious if you bought it yourself or if someone got it for you.”
“If someone got it for me?” I repeat.
His eyes wander over me in a way I try to tell myself I don’t like all that much.
“Yeah. Did a man take you shopping, or did you buy it for yourself?”
“A man bought it for me,” I toss back at him, enjoying watching his eyes shutter and his jaw clench. “That man was my dad. It was my birthday gift last year from him,” I state, completely offended.
Suddenly I realize exactly what kind of girl he thinks I am. Dropping my half-eaten piece of toast on my plate and picking up my cup of coffee, I take both to the kitchen and drop them into the sink. I don’t even bother to scrape the eggs off into the garbage.
“Libby . . . ,” he calls, but I don’t look at him.
“If you’re done, I need to get to work.” I grab my coat off the arm of the couch and put it on, along with my scarf. Then I pick up my purse.
“I didn’t mean anything by my question.”
“You did,” I state, finally looking at him.
He flinches.
Whatever.
“I need to leave. Are you done?” I ask, seeing that he hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch.
“Lib—”
“Fine. Just lock up before you go.” I cut him off as I open the door and step out. I don’t slam the door behind me even though I want to, but I do stomp down the stairs.
“I thought he wasn’t going inside,” Miss Ina says, startling me.
I jump in place, grabbing my chest.
“Miss Ina, not now. Please.”
“I know, I know.” She waves a hand at me. “You don’t have time to talk because you need to get to work, but I expect you over for tea so we can talk about why you look ready to commit murder.”
“How do you feel about helping me hide a body?”
“I’m old, girl, but I still have a life to live. I can’t go to prison.”
“Right,” I sigh, defeated. My eyes widen when I hear my apartment door open and shut. “Crap,” I whisper.
I rush to Miss Ina and shuffle her back into her apartment. I follow her and close the door as quietly as I can while she asks loudly, “What on earth are you doing?”
Putting my finger to my mouth in a silent demand, I then get up on my toes to look through her peephole until I see Antonio walk past her door. Letting out a relieved breath, my shoulders sag.
“Seems you got it bad for that boy,” she murmurs.
I glare at her. “I hate him.”
“I bet you do.”
“No, seriously. I do. I hate him.”
“Okay.” Her lips twitch, and I fight the urge to stomp my foot to emphasize my point. “Is he gone?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, what are you doing? Don’t you need to get to work?”
“What if he’s outside?”
“If he’s outside, then you know he’s got it bad for you, too,” she tells me.
“He hates me more than I hate him.”
“Sure he does,” she mutters, moving me out of the way and opening the door. “Now, go on.”
“Why did Mac insist on befriending you?” I question.
Her nose scrunches up. “I don’t know, but you need to go. I have things to do.”
“Fine.” I swallow, then peek out into the corridor. Seeing it empty, I step out and turn back to say thanks to her for letting me hide out in her apartment. Before I can, she slams the door and locks me out. “Grumpy old woman.”
“I heard that!” she shouts.
I mouth “I heard that,” then turn on my heel and open the front door to the house. Seeing Antonio standing on the sidewalk, I grit my teeth.
“Libby!” he calls, but I ignore him as I head to the edge of the sidewalk to catch a cab to work. “I’m sorry.”
“I shouldn’t have asked you that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I agree, feeling him get close to where I’m standing.
“Can you look at me?”
“Don’t you need to be somewhere?” I snarl, pissed at him and at myself.
I’m angry at myself for liking him when I shouldn’t and angry at him for being a jerk one minute and sweet the next.
“Yes, but first I need to know that you forgive me for being a dick.”
“I forgive you,” I say immediately, hoping that will make him go away.
My eyes fly up to meet his when his fingers wrap around my chin.
“I’m really sorry,” he repeats.
I swallow over the sudden lump that has formed in my throat.
“Okay.”
“Do you forgive me?”
Looking into his eyes and seeing regret there, I pull in a deep breath and let it out while nodding.
“Can I hear you say it?” he asks softly.
“I forgive you,” I whisper.
His fingers touch my jaw while his thumb sweeps across my bottom lip so lightly that I wonder if I imagine it. He steps back.
“Have a good day at work, Princess.” He steps into the road and raises an arm. A cab pulls up and parks at the curb. He opens the door for me, and I slide into the back seat without looking at him again as he slams the door behind me.
“Where to?” the cab driver asks.
I give him the address to the salon as I turn to look over my shoulder at Antonio. He’s standing with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans, his eyes on my cab.
Do you have plans tomorrow night?
