clean rag, as if anyone would believe she’d disappeared for any reason but the obvious.
“We never charge him.”
“You’re joking, right? Is this just for Dom, or for every guy you have a crush on?”
“It has nothing to do with me having a crush on him. And who says I do, anyway?”
Sara rolled her eyes and put some elbow grease into wiping off the tables.
“I only give free soda to Dom,” Ellie said, glaring, her face blotchy. “Jeannette does it, too. So do the others.”
“For God’s sake, why?” Sara stopped and glared back. “Because he’s hot?”
“I—we—give him free sodas because he’s a very good customer.”
“We have a lot of good customers. I can’t believe you just give him free stuff. What’s next? Pizzas on the house because his smile is pearly white?”
Ellie’s hands went to her hips, and she gave Sara a look that reminded her of how they used to argue over their single bathroom sink. “Because he always leaves good tips.”
“Enough to make up for the loss in soda?”
“Why don’t you take a look, smart-ass?”
That was new.
Ellie got the tip jar and pulled out a twenty. “This is what he leaves for a big order. For a slice, he leaves five dollars. Minimum. Every time.”
Sara knew what the markup was on soda. And leaving that kind of tip each time he came in actually did make up for those freebies, and then some. She hadn’t expected that. “Okay, so he likes playing big shot and throwing his money around. Fine. Let him.”
Ellie kept staring. “I can’t believe how horrible you were to him. What did you write in the paper?”
“Nothing. We were kids. Look, I lost my temper. I’m tired and I saw you treating him like he was king of the neighborhood, and it pissed me off, okay?” Sara had regretted the big shot remark—and just about everything else—even before she saw the disappointment in her sister’s eyes. “I’m sorry, El. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Ellie gave her a halfhearted nod. Probably more than Sara deserved, so she smiled back.
The bell over the door rang twice, and they both got to work greeting customers and handing out menus. Hopefully, the place would be so busy with that big party it would let her forget what had happened. With any luck, which seemed to be in short supply for her lately, she’d scared Dom off from ever coming to Moretti’s again.
But this was Little Italy. If she really thought she wouldn’t see him again, and soon, she was dreaming.
* * *
ON THURSDAY, AFTER Dominic had finished putting in the data for Paladino & Sons’ newest customers, he hurried to the printers, where he went through each page of the new restoration brochure he’d had printed. He’d spent a lot of time designing it using photographs he’d taken of different houses and buildings they’d restored. The centerpiece was Catherine’s remodeled single-family home, its 1930s art deco glory brought to life with amazing results.
He’d worked even harder on the copy, so when he got to the last fold and saw that his description of the revitalized fireplace tiles had been shortened, he wasn’t pleased.
“Kenny. What happened here?”
“What’s that?” The owner of the printing press that Dom had been using for the last five years read the paragraph in question. “Ah, the Verdana font you asked for wouldn’t fit completely on the page, so I nipped that one sentence a little.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Ken Patterson, who was about twenty years older than Dom, seemed startled by his tone. “It was just a few words, and I know you wanted that particular font.”
Dom liked the guy. He’d always done a great job at a good price on time. “I’m sorry, buddy, but in this case, it’s not going to work out. I want it printed again, only this time use Helvetica. The sentence you abbreviated targets a particular market, which I wouldn’t expect you to know. But in the future, call me, all right?”
Kenny nodded, his relief obvious. “Sure thing, Dom. I’ll turn these around real quick. How’s Monday afternoon?”
“Great.” He held out his hand, and they shook. Dom felt certain a mistake like that wouldn’t happen again.
Then he was off to an interview for a position at New York Adventures, a web and subscription magazine. He probably didn’t have much chance of getting it, but what the hell. Now that he was finished with his graduate studies, the job hunt was on.
For now, though, he was busier than ever with the family construction business, what with Tony tasting wedding cake samples and checking out reception venues, and Luca being so in demand as a finish carpenter that he’d accrued quite a list of private clients.
Dom was glad for his brothers. They’d busted their asses when their dad had gotten sick. It was time the little brother stepped up, gave them some breathing room. And with the business growing in different directions, he was actually learning new things along the way. Sure, he wanted to do much more careerwise, but for now, this was fine.
Several hours later he had to remind himself that life was good.
Yeah, for some other guy, maybe.
It had turned into one of those days. Everything had taken longer than it should have. And he didn’t know where the hell all the cabs in the city had disappeared to, only that he’d waited three times for more than ten minutes. Which gave him far too much headspace to think about Sara Moretti.
In those snug jeans and stretchy blue top.
Holy shit, she might’ve been a late bloomer, if memory served, but nature had made it up to her in a big way.
Since seeing her the other evening, his brain had been stuck in a damn loop. First, the jeans and clingy top. Next came the memory of those almond-shaped hazel eyes that could make a man forget his own name. And finally the thing that nagged him the most—the great mystery. Sara believed he’d wronged her in some way, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what he’d done.
He’d been thinking about it far too often. And he’d come up with the same conclusion each time. She must’ve mixed him up with someone else. It was the only thing that made sense because he’d barely said a dozen words to her the three years they’d attended the same school.
Only one thing to do about it. He had to ask her what it was she thought she remembered. She’d try to ignore him, or tell him she was joking, and normally he’d let it go. In fact, he would’ve preferred to forget she’d said anything. But the damn thought had popped up right in the middle of his interview.
For a few seconds it had thrown him off track. Thankfully, he’d recovered quickly and he’d gotten a good vibe from the woman, but he wasn’t going to let himself get excited. The job was technically for someone with more experience. If that was the case, fine. At least it had
