I’ve always thought of myself as kind of a lucky guy. Now, there are people who might look at my life and wonder if I’m crazy or just wearing a pair of perpetually rosy glasses. But I don’t think so. From my perspective, things can always be worse . . . and the key to getting through even tough situations is seeing the good in each one.
But I understand how some folks might feel sympathy for me instead of envy. After all, on paper, my beginning didn’t look so promising. I was born to two people who were more in love with drugs than they were with each other or with me. That probably sucked, or would have, if it weren’t for my Pops. But since my folks—the biological ones—did one smart and kind thing and left me with my grandfather, I think I landed in clover.
Pops never treated me like I was a burden or made a big deal about how damn lucky I was that he’d kept me. He made me feel like raising his grandson had been a privilege, not a chore. My childhood was probably more like how kids grew up in the sixties and seventies, because that’s how my Pops rolled, but I didn’t have complaints. I spent summers playing outside from the minute I woke up until Pops yelled for me to come indoors. My buddies and I played football the whole year around, which was where I fell in love with the game.
But if I’d had any doubt about Lady Luck being in my corner, it would have been erased as I maneuvered my way down a side street in Philly, glanced to the left and spotted a familiar figure opening the door to a small grocery store. I hadn’t seen her in a while, but there was no way in hell I’d mistake who she was.
She still moved with the same graceful gait, and she held her head high. Her slim shoulders were straight, which made a tiny bubble of happiness mixed with relief rise up in my chest. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been a zombie, with blank eyes and pale skin, her back stooped as though she was trying to disappear into herself. I knew from what Leo had let slip here and there that she hadn’t completely recovered, but still, she looked better. More . . . her.
With that in mind, I made a split-second decision and hung a right at the corner. Less than a block down, there was a parking garage, and I found a spot on the first floor.
Hey, I said I was lucky, didn’t I?
I swung out of the car, locked it—I might’ve been a small-town boy, but I wasn’t dumb about being in the city, no matter how big a hurry I might be in—and half-jogged, half-walked back to the grocery store. I hadn’t taken that long to get there, so I was pretty sure she couldn’t have finished her shopping, paid and left, even if she was just picking up milk or bread and hitting the express lane. No cashier moved that fast.
I didn’t see her in the front at any of the registers. Deciding the fastest and most efficient way to check out the whole store was to walk the endcaps, I began scanning the aisles, my eyes sweeping down each one as I stalked past. My vision was excellent, which was one of my advantages on the football field. However, even with my eagle eyes, I nearly missed her, because she wasn’t standing in the middle of a row, perusing the shelves. She wasn’t pushing a cart briskly, making her way around other shoppers.
No, Gia Capri was sitting on the tile floor in front of the chip display. A small green shopping basket was next to her, abandoned. She was curled up on herself, her arms wrapped around her knees and her head bent over as she shook.
My heart twisted painfully before it shattered. She broke me, right there, before we’d said a word to each other and before she’d even seen me.
I didn’t stop to think. I acted on instinct, and that carried me over to crouch down beside her. Before I knew it, I’d managed to talk her into rising to her feet and somehow, I’d hustled her through the check-out line and onto the sidewalk outside, which was where Gia suddenly came sputtering back to life. Her words tumbled over each other, something about pity and getting laid and being mentally unhinged. I stood there patiently, waiting for her to finish.
“. . . if you had half the intelligence God gave a goose, you’d leave me right here.”
She came up for air, her wide eyes blinking up at me. Her coat gaped open, and I could see her chest heaving from the effort of her speech. I’d like to have said that I was enough of a gentleman that I didn’t let my gaze dart down to take in the way her thin gray sweater stretched over her rack. But being an honest dude, I’d have to admit that I did, in fact, check her out, hoping all the while that she didn’t notice.
I made sure my eyes were firmly on her face when I grinned and replied to the last thing she’d said. “I’m just a football player. Never claimed to be that smart.” Holding her hand a little tighter, I gave a slight tug. “Come on. There’s a cool Italian place a few blocks from here. It’s nothing fancy, but the food is amazing. Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
To my relief—and delight—Gia let me pull her along with me. It took a few more minutes before she found her voice again.
