That's (Not Exactly) Amore (19 page)

He wrinkles up his nose at the mention of tea.

“I could put on coffee.”

“You mind?”

“Not at all.” I’ll be up all night, but he’s worth it.

The kitchen light is on when we step inside, but there’s no sign of my mother. “She must have already gone to bed.” I glance at the clock. After all, it is eleven o’clock.

Joe shifts his position from one foot to the other. “Should I leave?”

“No. We’ll just have to be quiet.”

Suddenly a rakish grin appears. “We could make out. That doesn’t require talking.”

My face goes hot, and I can just imagine the splotches on my neck. I know he’s kidding. Joe can’t help himself. He’s probably never gone to a girl’s house and not made out. Is that what he expects? Oh, good heavens, I think I feel a migraine coming on. Hyperventilating. That’s it. I’m going to die right here and now.

“You okay?” He reaches for me, a frown creasing his brow. “Hey, I was kiddin’.”

Escape! “I—um—I have to use the bathroom.”

I hear his chuckle as I run away to the safety of the second room on the right, down the hall.

I take breaths. Deep trembly breaths that should steady me, but instead are sort of making me dizzy. I guess I really am hyperventilating. Where’s a paper bag when I need one? Fighting for control over my breathing, I stare into the mirror. Yep. I’m splotchy. It’s no wonder a guy like Joe will never be truly interested. But how could he just callously throw out the image of me making out with him like it’s nothing? I guess in all honesty, to him it
is
nothing. To me, well, it’s not, you know, nothing. It’s something.

I stare into my own eyes in the mirror. Why do you care, Laini? Seriously. Mark is just as—well, practically as good-looking. He’s just as nice. Actually, I think Mark is nicer than Joe. And Mark has one more thing going for him. He really does want to kiss me. And I like kissing him too. Okay, his mouth is a little big for me. But it’s not bad. And his arms hold me just right. Joe hasn’t ever actually made a romantic move. Not even the night I spent in his bed. Not that anything would have happened. Even if I were that kind of girl, there was that whole migraine–throwing-up thing going on. Still, though. It’s a little humiliating.

Okay, my breathing has returned to normal. Practically. My face is no longer red. For the most part. I think I can return to the kitchen with some semblance of dignity.

I’m about to reach for the door when a scream resonates through the house.

“Who are you? Y-you better get out of here if you know what’s good for you. I have mace!”

Oh, good grief. Mom’s up. How could I forget her four bathroom breaks a night? I fling the door open and beeline down the hall into the kitchen. Mom is holding Joe off with a broom. She sees me from the corner of her eye. “Get back, Laini! Call 911.”

Joe’s eyes are fixed on the broom, which is pointed a little low for his comfort, I’m sure. “For crying out loud, Laini. Tell her who I am, will you?”

A giggle rises from my belly, and I can’t help but let it out. Actually, more than a giggle. “Ma, put down the broom,” I say through a constricted throat. “This is Joe.”

“Joe? Joe who?” She frowns. “And why are you laughing? This isn’t funny. I nearly had a heart attack. And only two months before my wedding. That would have been tragic.”

Truly. For more reasons than one. I sober up on the spot.

“Sorry, Ma.” Stepping forward, I take the broom from her and watch Joe relax. “Joe is Nick Pantalone’s nephew. From the coffee shop? He’s my friend.”

“Oh.” She nods and makes her way to the sink, where she fills the teapot I abandoned a few minutes earlier. “The coffee shop.”

“We went to a dinner party tonight. He escorted me home.”

She turns to me with a frown. “What about Mark? Don’t you usually see him on Saturday?”

Oh, please. Tell me she didn’t.

Joe bristles, which just might make the entire incident worthwhile.

Is it wrong that I enjoy his getting bent out of shape at the sound of Mark’s name?

“Mark’s working tonight.”

“So you went out with another man? That doesn’t look good, even if he is only a friend.” She gives him a once-over and then stares back at me with a look that indicates she doesn’t believe I could ever be just friends with a guy like Joe. And of course she’s right. But I’m not going to own up to that. Ever.

Joe clears his throat and steps forward, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sullivan.” Mom sets the teakettle on the burner and eyes him. I know that look. She’s determined not to believe anything he says. “I’m not trying to come between Laini and Mark. I asked Laini to come to a family function so she can drum up business for her cinnamon rolls and other baking while the coffee shop is being renovated.”