Looking at the text from Palo as I stand in the office at Tony’s, I wonder exactly how I should answer his question. There are times he will have a client come in and ask if someone can do their hair or makeup for an event. So it could be that, but it could also be something else.
Maybe . . .
I type back and press “Send.”
I’m taking that as a no, which means you’re going out on a date tomorrow night. I think I met the perfect guy for you.
Fricking great.
Palo, do I really need to remind you of the last five dates you’ve set me up on?
No, and this guy is different.
How is he different?
He’s young, he has manners, and he’s RICH.
I sigh out loud as I type.
I don’t care about money, Palo.
Every woman cares about money, Libby.
He’s wrong. I don’t care about money. I never have. Yes, I like nice things like most women do, but I don’t need them. My parents were not rolling in it when I was growing up, but we were always happy. I grew up in a house full of laughter and love, which I know is way more important than material things.
Palo . . .
I leave just his name, thinking that says it all. It really does.
Please? For me? Just this one last time. If it doesn’t work out, I won’t ever set you up again.
Yeah, right. Like I believe that for one second.
Gahhhh! Fine.
I drop my cell phone into my purse, then turn and leave the office.
“What’s going on with you?” Peggy asks as soon as she sees me. I wonder if it’s that obvious that I’m annoyed.
“I have a date tomorrow night,” I tell her, sounding as annoyed as I feel about the idea.
She looks at me, then looks over my shoulder. I watch a knowing smile form on her lips. Wondering what that’s about, I look behind me. My lungs freeze when I realize that Antonio is standing close enough that he probably heard me say I have a date.
“A date! That’s nice. Who is the guy?” Peggy questions.
I look at her, wishing the ground would fall out from under me and swallow me whole.
“I . . . I . . . don’t know. It’s a blind date.”
“Oh, those are always fun. The mystery, the excitement . . . ,” she says wistfully.
Yes, I really wish the ground would swallow me whole.
“Anyway”—she claps her hands so loud that I almost jump out of my skin—“time to get back to work.”
“Right,” I whisper before I scurry though the half door into the back of the shop, then through the swinging door into the kitchen.
I need to get away from everyone. I start to busy myself with washing the overly large metal bowls, utensils, and pots that are all sitting in the sink. Since the pot is almost as big as I am, I leave it for last. I turn to look over my shoulder when I hear Antonio’s deep laughter behind me.
I can see him though the small crack in the door that leads to the front of the shop, standing at the counter. I watch a cute woman with short blonde hair lean across the counter toward him. My stomach drops, then sinks even lower when I see her grab a pen from the jar next to the register, take his hand, and write down what I’m guessing is her number on his open palm.
Turning away, I grit my teeth. It should not bother me that he just got a woman’s number. It shouldn’t bother me at all—but it still does. Finished with all the other dishes, I drop the pot in the sink and scrub it hard, until my arm hurts. I pull in one deep breath after another, trying to get my confused emotions under control. I wish I didn’t have a crush on Antonio, that I could hate him like I say I do. I wish I didn’t have to see his handsome face, didn’t have to hear his deep voice, and I especially wish I didn’t have to see him flirting with women. Okay, so I haven’t really seen him flirt with women, but I have definitely seen women flirt with him, which is just as annoying.
“What did you do for Christmas?” Peggy breaks into my thoughts.
I pull my eyes off the pot I’m scrubbing and look at her.
“I went to Long Island to spend time with my parents for a couple days. What about you?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“Hector has a huge family, and they all came over to the house for dinner on Christmas Eve. Then, on Christmas Day, we all went to his parents’ house, opened gifts, and the kids and the guys all went to the park to play football while the wives cooked.”
“That sounds like fun.” I smile at her.
“It was.” She smiles back, wiping down counters that don’t really need to be wiped down. “I was an only child. Hector has three brothers and six sisters, so it’s always loud and crazy, but it’s nice.”
“It sounds nice,” I say.
Her eyes study me for a long time—so long that I start to feel awkward.
“Don’t let it get to you, honey,” she says softly. My heart thumps hard. “That was just his reaction to learning you have a date.”
“What?” I breathe.
She gets close to me and drops her voice.
“Men are sometimes complete idiots. Men see something they want, but they don’t go after it because they think it will always be there waiting for them until they’re finally ready to make a move. You just showed Antonio that you’re not waiting,” she says, freaking me the heck out.
“I think—” I start to tell her that she’s got it all wrong, but she doesn’t let me finish.
“Don’t.” She shakes her head. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I see it. I see it when he looks at you. I see it when you look at him. One day one of you is going to break, and I imagine that day is going to be soon. He did not like hearing that you have plans with another man. I don’t know what his holdup is, but I imagine it has something to do with the woman that came before you.”