“I thought you had plans. You said you were going to your friend’s house to play video games, right? Isn’t that why you were in the grocery store?”
I hesitated. “Yes . . . and no.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Care to be more specific?”
“Yes, I was going to Skeeter’s house to hang out tonight. That was the plan. That’s why I was on this street. And yeah, I was supposed to bring something to eat. But I wasn’t really in the store to buy food. I was in there because I saw you go in, and I wanted to say hello.”
Her small forehead wrinkled, and my fingers itched to smooth it out. I refrained; I didn’t need a Spidey tingle to tell me that Gia wasn’t down for spontaneous touches . . . yet.
“So you lied to me? You were . . . what, following me?” Her tone was a mix of distaste and disbelief.
“I didn’t mean to lie to you. When you get to know me, you’ll find out that I am honest to a fault. I don’t do lies, fibs, fabrications . . . and I should’ve been straight up with you back at the store, probably. But you seemed like you were kind of upset, and I didn’t want to freak you out more by saying I’d come in just because you had. But no, I wasn’t following you. Skeeter lives a few blocks from here, and I was heading to his place. And when I saw you going into the store, I instantly wanted to stop to say hello, but I also did think that I could grab the snacks while I was there. So . . . I guess we could call that a stretch of the truth. My apologies for doing it.”
She stared at me again, and I could see indecision and skepticism warring on her face. I took advantage of that lack of resistance to pull her the rest of the way toward the restaurant. We’d actually gotten all the way inside and were waiting for the hostess to come over to seat us before Gia spoke.
“What do you mean, you don’t lie? That’s a crock of shit in itself. Everyone lies.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “I understand that might be right, from a certain point of view. So I’ll rephrase it. To the best of my knowledge and ability, I don’t tell lies. I go out of my way to try to be truthful. Is that better?”
“I’m not sure.” She frowned at me, her forehead drawing together yet again. “I’ve never met a man who could even say something like that with a straight face.”
“Table for two?” The woman who now stood behind the podium was smiling brightly as her gaze flickered between Gia and me. Maybe she was wondering why I was with a woman whose stance made it clear she wasn’t comfortable. I remembered enough from my college psych classes to recognize the signs: her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her body was angled slightly away from me . . . and her mouth was tight. I had a twinge of doubt about having forced the issue; maybe I should’ve paid for her food and let her go home by herself.
But dammit, fate or God or the fucking universe had thrown this woman right across my path. We hadn’t exchanged more than a few words in all the years I’d known her, but now here she was, standing next to me. Was I going to let an opportunity like this pass me by? I might’ve been a thick-headed halfback, but I wasn’t stupid. Until Gia outright demanded that I take her home, I was going to enjoy being here with her.
I shifted to face the hostess, turning on my full charm. “Yes, please. Oh, and is there any way you could make it a quieter table? We haven’t seen each other in a while, and we’d like to be able to catch up.”
The woman was already reaching for menus. “Of course. You’re in luck, because it’s still early, and there aren’t too many people here yet. Right this way.”
I spread out the arm that wasn’t holding her grocery bag. “After you.”
Gia hesitated a second. When she began to follow the hostess, I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I’d been terrified that she was going to turn on her heel and take off. She was still jittery, still a flight risk, but once we were sitting down at a table, I figured she’d be less likely to run.
At least, that was my hope.
Our table was small, but as I’d requested, it was in a corner, away from other diners. I held Gia’s chair before I sat down across from her, settling her groceries at my feet, under the table.
“Hey, don’t let me forget your stuff when we leave. It’s sitting here on my feet. Your eggrolls are giving my toes frostbite.”
“They’ll probably be all melted and ruined after we sit here for an hour.” She crossed her arms over her chest, reminding me of a petulant sixteen-year-old.
“Nah. That crap never goes bad. It’s so filled up with chemicals and sodium and other shit no one can pronounce, it would survive into the apocalypse.” I wrinkled my nose. “That’s not real food, honey.”
“It is so real food. It’s my real food. And don’t call me honey. I’m not your honey.” Her eyes flared, and something in me leaped. That fire in her reminded me of the girl I’d met five years ago. It told me that she was still there, under the mostly silent, expressionless woman who’d been with me tonight.
