FLUKE
LIBBY
“I heard you went on a date with Antonio last night?” Peggy says, coming into the back kitchen, where I’m stirring a pot of marinara sauce that has been cooking most of the day.
“I did.”
I know there’s no use trying to hide the smile that has been on my face since last night, when Antonio dropped me off at my door with a soft kiss and a promise to spend some time with me after we both get off work tonight.
“And . . . ?” she asks, leaning her hip against the counter at my side, crossing her arms over her chest, and raising one eyebrow.
“And we had dinner. It was nice,” I answer vaguely, not wanting anything to get back to Martina.
“Just nice?” She frowns.
Dinner was beyond nice. I found out that Antonio can be more sweetheart than jerk when he wants to be. That he’s easy to talk to and quick to laugh. That he’s gentle and affectionate. Throughout dinner, he found reasons to touch me, to hold my hand or caress my face. After we left the restaurant, we walked with nowhere in mind. Then we stopped at a small café and shared a slice of chocolate cake. It was the perfect night, the perfect first date. Even the way he left me at my door with a soft kiss and nothing more was perfect.
“I had a great time.”
“Okay, so are you going to go out with him again?” she asks.
“We have plans tonight,” I admit. Her eyes light up. “You can’t tell Martina,” I add quickly when she starts to open her mouth. “I know you talk all the time, but I don’t want her to know that we are seeing each other again. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because if things don’t go well tonight, I don’t want her to be disappointed.”
“Why wouldn’t things go well?” she asks, looking suddenly worried.
“Because last night could have been a fluke,” I say, taking my eyes off her and going back to stirring the pot on the stove.
Like I said, last night was perfect. But nothing can stay perfect forever, which is why there is such a high demand for romantic movies and ice cream.
“Last night wasn’t a fluke.”
A deep voice I know all too well rumbles behind me, making me jump. I spin around to face Antonio, who had at some point stepped silently into the kitchen.
“You can tell my mom that Libby and I are spending time together tonight, and then again tomorrow, and the next day after that,” he says, looking at Peggy.
“Antonio . . . !” I hiss.
His gaze snaps to mine.
“Are we not spending time together?” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Well . . . yeah?”
It was news to me that we would be spending the next few days together—good news, but still news.
“Then she can know about it.”
“I do.” He cuts me off before I can tell him that I still don’t think it’s a good idea.
“Well, I think a customer just came in. I’m going to go check,” Peggy lies before hurrying out of the back kitchen toward the front of the shop.
Antonio and I have a stare-down.
“I think we should talk about what we tell people about us,” I say after a long moment.
He shakes his head and takes a step toward me. His hand comes up to wrap around the side of my neck. “We don’t need to talk about it.”
“I think we do.”
I try not to be distracted by how good his hand feels on my neck, with his thumb sweeping softly against my pulse.
“If I didn’t think we had staying power, I’d agree with you.”
What?
“What?” I whisper aloud.
“You like me, right?”
“I . . .”
“You like me, and I like you.”
“You like me?” I ask stupidly.
His head jerks back.
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Fuck, but you’re cute when you’re clueless.” He leans in to touch his mouth to mine quickly; then he pulls back, meeting my gaze once more. “Mom already knows we have plans tonight. I told her about them.”
“You told your mom?”
“She’s happy about the idea of me and you together. So yeah, I told her. She needs good stuff to think about right now.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “Why did you do that? What if things don’t work out?”
“Did you call your mom today?” he questions, cutting me off. I look to the side. “Didn’t you tell her we have plans tonight?”
“No,” I admit.
He frowns.
“Why not?”
“My mom’s crazy.”
“What?”
“If I tell her we have plans tonight, she will likely call the nearest judge and ask when he can fit in a wedding. Then she’ll toss out my birth control in hopes I get knocked up so you’ll have a reason to stick around after we have a shotgun wedding.”
“Baby . . .” His lips twitch like he thinks I’m being funny, and he shakes his head.
“You think I’m kidding, but I’m not.” I rest my hands against his solid chest.
“You’re on birth control?” he asks suddenly, changing the subject.
My body jolts.
“What?”
“You said she’d toss your birth control.”
“I . . . well . . . yeah, I’m on birth control,” I say, feeling my cheeks get warm at the admission of something so personal.
“Why?”
“Why?” I parrot.
“Yeah. Why are you on birth control?”
“Because . . .”
“Baby, you’re a virgin. Why are you on birth control if you’re a virgin?”
Oh my god. This conversation has suddenly gone completely past the point of embarrassing to humiliating.
“Do we really need to talk about this?” I question.
“Yeah,” he answers firmly, bringing me closer to him by wrapping his hand around my hip.
“Okay. But do we really need to talk about this right now and right here?” I counter.
He looks around like he just realized where we are.
“Right. We’ll talk about it tonight.”
“Great. Something not to look forward to,” I mutter.
He laughs, then leans down and touches his lips to mine before releasing me and taking a step back.
“Do you need help in here?”
“No, I’ve got it covered.” I sigh.
“All right. I have some stuff to take care of in the office.”
