That's (Not Exactly) Amore (7 page)

Wait. No. I can’t get sidetracked. Back to the book at hand. I read about tile and actually come up with a good idea for the floor at Nick’s. We should do a faux stone floor with fake cracks to give it that old-world Italy feel. I make a note of it. I wonder what Joe will think. . . .

Nancy pops into the kitchen by six thirty. “Early riser, huh?”

I give her a guarded smile. That kind of statement could be construed as a criticism. Night owls always think they’re so cool.

She smiles and nods toward the coffee. “May I?”

“Of course!” I’m ashamed of myself for not offering.

“Cups?”

I point to the right cabinet. “Sweetener is in the cabinet above the coffeepot and there’s half-and-half in the fridge.”

She pours a cup. “Thanks, I drink it black.”

Figures.

“You baking at six thirty?” Her sleepy brow goes up. “Should I be worried about you?”

“Those are thawing. Nick sells them.” I shrug. “I guess Joe sells them now.”

“I’ve never seen heart-shaped cinnamon rolls before.”

I give her a quick glance, scrutinizing her comment. Is she mocking me?

“It was just an idea for Valentine’s Day.”

“Impressive.” She grins. “Can you imagine all the guys bringing those to girls at the office today?”

I grin back. “That’s the general idea. Joe should be happy.”

“Speak of the devil. He was a little grouchy yesterday. Not exactly like him.” She squints over the lip of her cup, swallows, and cocks her head just a smidge. “You and Joe don’t get along so well?”

“Sure we do.” If she could hear my heart thunder in my chest every time the guy gets close, she wouldn’t say such a thing. “He just . . . doesn’t think I should be in charge of this project.” I thump my textbook. “Still in school.”

“Oh, wow. I see his point. It’s a big project.”

And I took her into my home. The ingrate.

“Nick agreed to it so that I can get a decent final grade.”

“Risky of him to gamble the design on someone not quite a professional.” She says this with a smile. But I’m not falling for it.

I square my shoulders and face off with her. Might as well get things straight right up front. “Well, I’m not completely inept at what I do. After all, your plans for the interior came straight out of ideas I proposed to Joe.”

She grins. “Well, actually, not really.”

“What do you mean?” They were almost identical to mine. Is she stealing my ideas now? My defenses go up and I’m sorely tempted to grab that cup from her hand and tell her to make her own coffee.

“Joe and Nick didn’t discuss your ideas with me before I drew up the plans I showed you yesterday.”

I stare at her a second without speaking. Because if I say a word, it will be to call her a liar.

“The good thing about that,” she continues, “is that we know we’re on the same page. Our ideas mesh.”

Okay, I’ll give her that. Even if I’m not altogether convinced.

“I have another idea.” I stand up and slip a pan of rolls into the oven.

“Oh? Let’s hear it.”

“What do you think about faux stone flooring in the dining rooms?”

Her face smoothes into a reflective expression that I know means she’s considering it. Picturing it in her head. “You mean with cracks and that feel of being on the sidewalk in Italy?”

I nod. “Something like that.”

“I think it’s perfect.” She smiles a slow, beautiful smile, and as much as I’d like to hate her, I find myself liking her very much.

“Well, good then. Maybe we’re on the same page after all.”

An hour later, I leave her to her unpacking, carrying a basket containing four dozen warm, heart-shaped cinnamon rolls—minus one. I gave it to Nancy, who practically swooned after one bite. And three dozen of my stuffed sandwiches, which wouldn’t fit in the basket, so I’m forced to pack them in a box.

I hail a cab for the short ride since my hands are full. Plus, I want the cinnamon rolls to stay as warm as possible.

The cabbie, a stocky balding man wearing a cap and a five o’clock shadow even though it’s barely seven thirty in the morning, smiles. “Mmm. Whatever’s in that big basket smells good. Reminds me of my mother’s kitchen when I was a boy.”

I smile back. How could I help it after a remark like that? I lift the cloth covering the enormous basket and hand him a cinnamon roll plus the fare and a tip before exiting the cab.

His eyes light up with surprise. “Hey, that’s nice of ya, doll.” And then he does something cabbies never do. He slams the car into park, even though it’s illegal to double-park, and walks with me, opens the door, and tips his hat.

“Thanks,” I say, truly meaning it. Four dozen huge cinnamon rolls (minus two) can get awfully heavy. Even on a short walk.