“No, real food is not stuff you get in a box and then heat up in a microwave. Real food is fresh. It comes in all the colors, like green and red and orange and yellow. It has to be prepared with love and care. And the honey was just a figure of speech . . . baby doll.” I couldn’t resist the tease, and I was rewarded with a roll of her eyes.
“Whatever. For me, it’s the closest thing I get to legit nutrition, okay? So try not to stomp on it while we’re sitting here letting it thaw.” Gia flipped over the menu and began studying it, apparently giving me notice that the discussion was over. I decided to let it go for now.
“Welcome to Amico’s. Can I get you something to drink while you’re deciding?” Rocco, the waiter who approached our table, was an older man, wearing an apron with faded stains from red sauce. He nodded at me; I ate here often enough almost to be considered a regular.
Gia handed him her menu. “I’m ready to order now. I’ll have side salad with balsamic vinaigrette. And a water. Please.”
The server cocked an eyebrow at her. “Okay. Bottled water? Still or sparkling?”
“Just tap water with ice.” She leaned back in her chair, lips pressed together.
I knew what she was doing. She was thinking that she wasn’t going to let me buy her any more food than was absolutely necessary, and she was positioning herself to get the hell out of here fast.
But this chick didn’t know that she was dealing with the master. With a broad smile, I too handed over my menu. “What’s the family meal tonight, Rocco?”
The waiter grinned back. “Baked gnocchi. It’s damn good tonight, too. You want the whole shebang for both of you? Salad, soup, antipasto and dessert?”
I nodded. “Why not? Oh, and maybe toss in some extra garlic knots, okay? And we’ll both have a glass of the house red, the pinot, please.”
“You got it.” Tapping the table, he wheeled around and hustled toward the kitchen, leaving me with a woman whose expression left me little doubt about just how pissed she was.
“What the hell? Why did you order all that food? And where do you get off ordering for me? I don’t want pasta, I don’t want garlic knots, and I sure as hell don’t want wine.”
I let her rail at me, not saying a word until she’d sat back with a huff, her cheeks flushed and chest moving up and down. When I spoke again, it was in a calm, even tone.
“I ordered for both of us because you’re too damn stubborn to eat enough. You’re too skinny. If the only thing you’ve been eating is processed shit like what’s in this bag, it’s not a surprise. You need more than a small salad.”
Gia opened her mouth to interrupt, but I lifted one finger, fixed her with a stern look and kept talking.
“Second, I ordered all that food because I eat a lot.” Pointing to my body, I lifted one shoulder. “It takes a shit ton of fuel to keep this going, sugar.”
This time, she didn’t bother trying to correct me. She just stared over my shoulder, blowing out a long sigh.
“Third, you don’t have to drink the wine if you don’t want to. I asked for it because it’s a nice complement to the food. I don’t drink except for a little wine with a really good meal and a beer with my buddies now and then. I never get wasted. And I respect people who prefer not to indulge at all.”
Gia fidgeted with her linen napkin. “I’m not an alcoholic. I don’t mind wine or beer. But I don’t like to be around people who have to drink to have a good time.”
“Me, neither,” I agreed. “Look at that. We found something in common.” I paused, letting her digest that, before I went on. “Why were you sitting on the floor in the grocery store, crying?”
She flinched as though I’d hit her. “I was hoping maybe you’d be nice enough not to ask.”
“It has nothing to do with being nice. What kind of person would I be if I wasn’t concerned that I found you there, like that?”
“I don’t know. An acquaintance who knows enough to mind his own business? I’m still not real clear on how the hell you recognized me. I can’t even remember the last time I saw you. It had to have been down at Carolina, right? At least a year and half or two years ago?”
I gave my head a slight shake. “No. It was last year.” I hesitated, wondering if I should bring up what had to be a sensitive topic. “Uh, I was at Matt’s funeral. But I’m not surprised you didn’t remember that.”
“Oh.” Her pretty pink lips formed the single syllable in a tone faintly tinged with surprise. “Of course, you were. I didn’t . . . I was pretty out of it for that whole week. I wouldn’t know who was there or who wasn’t.” Her eyes softened, going glassy for a moment before she recovered slightly. “Still, we talked once down at your college, we saw each other here and there over the years, and you saw me at a funeral. Yet you recognized me going into a store and had to chase me down?”
