“We can talk about it, work it out together,” he said, interrupting her to make sure she understood where he was on this. “But bottom line, I’m here now. You’re going to have to deal with it.”
“You don’t get to give me orders, Jack.” She gave him a sad smile. “I live my own life. I run my own business. I raise my own child.”
“And mine.”
“Since your half and mine are intertwined,” she quipped, “yes.”
“Not acceptable.” And this conversation was veering into the repetitive. It was getting him nowhere fast and he could see the flash of stubborn determination in her eyes that told him she wasn’t going to budge. Well, hell. He could out-stubborn anyone.
“I really think you should go, Jack.” She stood up, rubbing her belly idly with one hand.
He followed that motion and felt his heart trip-hammer in his chest. His child. Inside the woman that had been his so briefly. Damned if he’d leave. Walk away. It probably would have been better for all of them, but he wouldn’t be doing it.
“I’ll take you home,” he said, standing to look down at her.
She chuckled. “I am home. I live in the apartment upstairs.”
“You’re kidding.” He frowned, glanced at the ceiling as if he could see through the barrier into what had to be a very small apartment. “You live over a bakery.”
She stiffened at the implied insult. “It’s convenient. I get up at four every morning to start the baking, so all I have to do is walk downstairs.”
“You’re not raising my kid above a bakery.”
When her eyes flashed and one dark eyebrow winged up, he knew he’d stepped wrong. But it didn’t matter how he’d said it if the end was the same. His kid was not going to live above a bakery. Period.
“And, the circle is complete,” she said, walking to the front door. She unlocked it, opened it wide and waved one hand as if scooping him out the door. “I want you to leave, Jack.”
“All right.” He conceded on this point. For now. He started past her, then stopped when their bodies were just a breath apart. When he caught her scent and could almost feel the heat shimmering off her body. Everything in him twisted tight and squeezed. Giving in to the urge driving him, he reached out, took her chin in his hand and tipped her face up until her eyes were locked with his. “This isn’t over, Rita. It’s just getting started.”
* * *
Sitting on her couch in her—all right, yes, tiny apartment—Rita curled her feet underneath her as her fingers tightened on her cellphone. “What am I supposed to do, Gina?”
Instead of answering, her sister called out, “Ally, do not pour milk on the dog again.”
“But why?” A young, loud voice shouted in response.
In spite of everything going on in her life at the moment, Rita grinned. Ally was two years old with a hard head, a stubborn streak a mile wide and a sweet smile that usually got her out of trouble.
“Because he doesn’t like it!” Gina huffed out a breath, came back on the line, and whispered, “Actually he does like it, idiot dog. Then he spends all night licking the milk off himself, my floor is sticky and he smells like sour milk.”
It was times like these that Rita really missed her family. Her parents. Her sister. Her two older brothers. All of her nieces and nephews. They were all in Ogden, working at the family bakery, Marchetti’s. Rita’s family was loud, boisterous, argumentative and sometimes she missed them so much she actually ached to be with them.
Like now, for instance.
“Michael and Braden Franco!” Gina shouted. “If you ride your skateboards down the steps and one of you breaks another bone, I will burn those boards in the fire pit—”
The five-year-old twins were adventurous and barely containable. It’s what Rita loved best about them.
Gina broke off with a satisfied sigh. “Another crisis averted. Sorry sweetie, what were you saying again?”
Back to the matter at hand. “Jack. He’s alive. He’s here.” Rita bit down hard on her bottom lip and blinked wildly to keep the tears filling her eyes from falling. Though there was no one there to see her cry, she didn’t want to give Jack the satisfaction.
Hadn’t she already cried rivers for Jack? After two months had passed without a word from him, Rita had known that he was gone, no doubt killed in action somewhere far away. What other reason, she’d told herself, could there have been for him not to write her?
They’d had such an amazing connection. Something strong and powerful had grown between them in one short week. She’d loved him fiercely even after so short a time. But then her mother had always told her that time had nothing to do with love. If you knew someone five days or five years, the feelings didn’t change.
It had taken Rita much less than five days to know that Jack was the one man she wanted. Then he was gone and the pain of loss had crippled her. Until she’d discovered she was pregnant.
“He’s there?” Gina whispered as if somehow Jack could overhear her. “At your apartment?”
“No,” she said, though she tossed a quick look toward the door at the back of the building that opened onto a staircase leading to a small parking lot. She half expected Jack to show up on her landing and knock. Shaking her head, she said, “No, he’s not here, here. He’s here in Seal Beach. He came into the bakery today.”
“Oh. My. God.” A moment or two passed before Gina continued. “What did you do? What did he say? Where the hell has he been? Why didn’t he write to you? Bastard.”
A short laugh shot from Rita’s throat. She heard the outrage in her sister’s voice and was grateful for it. How did anyone survive without a sister?
“I nearly shrieked when I saw him,” Rita confessed. “Then I hugged him, damn it.”
“Of course you hugged him,” Gina soothed. “Then did you kick him?”
She laughed again. “No, but I wish I’d thought of it at the time.”
“Well, if you need me, Jimmy can watch the kids for a few days. I’ll fly out there and kick him for you.”
Rita sighed and smiled all at once. “I can always count on you, Gina.”
“Of course you can. So where’s he been?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t he write?”
Rita frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Well, what did he say?”
Rita picked up her cup of herbal tea and took a sip. “He only wanted to talk about the baby.”
“Oh, boy.”