“You’re a good girl. You married?”

My senses go on high alert until he continues. “You oughtta meet my boy, Dale. He’s a nice one. Goes to church and everything.”

Oh, good grief. But what are you going to say to a sweet cabbie when he carries your cinnamon rolls for you? “Sure, um, maybe sometime. Thanks again for the help. You have a wonderful day.”

When I step inside, I feel everyone’s eyes on me. I even hear a few whispers. “Freshly baked cinnamon rolls.”

I swear, it’s like being Santa Claus at an orphanage on Christmas Eve.

I’m beginning to feel claustrophobic, like a whale in a fish tank, when Joe strides across the room. My knees nearly buckle when he slips a warm, firm hand around my upper arm and leads me to the counter. He reaches for the basket as soon as I’m safe from the fray. “Let me take those.” His smile has returned. I’m so glad. Apparently whatever was making him so grumpy has been resolved. “These smell good.”

“Thanks.”

“Four dozen?”

“Well, three dozen and ten. I gave one to Nancy and one to the cabbie on the way over here.”

He winks. “You’re a good kid.”

“Yeah, that’s what the cabbie said, just before he asked me to date his son.”

Laughter rumbles that beefy chest of his. I swear, Joe’s all man. “You told him you have a boyfriend?”

“Of course not.”

“That’s the easiest way to get rid of unwelcome attention from a guy.” He sends me a good-natured wink. “I should know. I get the brush-off like that all the time.”

I’ll just bet he does. But that’s not the point right now. “I don’t lie just to get rid of guys.”

“Lie? What about you and the cop?”

A short, and might I add
bitter
laugh bursts from me in an unladylike fashion. “I haven’t heard from Mark since a week ago last Monday, and that was our first date. Probably our only date.”

I didn’t mean to spill so much, but I’m feeling a little raw from it, to be honest, especially since it’s Valentine’s Day and once again I’m out in the cold alone.

“Joe!” one of the employees calls from the register. “The line won’t move until those rolls get up here. People want them.”

I grin. “Glad I’m good for something.”

“You’re good for a lot more than baking,” Joe says. It’s an odd thing to say, but I get his point. And my heart kicks into high gear. “And if Mark doesn’t know that, he’s more of a dope than I already thought he was in the first place.”

You can’t help but appreciate a guy like Joe, saying something like that. I mean, sure, I know he’s just being Joe. Nice, polite, make-the-fat-girl-feel-better Joe, but still, it feels nice to be on his radar for a few minutes.

“Excuse me!” a testy female voice interrupts our conversation and Joe turns. “Can I please get some service? I’m going to be late for work.”

“Sure.” Joe sends me an apologetic look. “I have to go,” he says warmly, then glances over my shoulder. “Your friends are already sitting in the dining room anyway. They’re starting to look impatient.”

“Oh?” I hadn’t noticed. I turn, and sure enough, there they are. And by those grins, I’d say they apparently saw the exchange between Joe and me. They’ll make more of it than it could possibly be, but maybe I’m in the mood for that today. It’s better than hearing all about what my friends are doing with their romantic men on the most romantic day of the year.

I hurry over to them. “We ordered for you,” Tabby says, smiling.

“Thanks.” I drop into the wooden chair next to Dancy, where my latte awaits. My bag, carrying my textbook, notebook, and that Tex-Mex cookbook, thuds to the floor as I slip it from my shoulder.

“So, tell us about Joe.” Tabby leans forward with a Cheshire-cat grin, her shoulders stretched in front and her elbows on the table.

“What about him?” I’m going to make them pay for it if they want to hear anything juicy from me.

“Don’t play coy with us,” Dancy growls. “Spill it before we call him over here and ask him if he likes your eyes.”

They wouldn’t. But it’s enough for me to give in. It’s not like there’s anything to tell anyway. I relay everything except the last remark about me being good for a lot of things and Mark being a dope.

“Hmm.” Tabby strokes her chin, detective-style. “Interesting how he just assumed Mark was your boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” I say, sarcasm kicking into full gear. “Interesting considering I had one date—and a daytime one at that. And we all know what that means.”

They don’t even pretend otherwise. A daytime date is for guys who are just testing the waters before committing to a nighttime date. If Mark had been scheduled to work that night, it would have meant something different. Because daytime would have been the only time he could take me out. But since he was, in fact, off that night, took me on a daytime date anyway, and then never called . . . Well, there’s no point in going on, is there?