I wasn’t ready to talk about that yet, so quibbling with details was my best deflection. “I didn’t chase you down. I went into the market to say hello. I hadn’t seen you since the funeral, so I wanted to just . . . I don’t know. See how you’re doing.”
“And lucky guy that you are, you walk in and find out exactly how I am doing when you find me pitching a fit in the snack aisle because the fucking store was out of ridged chips.”
I struggled to keep from smirking. “That’s the reason you were crying? Because they were out of your chips?”
Gia tilted her head. “It was one reason. Let’s call it the straw that broke the camel’s back, okay?”
“Sure.” I decided not to push too much. I didn’t want to spook her now, when it seemed as if she was relaxing a little.
“It’s been a hard year.” For the first time tonight, the hard, guarded expression melted away, leaving so much vulnerability that my fingers itched to reach across and cover her hands where they gripped the edge of the table.
“I know.” I kept my tone even, hoping it held empathy without pity. When she glanced at me, frowning again, I elaborated. “Leo talks about you a lot. He worries, you know.”
“Ah, that’s right. I keep forgetting you and Leo are friends.” She smiled a little, and I wanted to see her look like that more. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe that he and I are so close. Not sure if you realized it, but we went to high school together, Leo, Matt and me. I knew of them both, of course, because they were the big football stars, but I never talked to either of them until Quinn started dating Leo. Even then, it was just . . . you know. Acquaintances. And I thought Matt was the biggest asshole around.” Her smile faded. “Maybe I was right. Maybe if I’d kept that in mind back in Carolina at the bar where we were all hanging out, I’d be in a different place, and Matt . . .” She shrugged. “Well, who the hell knows? Maybe he’d still be alive. Or maybe not.”
“No way to know,” I agreed. “I guess I didn’t realize you and Matt hadn’t known each other before . . . that night.”
Gia snorted. “I knew him, but he didn’t know me. Matt had been the dude I loved to hate since junior high. He was such a jerk. He bullied people, he got in trouble—well, he should’ve gotten into trouble, but usually he managed to get out of it because his grandparents are fucking millionaires. He walked around the school like he was God’s gift to Eatonville. He—” She broke off as the server returned to drop off a basket heaped with beautiful, dripping-with-butter garlic knots. I nudged the food toward Gia, but she ignored it.
My stomach was empty, though, and these knots were some of my favorite things to eat. I dropped one onto my own bread plate and then placed another on Gia’s.
“Try them dipped in the marinara. I’m telling you, this is God’s own food. Pretty sure they’re made by the angels.”
“No, thanks.” Still, I didn’t miss the way she eyed the bread. I had a feeling that if I got her distracted enough, she might start eating without even realizing it.
“I’m not surprised to hear that about Matt. He didn’t change much during college.” I paused long enough to stuff one entire knot into my mouth. A tiny frown formed between Gia’s eyebrows as she watched me.
“You just ate that in one bite.” There was a tinge of disbelief in her voice. I hoped there wasn’t derision, too.
I finished chewing and swallowed. “Sorry about that. I’m famished. And these are damned good.”
Gia’s gaze flickered back down to the plate in front of her, and she tore off a small piece. “Did you skip breakfast and lunch today? And you’re lecturing me about eating?”
“Nope, I never miss a meal. But remember I’m a football player, and I’m training.”
She finished the bit of bread and reached for more. “It’s off-season. Like, way off season. I thought you guys took a break.”
I snagged another knot. “We do, kind of. But I just got traded to Philadelphia, and I wanted to hit the ground running with the team, so I’ve been working out with the guys. It’s important to make a good impression. I’d like to stay around here for a while.”
“Who were you with before?” Gia spooned some of the marinara sauce onto her bread plate and dragged the last bit of her garlic knot through it. “What team, I mean?”
“New York.” I leaned back in my chair to watch her, trying not to be too obvious about it.
“But you didn’t like it?”
I lifted a shoulder. “It was fine, for a start. But my Pops is starting to slow down, and even though there’s nothing really wrong with the team in New York, I wasn’t who they needed. Which meant they weren’t who I needed. So, it worked out for me to move down here, where I can be with my Pops most of the time and feel like I can contribute more to the team.”