Reluctantly, Mom takes his hand. “So this wasn’t a date?”

“No, ma’am.”

Her eyes narrow, and I know she’s thinking,
Why? My daughter isn’t good enough for you?

I can’t help but laugh. “Sit down, Ma. I’ll get the tea. What kind do you want?”

“Anything, just as long as it doesn’t have caffeine. I don’t need to be awake all night.” She’s right about that. Because if she’s awake all night, I’m awake all night.

“I’ll make you chamomile.” I turn to Joe. “It’ll just take a minute for the coffee to brew.”

Joe glances at his watch. “Actually, I think I’m going to take off. It’s getting late.”

A curious disappointment clutches at me. This is why I don’t live with my mother.

“Do you need to call a cab?”

He shakes his head. “I told the cabbie to come back in twenty minutes.”

So he had no intention of dropping me at the door and leaving without a few minutes of conversation anyway. That makes me feel good.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Sounds good.” He turns to my mom and inclines his head ever-so-slightly. “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Sullivan. I apologize for scaring you.”

My mom’s expression softens. “I’m sorry I mistook you for a thief.”

Joe grins. “It’s okay. It’s not the first time I’ve been accused of being a crook.”

I fight hard not to cringe at his statement as my mind races back to the rushed-through city hall permits.

The word
crook
won’t let go as we walk through the living room on the way to the door. I’d like to ask him about those doggone permits, but I don’t have the nerve.

Joe glances at the boxes littering the floor. “Going somewhere?”

“Mom’s getting remarried in a couple of months. She’s selling the house.” I give a wave to include all the clutter. “Thus the packing.”

“This is a great house.” His eyebrows go up. “You don’t want it?”

“Of course I do.” I try not to sound pathetic. “It’s just that she has to sell it, and I don’t have a real job, so who’s going to give me a loan?”

“You graduate soon, though.”

“Hopefully . . .”

I open the door and we step into the cloudy night. Shoving his hands into his pants pockets, he rocks back on his heels. “Don’t sell yourself short. Your ideas for the coffee shop are pretty solid. Even Nancy said so. Plus, Nancy’s getting acquainted with quite a few people in the business. Architects, designers, contractors. Those guys all know each other.”

I nod. “Yeah.” If I had more confidence in my own abilities, I’d be a lot more comfortable with the concept of asking for Nancy’s recommendation. But I’d hate to put her on the spot if she doesn’t feel she can honestly put in a good word for me. It’s not fair, and I don’t like to be put in that position myself, so I won’t do it to my new friend.

Headlights loom and my heart sinks as instinctively I know it’s the cab returning for Joe. Only, I’m not ready to let him leave. I mean, after all, we didn’t really have much time together since he spent the evening with Nancy while I had the misfortune of listening to Bev rattle on about Ernie (may he rest in peace) and his rotten taste in decorating.

“Looks like it’s time for me to go.”

Joe unstuffs his hands and places them on my arms. “Listen, I’m sorry you didn’t have a great time tonight. But did you at least get some business?”

I nod. “Your uncles ordered a ridiculous amount of baked goods. I had to rein them in.”

“Have you ever thought about getting some menus made up? You could probably open your own shop or catering service or something. Then you wouldn’t even need to work for someone else.”

Is he serious? I can’t hold in the laugh that bubbles to my lips. “Joe, cooking is a hobby. If I make it a business, I might stop loving it.”

He frowns. “How could that happen? Look at Uncle Nick. Only Aunt Nelda could pull him away from that coffee shop.”

“True.”

His shoulders lift in a shrug. “So what’s wrong with you baking for a living? You’re good at it. Better than anyone I’ve ever known.”

My heart soars, and I can’t stop my cheesy grin. “Thanks, Joe.”

The cabbie blares the horn. “Yo! You want a cab or not?”

“Hey, lay off that thing,” Joe calls. “People are sleeping.”

“You’d better go before he leaves you.”

“Yeah.” But he doesn’t look like he’s even close to leaving. He reaches out and fingers a springy strand of my hair. “Your curls are pretty.”

I avert my gaze. Embarrassed. I don’t like my hair. Too red and too curly, especially on nights like this when the humidity is pretty much a hundred percent. And compliments make me feel uncomfortable. Like the person on the giving end is telling a whopper. But sincerity flows from Joe. “Thanks.”