“Who needs that dope anyway?” Tabby says. “What ever happened between you and Jeremy?”

I shrug. Jeremy is a guy who played an extra on Tabby’s soap opera. He hit on me last year at a
Legacy of Life
cast party I attended with Tabby. “He was okay. I don’t think I was his type, though.”

A frown mars Tabby’s face. “What do you mean?”

“He pretty much told me to lose weight.” I grin. “And that was before I gained the last ten. Can you imagine spending a lifetime with him?”

Dancy sets her cup down. “What a creep.”

“Guys like skinny,” I say, shrugging again. “It’s not their fault. Society conditions them for it.”

“Okay, back to Joe. He doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong with you.”

I follow her gaze and suck in a breath. “Tabs! You could have told me he was looking over here.”

“And spoil the moment?”

“You’ve played in too many romantic scenes on that soap opera of yours.” I roll my eyes.

“Maybe so, but I know a guy who’s interested when I see one.”

“You’re crazy.”

She opens her mouth to continue the fight, but her phone begins to sing “Home” by Chris Daughtry. “Hi, honey.” Her eyes are bright, and she’s suddenly gone breathless.

Dancy and I roll our eyes. She’s obsessed with her new family. Don’t get me wrong, we’re thrilled for her. But “
Home
”?

But then her expression drops. “Oh, well. It’s all right,” she says, trying to be brave. “There’s nothing we can do this late. We’ll just spend the evening at home with the kids.”

Dancy and I exchange frowns. “What is it, Tabby?” I whisper.

She holds up a shush finger. “I’ll see you at home. Love you too. I know it’s not your fault. I’m fine with this. We’ll order in.”

She hangs up a moment later.

“What happened?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.”

Dancy fishes in her purse and hands Tabby a tissue. “It’s something, or you wouldn’t be about to cry your eyes out.”

“Our babysitter fell through for tonight.”

A little gasp works through Dancy’s chest and exits her mouth. “For your first Valentine’s Day together? What happened?”

“Strep throat. And there’s no one else we can call.”

“Surely there’s someone!”

I hate to state the obvious. “Uh, guys.”

They don’t seem to hear me. Dancy continues. “What about Freddie?”

A rueful smile tips Tabby’s quivering lips. “David would never allow it. Freddie doesn’t watch his mouth enough. Last time ‘Uncle Freddie’ watched the twins, Jeffy had to have his mouth washed out with soap four times in ten days before he stopped swearing, poor kid. So that’s that.”

“I’d offer . . .” Dancy begins.

“You’re going to have a fabulous time with Jack. Maybe he’ll propose.”

Dancy shakes her head. “Too cliché.”

“Guys!”

Finally, some attention. They both stare. “What’s wrong, Laini?”

“Well, it might have escaped your notice that I don’t happen to have a date for tonight—being that I’m single and all.”

“We’re sorry, Laini. We didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Sometimes those two . . . “Why didn’t it occur to you that I’d be more than happy to stay with Jenn and Jeffy tonight so you and David can go have your romantic evening?”

Tabby’s eyes light up for a second, then cloud again. “I can’t ask you to do that! What if Mark comes through at the last minute?”

“Yeah, right. It’s been ten days since I heard from him. What are the chances?”

Neither responds to the rhetorical question. I appreciate it, actually.

Dancy lifts her chin toward the counter, but there’s no way I’m falling for it this time. “The hunky Italian might come through.”

“Not a chance. And even if he did, how desperate would I be to go out last-minute on Valentine’s Day? I’d much rather eat pizza and watch a kids’ movie with the twins.” I give Tabby a pleading look. “As a matter of fact, it would answer the question of what I should do tonight. And I’ll have an answer if anyone asks what I did on Valentine’s Day.”

The girls laugh so I keep going.

“I’ll just say, ‘I couldn’t accept a date, I was babysitting for my best friend’s steptwins.’” I grin. “See how perfect it is? You would be saving me from humiliation. And you know the kids adore me.”

“That’s true.” Tabby smiles. “You always bring them homemade brownies or cookies or something equally beyond my abilities.”

“All right, then my Valentine’s Day plans are set in stone.”

“You girls need refills?”

I nearly jump out of my skin as Joe sneaks up behind me. “Geez, Joe.”