She nodded. “I get that. You think it will work out here?”
“I hope so. I’m doing my best to make sure it does. I like Philly, and being here has a lot of benefits.” One of whom was sitting right here in front of me . . . not that I was going to blurt out that truth just now. She’d be gone so fast, I wouldn’t even see her dust. I coughed a little, clearing my throat. “Uh, I’d been living down here and commuting up to north Jersey for everything while I was with New York, so this drive into the city is a breeze. I have so much more time now.”
“You live with your . . . what did you call him? Your Pops? Is that your father?” Gia lifted the cloth napkin to wipe butter from her fingers.
The salad and antipasto course arrived at the table, and I waited to answer her until we’d both picked up our forks. I noticed without reacting that this time, she didn’t fuss about eating the food in front of her.
“Pops is my grandfather. I’ve lived with him since I was a baby, and I’d do anything for him.” The truth was simple, and I didn’t see any reason to make it more complicated.
She frowned again and took another bite of salad. “Where are your parents? What happened to them?”
“I never knew them. They lived with Pops while my mother was pregnant with me, and then they took off. We haven’t seen them since.”
Gia stared at me, her eyes narrowing. “They just left you? Their own baby?”
This wasn’t the first time I’d answered the question, but the fact that it was Gia asking made me more thoughtful about how I responded. “I know it sounds harsh when you say it that way, but it’s not so bad. My Pops is . . . well, he’s awesome. The people who made me and gave me life were messed up. Both of them were addicted to drugs, and they didn’t have the capacity to be my parents. But they did the next best thing. They were smart enough and cared enough to leave me with the one person they knew would never let me down.”
“Hmmm.” She didn’t seem convinced. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it. So you’re really close to your grandfather?”
“Yeah. He’s the best. I mean, yeah, he’s old, and he can be kind of crotchety and stubborn now, but underneath it all, he’s a giant marshmallow. I never once doubted that he loved me, and I don’t have any memory of feeling deprived because he was raising me.”
Gia was silent for a few seconds. “Lucky you,” she murmured, almost too softly for me to hear. “I wish my parents had taken lessons from your Pops.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “You grew up feeling deprived?”
“We never lacked for anything material. My dad is a stockbroker, and our family had a big house, fancy cars and all that shit. But I’m the youngest of six girls, and my parents split up when I was eight. I was either lost in the shuffle of kids or used by my mom to make my father feel guilty about leaving us. My mother didn’t bother hiding the fact that she couldn’t wait for me to finish school so she could sell the house and get on with her life.” She spoke flippantly, with a strong undertone of self-deprecating humor, but I didn’t miss the flash of hurt in her eyes.
“That sucks.” I crunched down on my last crouton and crossed my arms. “Are things any better now that you’re grown up and on your own?”
She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. My mother is still bitter as hell. More so now, actually, because my father is dating a really young model. They live together in a penthouse in New York. But lucky for me, I don’t have to see any of them very often. My mom lives near my second oldest sister and her family, and I avoid visits to my dad unless it’s absolutely necessary.” She hesitated a beat. “Which usually means if he’s laid on the guilt enough to make me do it. He’s paying my way through grad school and helping me with rent, so I feel like I owe him something, I guess.”
I didn’t have anything positive to say about that, although the idea of parents treating their child so thoughtlessly aggravated me. Still, I didn’t have the right to voice that kind of judgement, so I shifted the topic.
“You’re in grad school? What’re you studying?”
Gia finished her salad and nudged the plate away. “Journalism. Which probably sounds kind of moronic. You know, I’m getting my masters in journalism so I can struggle the rest of my life to make ends meet while reporting on news people don’t want to hear.”
“Nah, I think it’s cool. Do you want to write for a newspaper or be on the TV news?” I smiled. “I could see you sitting at the desk, all professional and smart . . . or maybe reporting in the field.”
She wrinkled her nose, and it was all I could do not to reach across the table and run one finger over her freckles. “I always thought I wanted to stick to print journalism, and that was what I focused on in college. But right now, I’m working as an assistant in the news department at a television station. So maybe I’ll end up going in that direction. Hey, who knows if there will even be newspapers by the time I get my degree? Pretty soon, they could all be obsolete. Defunct.”