Okay, I was freaked out before, but now I’m totally freaked out.
Is she right? Does Antonio like me? Am I that transparent when it comes to my feelings for him?
“Go on your date. Have fun, flirt, and pray to god that that boy finally pulls his head out of his ass like his mama has been telling him to do for years now.”
“Peggy, I hate to tell you this. As much as I love Martina and hate killing her dream, you both have to know that he can barely stand me. I actually think he might even hate me,” I tell her.
She starts laughing so hard she doubles over from the effort.
I stare at her. “This isn’t funny.”
“It is.” She sobers up and grabs hold of my arm. “Honey, that boy does not hate you.”
“He does.”
“He might wish he could, but he does not hate you any more than I hate ice cream with chocolate syrup, rainy days at home with my family, sunsets at the beach, and the man I love giving me everything I want.”
Heart pounding hard, I beg for oxygen to fill my lungs. The idea that she could be right is almost too much for me to handle.
“It will be okay. You just pulled the veil off, and he’s seeing clearly now. Sometimes men need a wake-up call. I think you just gave him his.”
“He’s a jerk, Peggy . . . ,” I tell her while reminding myself of that fact.
Okay, so he can be sweet on occasion . . . but for the most part, he’s been nothing but a jerk to me.
“I can see why you’d think that.”
I don’t think that—I know it, I think but don’t say.
“I can’t wait to see how this plays out. I’ve been reading romance novels for a long time. It will be nice to see a real-life one play out right in front of my eyes.”
Blinking at her, I wonder if she’s crazy. Actually, I don’t wonder—I know she must be.
“Now stop hiding in here. I need you out front with me. There’s too much testosterone in this place, and I don’t like being outnumbered.”
“I’m washing the dishes,” I point out, not ready to go back out there.
Not yet and maybe not ever again.
“Do not hide.” Her harshly spoken words make my back get tight. “Do not hide. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I . . . I’m not hiding, Peggy,” I lie. “I’m washing the dishes.”
Getting even closer—so close I have no choice but to move away—she turns the water on, grabs the sponge from my hand, rinses it, then sets the pot to dry.
“Now you’re done.”
Looking at her and then at the pot, I shake my head. I turn the water back on to wash my hands. Figuring Peggy will stay until I obey, I follow her out to the front of the shop. The cute blonde is gone, but unfortunately, Antonio is not. When his anger-filled eyes find me, I fight the urge to bite my lip.
“I gotta head to the station in about an hour. Do you mind helping Hector close again tonight?” he asks.
“That’s fine.”
“Tomorrow I’m gonna talk to Dad about hiring someone else to help out so you don’t gotta be here,” he says.
Nausea turns my stomach while tears start to burn the back of my eyes.
“Are you saying that you’re getting rid of me?”
I can’t believe him. Seriously, I cannot believe him. Here, I’m happy. I feel fulfilled. And it’s the kind of fulfillment that comes from hard work. I haven’t had that feeling in a long time, and he wants to take it from me. If Peggy’s right, he wants to take it from me because I have a date. A date that I don’t even want to go on.
“You don’t actually work here, Libby. You know that,” he states.
My stomach twists, and my throat clogs.
“I like being here,” I tell him, watching his jaw clench. “I know you don’t get that because you”—I point at him—“obviously don’t. But I”—I jerk my thumb at my chest—“I like being here. So, no. You’re not going to talk to your dad about finding someone else. He doesn’t need to worry about that right now, and neither does your mom. And if you don’t like that, then too bad. You need to get over it, because I’m not going anywhere, Antonio.”
“Libby—”
“Just stop,” I hiss, leaning toward him. “God . . . just stop being a jerk.”
I pull my eyes from his, feeling everyone else’s eyes on me. I ignore them and go to the counter where we make pizzas. I check all the supplies. Noticing that some things are low, I start to refill them; then I make a list of things that need to be ordered, which is something that Martina normally does. Eventually, I go back out to the front of the shop and wipe down tables and chairs.
“He’s gone, honey,” Peggy says.
I look up from another table that I’m cleaning and find her, Marco, and Hector all watching me closely, looking worried.
“Libby . . . ,” Marco calls. My eyes meet his. “We love having you here,” he says.
Those stupid tears I have been fighting suddenly fill my eyes.
“Chiquita,” Hector says. I look at him, seeing him blurrily through my tears. “Marco’s right. We love having you here.”
“Thanks, guys,” I say shakily while I wipe at my cheeks. I duck my head and get back to work, trying with all my might not to think about Antonio.