well for myself as I could.”
Unable to stand the sympathy in his eyes, she turned and walked away.
“Lily!”
Her walk became a run. How dare he insinuate that she had somehow failed?
Having chased after her, Mic entered the building housing her condo. As he’d hoped, her last name was on one of the mail slots, but when he rang to be let up, no one answered.
The next day at work, she couldn’t run from him. Or so he thought. Every time he tried to get a minute with her, privately, to apologize, to finish talking this out, she had an immediate need to be away from him.
He cursed.
Rafe sighed heavily. “In my kitchen, only I curse.”
“Apologies, Chef Rafe.”
“Accepted,” Rafe said, casually, knowing it was his due.
Mic would have laughed, except his stomach was in knots.
“You and Lily,” Rafe said as he raised the lid on a pot of marinara. “I forgot you had a past when I invited you to work with us. You both are tense.”
“This time it’s my fault. Yesterday, we met at the fountain. I made her feel bad.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t my intention. Everything between us just keeps getting confused.”
“You should have resolved your problems eight years ago.”
He looked up at Rafe. “I thought we had.”
“You don’t resolve anything by leaving.”
He knew that now. With eight years of life experience under his belt, things were all very, very clear. It was the present he couldn’t fix. “So much has happened in both of our lives that now we’re like strangers.”
“You aren’t like strangers. You are strangers.” Rafe took a long sniff of the marinara, pronounced it good with a nod and looked at Mic again. “She’s a good woman. A strong woman. Not a woman prone to silliness. When she wouldn’t marry you eight years ago, she had a good reason. So maybe it’s better you let her alone.”
Mic glanced at the door. She’d had a good reason, all right. She didn’t trust that he could support her and her sister. God knows how long she’d spent desperately trying to scrape together the money to keep their apartment, then the week on the street before Bartolini had taken her in. The trouble she’d endured shattered him.
She entered the kitchen for two bowls of wedding soup. Her spine was stiff and straight. Her eyes downcast.
He walked over to the pot and took the ladle from her hand. “I will get this.”
“I’m fine.”
“I know. You are always fine.” He waited a beat. Long enough for her gaze to rise and meet his. “And I am sorry.” He meant that he was sorry for what happened the day before but when her eyes darkened with hope, he sucked in a breath, caught her hand. “I should have come back the next day. I should have pounded on your door until you would have talked to me. I should have known you loved me.”
She said, “We were young.” But her gaze clung to his.
They weren’t young now. They were both free. A world of opportunities awaited him, and her responsibilities to her sister had been fulfilled.
Would it really be so wrong to try again?
Lily scampered out of the kitchen, careful not to slosh her soup. But as the door swung closed behind her, she heard Chef Rafe say, “I thought we decided it is best for you to stay away from her?”
Mic said, “Yeah.” He paused a second, as if considering that, then he said, “But we’re not kids and I’m only here for a few weeks. There’s nothing wrong with us spending some time together.”
Her steps faltered. Another woman might have been insulted that he was thinking of her only as a lover. Maybe even entertainment while he was here. Not someone to keep in his life permanently. But she knew the past would never allow them to have another relationship. And if that wasn’t enough, he was going to Paris and in a few months she’d be renting out her condo and moving to Florence. But she still desperately wanted her one more night.
So when Mila suggested they go to Pia’s Tavern after work and she heard Mic agreeing, she accepted the invitation too. Except she didn’t go directly from Mancini’s to Pia’s. She raced to her condo, showered, fixed her hair and put on makeup and her best jeans and sweater before she left for the local tavern.
When she entered, the short, round bartender was adjusting the channel on the television above the shelves of whiskey, gin and rum behind the shiny wood bar. Flames from the old stone fireplace in the back kept the January cold at bay. In the far corner, playing darts, was the crew from Mancini’s.
As Lily’s eyes adjusted to the light, she noticed everybody but Rafe seemed to have needed the night out. Their demanding, hyper-vigilant chef was not in attendance.
But Mic was. He’d taken off his chef’s smock and wore jeans and a bright blue sweater that made the color of his eyes seem even bluer. He stood beside Allegra, holding her arm back, showing her how to throw a dart, but Lily didn’t get jealous of the intimate pose. She knew when Mic was romantically interested in someone. A certain look came to his eyes. That look wasn’t there for Allegra.
She slid out of her old black wool coat, hung it on a convenient hook near the dartboard.
When Mic heard her, he glanced up.
“Wanna buy a friend a beer?”
His eyes darkened, then warmed, and she smiled. That was the look he got when he was interested in someone.
“Sure.”
He motioned for the bartender, who came and took orders. Lily ambled to a table when the bartender brought her beer and Mic followed her.
He slid to the seat across from her. “You changed clothes.”
She smiled. “I don’t get out much. I wanted to look nice.”
“Liar. You changed for me.”
She laughed. “So you’re getting smart enough not to accept my silly lies.”
“The last one wasn’t silly.”
“No, but I thought it was necessary.” She sucked in a breath to change the conversation. She didn’t want to talk about the past or the future. She wanted to be with him. “And here we are. Eight years later. Eight years smarter. And neither one of us coy.” She met his gaze. “Would you like to come