“Your job sounds fun, though. It’s a foot in the door, right?” I gave into temptation and reached for a third garlic knot. “Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll be able to brag I once took the famous Gia Capri out to dinner.”
“Yeah, that’s doubtful.” She shrugged one thin shoulder. “I don’t know. I took the job because my dad has a friend who has friend at the station, so I think he probably pulled some strings. It’s not like it’s my dream or anything. It’s more like everything else in my life—I’m just going along with whatever happens to me. I don’t have enough energy for anything else.” She looked exhausted again, just when I thought she’d begun to perk up a little.
“When you’re not in school or at work, what do you do? What’s a weekend like in the world of Gia? Parties? Dinners with friends? Movies or plays? Concerts?” I teased a little, trying to get a rise out of her. “Jetting off to the islands for tequila and sun?”
But she didn’t even crack a smile this time. “Hardly. My weekends are about junk food and binge-watching television shows. I hole up in my apartment and just get through those two days off until Monday rolls around. What you witnessed tonight was how I react when any part of that plan goes haywire.”
“Binge-watching, huh?” I cocked my head. “I’ve heard of that. I’ve never been much of a TV fan—Pops and I watch football, and we catch the news sometimes, but when I was growing up, he always encouraged me to play outside or read instead of sit there letting other people entertain me.”
“Your Pops sounds like a smart guy. I didn’t care much about television until recently, but now . . . it’s a good way to get numb without endangering myself or anyone else.” She picked up her water glass, still avoiding the wine goblet. “I guess I’m making up for lost time and finding out what all the fuss has been about.”
“What do you watch? Like, chick stuff?” I thought about the shows I’d heard women gush over. I didn’t pay much attention, usually, but some of my friends’ girlfriends were addicted to certain shows.
“Well.” A ghost of a smile flickered over her face. “I’ve been zipping through Buffy the Vampire Slayer over the past few weeks. I was planning to start the fourth season tonight. I might even get through the whole thing before it’s time to go back to work on Monday.”
“Hey, I’ve seen some of that one. Buffy, I mean—not necessarily that season. Wasn’t there a musical episode? Some demon puts a spell on Sunnydale so they all have to sing and dance—”
“Spoilers, spoilers!” Gia clapped her hands over her ears and glared at me. “I haven’t seen that one yet. I want to be surprised.”
“Sorry.” I grinned at her, unrepentant. “Other than the Slayer, what do you like to watch? Any real shows? With cops or spies or . . . oh, I know! Do you like James Bond?”
She grimaced. “I’m not a fan of cop dramas, but I can appreciate a decent James Bond, if it’s one of the really good ones. But when it comes to TV shows, other than Buffy, I’ve also watched a season of Veronica Mars. I loved it, but it’s not on my subscription service, so I’m waiting for the next season to be available at the library.”
“Hmmm.” A plan was forming in my mind, but I knew I had to reveal it slowly so as not to spook Gia. “I’m fascinated by your weekend plans. Do you—”
“Dinner is served!” Rocco, accompanied by a younger man who also carried platters, hustled to our table. With a flourish, he set down one plate before Gia at the same time that his assistant presented mine. They lifted the covers in near-unison, and the tantalizing aroma of excellent red gravy and cheese filled the air.
“It looks good, right?” Rocco’s broad smile spread over his face. “Just the thing for a romantic dinner for two. Buon appetito.”
“This is not a romantic dinner.” The alarm in Gia’s voice was echoed in her eyes. “We’re just . . . I’m just . . . I’m here under coercion. He made me come with him.”
If I’d been worried that Rocco might believe that I’d actually dragged Gia to his restaurant, his reaction completely laid those concerns to rest.
“Well, sweetheart, from my point of view, there’s a hell of lot worse places to be, uh, coerced into coming than my restaurant. And since this fellow comes in here at least once a week, and I’ve never seen him be anything but a perfect gentleman, I’m thinking he just wanted to see you got some decent food.” Rocco pointed to gnocchi. “And this is a sight more than decent. It’s the best Italian food you’re going to get anywhere in the city. So, I suggest you eat up and enjoy every bite.” He winked at her. “You’re too skinny. If my ma catches sight of you, she’ll be yelling at me to send you out more bread and then dessert, too. She thinks leaving food on a plate is close to being a sacrilege. Make sure you eat all of that.”