“Okay,” I say, thinking that I should ask Martina and/or Tony to go over the administrative side of the business with me one day so that I will know what I’m doing when the time comes.
I know everything about running the front of the shop, but I’m clueless about everything that happens behind the scenes.
“It’s just you and me closing tonight.” He pulls me from my thoughts, and I focus on him. “Before we shut everything down, I’ll make us a pie to take to your place.”
“Sounds good,” I agree.
He gives me a small smile, then leaves the kitchen.
Once I finish with the marinara sauce, I take it off the burner to cool. Then I grab the garbage and head to the back door. As soon as I step outside, a small flash of white zooms past me and disappears under the dumpster.
Living in New York, I’m used to rats. From the glimpse I caught, though, I thought it was a kitten. I grab my cell phone out of my pocket and turn on the flashlight, then lean down to see if I can see the cat. A pair of wide eyes stares back at me, and my heart melts in my chest.
I was right; it’s a kitten. A tiny white one—or it looks like it once was white, but it’s covered with grime and dirt.
“Come here, kitty, kitty,” I whisper. It backs up. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” It takes a step toward me, then jumps back when a loud thud comes from somewhere close. “It’s okay . . . There is nothing to be afraid of. I promise I won’t hurt you.” Seeing that my urging isn’t going to bring him or her out of hiding, I head back inside. I wash my hands and then grab a paper plate and go to the front where we make the pizzas.
“Can you put some ham on here?” I ask Hector.
He looks at the plate, then at me. He shrugs before he places a few pieces of ham on the plate without question.
I go back outside and set the plate on the ground, then turn my flashlight back on the kitten and see that it’s right where I left it.
“I brought you some food,” I tell the kitten. It looks at me and then at the plate. I push it under the dumpster. “Come on, baby. It’s okay.”
It doesn’t make a move toward the food. Figuring I will have to earn its trust, I leave the plate and head inside, hoping my absence will draw it out of hiding.
“What’s going on?” Hector asks after I wash my hands again.
“There’s a kitten outside under the dumpster. I was trying to lure it out of hiding with food.”
“Chiquita, there’s a million strays in the city,” Hector says.
Antonio comes up to my side with a pen and paper in his hand.
“Why are you two talking about strays?” Antonio asks.
“Libby saw a stray cat out under the dumpster in the back.”
“There’s strays back there all the time, Princess.”
I roll my eyes.
“I know, but this wasn’t a cat—it was a kitten. A tiny, tiny kitten.”
“You want to rescue it?” Antonio asks. I nod. “Baby, it’s probably wild. Just call animal control.”
“I will if I can’t lure it out.”
“If you can’t lure it out?” he repeats, his brows pulling together.
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do with it if you do manage to lure it out?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Give it a bath and take it home . . . ?”
“Take it home?”
“Why are you repeating everything I say?”
“Because you’re talking about taking a feral cat home with you.”
“It’s just a kitten,” I remind him.
“It’s also wild.”
“Whatever. I don’t know why we’re discussing this. I’m not asking you for help in luring it out or taking care of it.”
“Taking care of it?” He looks at me like I have a few screws loose.
“Yes, taking care of it—if I can get it out. I’ll take it home, clean it up, then take it to the vet to make sure it’s okay.”
“Then you’re going to keep it?”
“Well, yeah, if I can.”
“And if you can’t keep it?”
“Then I will find it a good home.”
“You’re serious?”
He sounds surprised, and I really don’t know why—I just told him what my plan was.
“I’m going to get my coat, then head down the block to the corner store to get some milk for it.”
“Fuck me. You’re serious.”
“I already told you I was serious,” I growl, and his face softens in a way that I have to say I like a whole lot.
“I’ll go get you some milk.”
“I can get it.”
“And so can I. You stay here where it’s warm. I’ll go get you some milk for your wild cat,” he says, making me wonder how it’s possible that he can be a jerk and sweet at the exact same time.
“Whatever,” I grumble.
He smiles at me before he takes off. I watch his ass in his jeans as he goes, thinking he really does have a great ass, great legs, a great back, and an awesome strut.
“It’s about damn time,” Hector mutters.
I swing around to look at him, realizing once again I was watching Antonio like a lovesick idiot in a romance movie.
“I’m happy for you two.”
“I . . . Thanks,” I mumble, ducking my head to hide the blush I know is covering my cheeks.
“Tony’s told me and Marco about you buying the shop.”
My stomach drops at this news, and my heart starts to pound.
“We hope you want us to stick around after everything is said and done.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Of course I want you two to stick around.”
“Good. We know not to talk about it with Antonio, though I don’t get why you’re keeping it from him.”
“Um . . .” I bite my lip, not wanting to explain my reasons for not telling Antonio.
I know that I need to tell him about buying the shop before things between us go any further.
“It’s your news to share, chiquita. We’ll keep our mouths closed.”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He pats my shoulder before turning away from me and getting back to work.
Grabbing a rag, I clean off a table and work on talking myself into telling Antonio tonight that I’m buying his parents’ business.