Dani Bianco. As though the only part of him that she still wanted was his name.
“Dom, how many boxes iceburg lettuce we got?” his father called from the other end of the stand.
Dom shook his head when he saw that his father had his clipboard out and pencil at the ready. For thirty years Tony Bianco had kept track of his stock and sales in the same way—on paper in his illegible handwriting. Any notation he made would be indecipherable to anyone else.
Dom did a quick tally of the boxes stacked beneath the trestle tables.
“We got two-dozen boxes, Pa,” he called. Enough to see them through the day.
Before he’d left for Italy, he’d spoken to his father about bringing the business into the twenty-first century. There were a bunch of user-friendly, highly efficient software systems available for running businesses like theirs. Knowing what stock they had on hand, what it was costing them, how much they were selling and who their best customers were at the touch of a button would be of huge benefit to Bianco Brothers. Currently, all that information was stored in his father’s head and consequently Tony’s business decisions were often based more on gut-feel and instinct than hard figures.
Predictably, his father had been resistant to the idea of change.
“I do it this way for thirty years,” he’d said, then he’d gestured toward the long rows of produce and the customers lining up to make their purchases. “We do okay.”
His father was being modest. They did more than okay. They did really, really well. But, in Dom’s opinion, they could do better. He’d backed off last time because he’d been too messed up over Dani to concentrate on the business, but now that he was back it was time to start pushing harder. He was going to be running this business someday, since none of his cousins were even remotely interested. He didn’t want to have to deal with boxes full of his father’s scrawlings when he tried to work out where they stood.
He dusted his hands down the front of his jeans and glanced over the stand, checking to see that all was as it should be. Everything looked good, and he turned back to the stack of pallets piled behind their displays. Might as well get rid of those before the rush.
By the time he’d tracked down one of the market’s forklift drivers and arranged for him to shift the pallets to the holding area, half an hour had passed. The bitter cold was starting to burn off as the sun made its presence felt, and Dom shed another layer as he made his way back to the stand.
He’d just finished pulling his sweatshirt over his head when he saw her.
She was wearing a long, cherry-red coat, the furry collar pulled up high around her face as she talked to his father. Her long, straight dark hair hung down her back, glossy in the overhead lights. She turned her head slightly and he watched her smile, noting the quick flash of her teeth, the way her eyes widened as she laughed at something his father said.
As always when he saw her, his gut tightened and his shoulders squared.
Lucy Basso.
Man, but she was gorgeous. Her sleek hair. The exotic sweep of her cheekbones. Her ready smile. The elegant strength of her body.
Gorgeous—and now he didn’t have to feel guilty about noticing.
He stepped closer, automatically smoothing a hand over his hair to make sure he didn’t have any goofy spikes sticking up from dragging off his sweatshirt. Just to be safe, he checked his fly as well. Never could tell when a clothing malfunction was loitering in the wings, waiting to bring a guy down.
All the while, he drank her in with his eyes. She looked even better than he remembered.
Lucy and her sister had grown up in Preston, just one suburb across from his own family’s stomping ground in Brunswick. They’d gone to different schools but the same church, and he’d been aware of her from the moment he’d first started noticing girls. There was something about the way she held herself—tall and proud, as though she knew exactly what she was worth.
He hadn’t been the only guy in the neighborhood who’d noticed. He’d never been put off by competition, but somehow the timing had never been right to make his move. Life kept intervening—other girlfriends for him, then, when he was free, she’d be with some other boy. Then they’d stopped running into each other altogether as they grew up and went out into the world. He’d only reconnected with her in the past year when she’d approached his father about the new door-to-door fresh produce delivery service she was starting up. After that, he’d seen her every day for six months before he bailed on his life for Italy. And he’d felt guilty every time he looked at her and felt the pull of desire. It wasn’t like he’d needed the added hassle as he and Dani battled through the ugly death throes of their marriage, and often he’d resented the attraction he’d felt.
Bad timing—again.
But things were different now. He was a single man. Divorced. Not exactly a shining badge of honor, not something he’d ever planned, but it was what it was.
And Lucy Basso was standing in front of him, looking amazing, daring him to reach out for something he’d always wanted.
She’d been one of the reasons for coming home. Not the main reason, not by a long shot. But he’d always wondered where she was concerned. What if.? And now there was nothing stopping him from finding out.
He was about to take the last step forward when a voice piped up in his head.
What are you doing, man? What happens if things get serious and she discovers you’re an empty promise?
He pushed the thought away. He refused to live half a life, no matter what had happened with Dani. Especially when Lucy was standing within reach.
“Lucy Basso. Good to see you,” he said.
She was already smiling as she turned to face him, her olive skin golden even under the harsh fluorescent lights.
“Dom! Hey, long time no see. I heard you’d taken off for Italy,” she said.
She had an amazing voice. Low and husky.
“Decided it was time to take a look around the old country, see what all the fuss was about,” he said. He tucked a hand into the front pocket of his jeans and rested his hip against the side of the stall.
“And?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, a small smile playing around her mouth.
“The Vatican is an okay little place. And they did some nice work at the Coliseum. But, to be honest, it would have been much more impressive if they’d finished building it.”
She laughed and pulled a face at him. “Bet you didn’t make that joke when you were in Rome.”
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I didn’t.”
She laughed again.
He shot a glance toward his father, aware that Tony was watching their exchange with a big smile on his face.
Go away, he urged his father silently. There’s no way I’m asking her out with you standing there. I’ll never hear the end of it.
“I bet you’re