He wheeled around and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Gia wide-eyed and staring. I swallowed back a chuckle and tried to keep my expression blank.
“Don’t sit over there, trying to look innocent.” She kicked me under the table. “I don’t know quite how, but you’ve got all these people thinking you’re some kind of saint. But I see right through you.”
The idea of Gia seeing the real me made my chest go tight and my heart beat speed up with anticipation. Still working hard to make sure my face didn’t give away what I was feeling, I raised both of my hands. “Hey, I didn’t claim to be anything other than who I am. I think they just like to see someone who enjoys his food.”
“Sure. And I’m positive that you’re more than happy to do just that.” Gia picked up her fork and stabbed some gnocchi. I watched her face as she chewed and was rewarded when her eyes slid partly shut. “Oh, my God. This is so good. My nonna used to make gnocchi, and I haven’t had it homemade since she passed. This is just like she made it.”
“Make sure you tell Rocco that. You’ll make his night.” I scooped up some of my own food. “Yeah, this is the stuff. I could eat this every day for the rest of my life and not be unhappy.”
“Seriously, Tate. That’s so boring. Don’t you know that variety is the spice of life?” Gia shook her head, and I caught the humor in her eyes. Hearing her say my name, though, was enough of a distraction even without the smile teasing her lips. I let myself imagine how it might sound if she was moaning my name in bed, or maybe up against a wall—
I sucked in a breath and ended up choking. I had to gulp down water to recover, while Gia watched me.
“Are you okay?” she inquired once I could breathe again. “I thought for a minute I was going to have to Heimlich you.”
The thought of her wrapping her arms around my back, pressed up against me, was probably not something I needed to be picturing just now. I pushed it away from my mind. “Sorry about that. Pops says I need to remember not to inhale the food. Guess I forgot for a minute.”
“I’ll be honest and admit I was just thinking that if you collapsed, I could probably eat your dinner, too.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Says the girl who wasn’t hungry.”
“I’m a big enough person to admit when I’m wrong.” She winked at me over a forkful of pasta, and my entire night was made. Somehow, I’d managed to take this woman from crying in the grocery store to winking at me over Italian food. Mission more than accomplished.
But I wasn’t done yet. Now that I’d not only found Gia but made contact—and then some—there wasn’t a chance on God’s green earth that I was going to back off.
“As I was saying when Rocco brought our food, and before I nearly choked to death—” I shot her a faux-glare. “Your weekend plans sound interesting. Want some company?”
“Company?” Gia echoed. “What—you mean, with the binge watching and junk food? I hate to point out a cultural norm, buddy, but usually, those are activities best done alone.”
“Honey pot, anything you might do by yourself is twice as fun with someone else.” I lowered my voice, hoping I sounded sexy and suggestive, but I decided I’d missed the mark when she giggled. She actually giggled. The sound made me so happy that I couldn’t regret the fact that she was laughing at me.
“Honey pot? Really? Is that even a thing?” She shook her head, but she was still smiling.
“Don’t try to change the subject,” I said sternly. “The point is, if you haven’t understood my meaning yet, I’d like to hang out with you this weekend. I want to learn more about this binge-watching and eating deal.” Leaning closer and lowering my voice, I added, “I’ll even sweeten the deal. I’ll cook for you, so that on the off-chance that your, uh, healthy egg rolls aren’t good after sitting here tonight, you’ll still have food. And I’ll stop at the grocery store near my house and get your chips for you, too.”
“You’ll cook for me? You can cook?” She twisted her mouth, considering. “You know, I’m not married to the junk food part of the weekend plans. I only eat that shit because it’s easy, it’s cheap, and I don’t have to think about it.” She sighed. “I don’t cook. I’m actually kind of a disaster in the kitchen.”
“I think we’ve got ourselves a deal, then.” I stretched one hand across the table. Gia’s smile faded as she stared at it for a few seconds before she slid her fingers into mine.
