“No green peppers, though, okay?” Josh added.
“I’ll take the green peppers off yours, honey,” Tate told him.
Nick signaled Johnny over. “Not to worry. Hey, Big John, we want one of your specials, an extra large, hold the green peppers. And to drink?” He looked inquiringly at Tate. “Root beer or…” He saw them both nod. “A large pitcher of root beer.”
“Sure thing, my man. Be right back.” An Italian opera was now playing and Johnny took up the aria with the tenor, singing loud and boisterously as he made his way to the kitchen.
“He’s a bit of a character, but he has a heart of gold.” Nick studied the boy who was watching the kids at the next table with the birthday celebration. There was such longing in those green eyes that were so much like his mother’s. “Parties like that are great, aren’t they?” he asked Josh.
The boy didn’t answer, just kept staring. “When’s your birthday, Josh?”
“In March,” he answered, his eyes on the boy wearing the cone-shaped hat proclaiming him the birthday boy. They’d finished eating and the table was piled high with gifts. Wearing a gap-toothed grin, the boy began ripping open the nearest package while the others cheered him on.
Nick remembered that Tate had said they’d moved around a lot. That probably meant that Josh had few friends, too shy to make new ones in each new place that he’d soon have to leave. But why had they moved around so much? He shifted his gaze to Tate who was toying with her spoon thoughtfully.
“Maybe next March, we can arrange a party for you and your friends here,” Nick offered, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Don’t,” Tate said, her husky voice low but firm. “Please don’t make promises that you might not be able to keep. False hope is a terrible thing to live with.” She’d blurted it out before she thought how she’d sound, but this man they’d only just met had to know that she didn’t want Josh counting on things that may never happen. And who knew where they’d be by next March.
Nick saw that Josh was still occupied in watching the kids, pretending he hadn’t heard. “I didn’t mean any harm,” he said to Tate.
“I’m sure you didn’t.” She raised a hand to smooth back a curling lock of hair that was trying to escape the ponytail and sighed wearily. “People often make those kinds of statements and have no intention of following through. I’m not saying you’re like that, but…”
“I’m not like that, Tate. I realize you don’t know me, but I follow through.”
The arrival of a short, dark-haired young woman carrying a huge pizza and a frosty pitcher cut short their conversation. “Nickie!” she said, greeting him. Quickly she put everything on the table, then leaned over to hug him. “Long time, no see.”
“Hi, Gina. Yeah, I’ve been kind of busy.” He angled his head toward the room. “You’ve got a big crowd tonight.”
Gina nodded, smiling broadly at him. “Every night. You know Johnny. He’s not happy unless it’s standing-room only. Did you see Joey and Fran across the way?”
Nick looked over and caught his friends’ attention, smiled and waved. “Your sister’s expecting again, I see.”
“Oh, sure. Gotta keep Papa happy. He wants more grand-kids to spoil. He’s after me all the time to get married, get married. Drives me nuts.”
“I know the feeling. Gina, this is Tate and her son, Josh. Gina’s Johnny’s sister.”
Tate acknowledged the introduction with a smile while Josh was busily eyeing the huge pizza. “You enjoy,” Gina said, leaving.
Nick picked up a plate and began dishing out the pizza slices.
Tate scanned the room, listening to an old Perry Como recording playing. The place, at least the music, was caught in a time warp. She had no idea neighborhood places like this still existed, ones where friends met regularly. “The Italians have a way of turning a meal into a celebration,” she commented, accepting her plate with a piece so large it hung over the edges.
“You’ve got that right,” Nick said as he handed Josh his piece.
“Do you need help cutting that?” Tate asked her son.
“Mom, you don’t cut pizza. You pick it up and bite it.” Wrapping both hands around it, curling the piece, he took a huge bite, demonstrating.
“Yeah, Mom,” Nick echoed. “Where you been?”
She smiled as she picked up her fork. “Some of us are more civilized.”
“Fingers were made before forks,” Nick added before tasting his piece. “Mmm,” he purred. “This is better than…better than most pizzas.” He’d been about to say better than sex, but stopped himself just in time.
Meeting his eyes, Tate guessed exactly what he’d been thinking. For the first time, she gave him a genuine smile, one that reached those incredible eyes. “I agree, to your first thought, that is.” When he laughed out loud, she joined in.
The atmosphere, the good food, the noise insulating them in their own little pocket of privacy—all seemed to relax them and they ate in comfortable companionship. When Josh asked for a second piece, Tate was truly shocked. She dished it out, pleased her picky eater had an appetite on this disturbing day. She was glad she’d accepted Nick’s invitation after all, if the visit here made Josh put Maggie’s ordeal out of his mind even temporarily.
Intent on keeping things pleasant, Nick searched his mind for a neutral subject. “You never came here when you were going to U of A? It’s a big college hangout on weekends.”
Tate dabbed at her lips with the paper napkin. “No. I didn’t have a car so we stuck kind of close to the campus.”
Nick finished his second piece, debated about a third, then decided to go for it. “I’d have thought some of your dates might have brought you here. It’s been open about ten years.”
Tate shook her head. “I didn’t date much.”
He had trouble believing that. A woman as gorgeous as she was had to have had her pick of men. “From where I sit, I find that impossible to imagine.”
“I had to spend more time studying than either of my roommates. Molly was the smart one. She helped me a lot on subjects we took together.” Remembering those happier times, Tate felt a rush of nostalgia. “We had these nicknames for each other. Molly was the brain and Laura was the big bucks.”
“And you?” he asked, thinking that he knew.
Tate shrugged. “Seems silly now.”
“You were the beauty, right?”
Her green eyes raised to his, studying him, not answering. She was trying to figure him out, Nick decided. He liked keeping her off balance. “Want to know what they labeled me in college?”
The spell broken, Tate nodded.
“Bookworm. I’m the