“Hey, buddy!” That dumb cabbie. “Kiss your girl good night and let’s go.”

“Keep your shirt on,” Joe responds, but he grins down at me. “You heard the man.”

My lips tingle with anticipation as he bends forward. Only, at the last second, he presses a soft, warm mouth to my cheek instead of my lips. “Good night, Laini. Thanks for being such a good sport tonight. I know Aunt Bev is a pain.”

“Especially after her third glass of wine.” And that was after she introduced herself. No telling how many she had before I even got there. I try not to make too much of the fact that he doesn’t seem to want to leave. Could be for any number of reasons. The cabbie has BO, for instance. Or maybe Joe doesn’t have enough money for a cab ride home. No, that’s silly.

The cab slowly begins to inch away as the driver obviously decides to make his point. Joe heaves a sigh. “Good night.”

“Good night, Joe. Thanks for inviting me.”

He hesitates, leans forward, and kisses my other cheek. “You’re welcome.”

I can’t begin to describe the extent of my disappointment as I watch him saunter down the steps and along the sidewalk to the cab.

He turns and gives a little wave before ducking into the car.

I’m still smiling as I enter the kitchen. Mom is still up, sitting with her legs crossed, two cups of tea on the table. She gives me a stern frown. “All of a sudden you’re seeing two men and you don’t bother telling your mother?”

“Sorry, Ma. I’m not actually seeing Joe.”

She gives a humph. “Could have fooled me. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

If only. Mom isn’t finished. “Come sit down and tell me about Joe. Then we can decide.”

“Decide what?”

“In my day, there was a word for a girl that dated too many men at once.”

My lips twitch. “What was it?”

“Loose, that’s what. And wipe that smirk off your face.”

I wipe it. I sip my tea, and for the next few minutes, I tell Mom all about Joe. Except for the part about me spending the night in his bed. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a shotgun, but if I told her about that, she’d probably go buy one and shove it into Joe’s back all the way to the altar.

On second thought, maybe I ought to tell her after all.

18

T
he next morning at church, my eyes feel like they’ve been through a sandstorm. They’re all gritty from lack of sleep, and I keep yawning. I know the preacher is staring at me. He’s probably seen more of my tonsils today than my doctor has in a year. I’m actually afraid to close my eyes during the prayer for fear I’ll nod off and start snoring.

In order to keep from dozing, I do mind exercises, such as replaying my conversation with Joe last night. What keeps coming back to me is the part where he asked me if I’d ever thought about opening my own business. I mean, hasn’t everyone? Only, I sort of thought I would do interior design. Start out working for an established designer, then after I’d learned the ropes, do some jobs on the side as a contractor (but nothing that would take away from my employer), and then eventually open my own shop. I wasn’t all that excited about the idea, but it would sure beat working for someone else for the rest of my life.

Only now, I can’t get the thought of baking for a living out of my head. Baking? Is it even possible that I could do enough business to make an honest-to-goodness living?

“The Lord says, ‘For I know the plans I have for you.’”

Huh? The words pull me from my thoughts and bring me back to the present.

“‘They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.’” Pastor Moore pans the crowd and seems to settle on my intense gaze. “Most people stop here,” says the balding middle-aged man with kind eyes and a white smile. “But the next verse is just as important: ‘In those days when you pray, I will listen. If you look for me wholeheartedly, you will find me. I will be found by you.’”

For some crazy reason, I can’t shake the urge to weep. And indeed, tears form in my eyes. I don’t even bother to blink them away. I need to hear this. I need to know if I have a divine destiny. That’s what the title of the sermon today happens to be: “Fulfilling Your Divine Destiny.”

I’m suddenly wide awake, and I listen intently for the next few minutes as Pastor Moore talks about the fullness of a person’s future being directly related to seeking God.

“In the book of Matthew, Jesus tells us to seek the kingdom of God ‘above all else’ and live righteously,” the pastor says. “
Then and only then
will He give us everything we need.” His eyes seem to bore into mine. I know that’s probably my imagination. Maybe he’s like one of those pictures where the eyes follow you wherever you go. Regardless, he keeps staring. Intentional or not, it’s freaking me out a bit. But not to the point that I want to leave. Rather, I can’t take my eyes from him either. If there’s a secret to gaining God’s purpose for my life, I want to find it.