“A deal,” she echoed. “I’ll supply the entertainment and the apartment. You bring the food.” Her forehead knit together, and doubt clouded her eyes. “I’m still not clear on why you’re so interested in this. This isn’t . . . Leo didn’t put you up to this, did he?”
I sat back and tossed up my hands. “You found us out. Leo told me where to run into you tonight, and I timed it perfectly. That tracker he had implanted on you really did the job.”
Gia rolled her eyes. “Okay, yeah, when you say it like that, it does sound ridiculous. But Leo could have told you the neighborhood where I live. That’s not so far-fetched.”
“I’ll give you that one. He might have. But have you talked to our mutual friend lately, Gia? The guy’s in brooding mode. He was crushed when Quinn moved to California. I think he’s terrified that she’ll end up staying there, and he’ll lose her again, for good this time.”
“No, that won’t happen.” Gia shook her head. “Leo and Quinn . . . they’re meant for each other. This is just a rough patch. Trust me, I’ve been on the sidelines watching since they first started dating. Those two are going to get their happy ending. I know it. They belong with each other.”
“Well, maybe you need to give Leo a pep talk. He’s pretty down in the dumps right now. He doesn’t say much to me about Quinn, but I can hear it in what he doesn’t say.” I thought about our conversation when Leo had come up to New Jersey for his brother’s engagement party. He’d been crushed at the thought of his girl being all the way across the country. When I’d pointed out that he could always ask her not to go, he’d poured out the whole story. I knew most of it already: Nate, who had been a lifelong friend to both Quinn and Leo, had lived with a chronic and ultimately fatal illness. Although he’d been in love with Quinn probably as long as Leo had been, he’d known where her heart lay. Still, knowing that hadn’t stopped him from asking Quinn to marry him when it became clear that his death was approaching fast. And whether it was out of pity or love for her friend, she had agreed.
Watching the only woman who he could ever love marry their best friend had almost destroyed Leo. I hadn’t seen him after our graduation until the night of Nate’s funeral, when he and Nate’s college roommate had gotten rip-roaring drunk. Leo had called me to ask for a ride home. But more recently, we’d met up for a beer during one of his trips to New Jersey. Leo had told me, pain evident in his voice, about Quinn’s unexpected visit to his home in Richmond, where he played for the Rebels. She’d run to him, still grieving and lost, and apparently expected Leo to welcome her with open arms. But Leo had promised both Nate and his own mother that he’d be strong and make Quinn take some time to heal. Consequently, he’d been forced to break Quinn’s heart and send her away. In the process, he’d shattered his own, as well.
“I haven’t been a very good friend to him.” Gia winced a little. “He’s been so sweet to me since Matt. And I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit that I haven’t returned the favor.”
“I’m sure he understands.” I pushed back my chair a little, expelling a long breath. “Huh. I think I might be full.”
Gia shook her head, but she was smiling. “It’s about time, considering all the food you’ve consumed.”
“Yeah, I think I can probably handle some cannoli with an espresso, and then I’ll be set.” I patted my flat stomach.
“I can’t even think of dessert.” She nudged her plate away. “But I’ll admit that this food was amazing. And I’ll even say thank you for forcing me to come here with you. This was the nicest time I’ve had in . . . way too long.”
“Excellent.” I felt a sense of satisfaction. This had been a very successful first step. “Does that mean you’re looking forward to spending more time with me tomorrow?”
“Don’t push your luck,” she retorted, but there wasn’t any real heat there. “Do you want me to text you my address, so you’ll know where to find me tomorrow?”
I grinned. “No need. I’ll make a note of it when I take you home to your apartment tonight. After dessert, that is.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” She raised one eyebrow, challenging me.
Reaching across to steal one of the few gnocchi she’d left on her plate, I popped it into my mouth. “Never doubted it, sugar. But I was raised a certain way, and part of my training is walking a lady to her door. That’s exactly what I plan to do.”
She huffed a little, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re kind of a pain in the ass, you know that, Tate Durham?”
I laughed, the sound loud enough that a couple of the other patrons in the restaurant turned to look at us.
“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.” I leveled my eyes with hers, holding her gaze so that she didn’t have the option of looking away. “But trust me . . . I’ll grow on you.”