Seduced In The City

“What the heck was that about?” Ellie asked, her voice so indignant it made Sara jerk back to look at her.

“Why did you give him the free soda?” Sara brushed past her, remembering at the last second to grab a 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 been good practice. But being distracted by thoughts of Sara’s imaginary slight? He couldn’t have that.

He’d ask her what she meant, and he wouldn’t leave without an answer. The question was should he go to Moretti’s now? He was tired and he still needed to hit the gym.

Dom stuck his hand out for a taxi that zipped right past him. Perfect. He glanced at his watch. They’d be closing real soon. Probably a good time to catch her. If she wanted to lock up, she’d have to answer him first.

* * *

A FAMILY OF four were the only customers left in the restaurant at eight minutes to closing. As if any of them cared about that. A minute ago the older teen tried to order a custom pizza to go. Sara didn’t bother asking Carlo if he had time—he would’ve bitten her head off. If they’d been regulars she would’ve considered it. But she was fairly certain they were tourists.

She kept on wiping down tables while Carlo was wrapping up in the kitchen. The day had been particularly busy. The dining room floor needed a washing, but Carlo would do that, which was why he was anxious to close. As soon as table three paid, she’d start cashing out.

A long night at her laptop awaited her, and she doubted she’d get home before ten. She didn’t really mind because she was excited about finally getting started on her thesis. This morning she’d begun the lengthy interview process by meeting with her first subjects, Mr. and Mrs. Scarpetti. The couple currently lived in Brooklyn, but their families had come over in 1880 from Napoli, and Mr. Scarpetti remembered a lot of stories from the very early days. Some from when the Five Points area had been the nexus of what had been called the worst slum in the United States.

Despite the realities of living in squalor, sweet memories always bled through the tragedies. That was one of the reasons she’d made “The History of Little Italy, 1810-1940,” her thesis. Her focus was on collecting stories from families who’d been there since the early days, like hers, and comparing them to historical records. Giving their local history a face and name.

She’d wanted to transcribe the complete Scarpetti tapes tonight, but they’d talked for a long time. It would take her hours, and she wasn’t sure she had it in her.

When the bell rang over the door, Sara turned, ready to send away whoever was coming in this late. But once again, she was stopped in her tracks by Dominic.

So much for scaring him off.

It had been only three days since she’d seen him, but he looked like a different guy. Disheveled, hair sticking up oddly, his necktie askew, as if he’d come though a wind tunnel. When he caught sight of her, he ran a hand through his hair, although it didn’t do much good.

She acknowledged him with a brief smile. Only because he’d seen her look up. Then wondered about her own hair after hustling all day. She almost smoothed it back but caught herself. He was still staring directly at her when she lowered her gaze to the table she must’ve wiped down a hundred times already. A dozen more swipes couldn’t hurt.

It took him all of three seconds before he was standing across the table from her, though she refused to look up. “Are you alone?” he asked.

“Carlo’s in the back.” She had just enough sense to switch to another table, and then wiped it down for all she was worth, unsure what to say, and not wanting to look him in the eyes.

“Can I talk to you for a minute, Sara?”

“I’m the only one on the floor. Can’t you see we’re busy?”

He glanced around the nearly empty pizza parlor, amusement flickering on his face, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. “No problem. I’ll wait.”

Great. Maybe she should get it over with while she had witnesses.

“Look, I know it’s a long shot,” Dom said, “but I haven’t eaten all day. Any chance you have a slice on hand?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the couple and their two kids getting to their feet. Now they cared about closing time? “A slice? This late? You know better than that.”

“Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Anyway, Carlo closed the kitchen ten minutes ago.”

“So, anything? A pizza someone didn’t pick up?” Dom said. “I don’t mind buying the whole pie.”

His tie landed on the chair back. She blinked, but it was still there. “What are you doing?” she asked, shooting a gaze up at him.

“Sorry, sweetheart, not what you think,” he said, loosening his collar and grinning. “Only on Friday and Saturday nights and I charge a cover.”

“Why am I not surprised?” A sudden image of Dom, naked, lingered a moment too long and she felt the heat creeping up her throat. “Do you know how lucky you are there are customers here?”

“Believe me, I thought of that before I said anything.”

“Excuse me,” she murmured, dropping the rag on the table and squeezing past him. Dom might look the worse for wear, but he sure smelled good. Musky with a hint of spice. No cheap cologne for him.

Dad already had his money out. Mom was tucking a tip under her glass.

“How was everything?” Sara asked with a smile. “May I get you anything else?”

The couple exchanged looks and laughed.

“You mean I can I get that artichoke and shrimp pizza?” The older boy had made it to the door but turned back with a hopeful expression.

Sara wanted to jump off the nearest bridge.

“We don’t have time, Dillon. We need to get back to the hotel and pack.”

“Come on, Dad. Really?”

God only knew what it was in her expression that prompted his parents to come to her rescue, but she was grateful. Sara gave them an extra smile, wishing she could return their tip. “How would you like to take some tiramisu with you?” she asked. “On the house.”

The teen frowned. “Tira-what?”

“No, thank you.” The woman glanced briefly at Dom and smiled at Sara. “We’re fine,” she said, and shooed the rest of the family out the door.

Sara picked up the check and money they’d left on the table and took it to the register. “I think we have a Hawaiian in the cooler,” she told Dom, and almost laughed at the face he made.

But it didn’t stop him for a second. “I’ll take it.”

“Sit down.” She walked into the kitchen, not the least bit pleased that even looking like he’d been through the ringer, he still made her insides quiver. She should have been over him years ago, the moment she’d overheard him talking to his friends about the dance, and yet there it was. That stupid little thrill. Just another one of the neighborhood girls who swooned the moment he showed up.

So embarrassing.

She got the pizza from the fridge, while he waited at the counter, turning over the take-out menu. As she got closer, his stomach rumbled so loudly she thought Carlo had probably heard. “You want me to heat a slice?”

“That would be fantastic.”

“I’m talking about the microwave. We’ve already turned off the ovens.”

“Microwave. Campfire. Cigarette lighter. It all works.”

“Here,” she said, handing him a medium drink cup. “Come on back and fix yourself a soda. You’re going to have to eat fast, because seriously...”

“You’re closing in three minutes.” He took the cup and lifted the divider that kept the customers in their place. “You always work by yourself at night?”

She rounded the corner and popped his slice in the microwave. “No,” she said, returning to the counter. “Jeanette left at eight.”

“Where’s your pop? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He took my mom to visit family in Sicily.”

“Huh.” Dom looked puzzled.

“What? Because he never takes a vacation?”

“Well, yeah, that, too. I’m just surprised there are any Italians left in Sicily. I heard it was being overrun by outsiders.”

“You mean like Little Italy?”

“So, you noticed, huh?”

“Hard not to.” Sara didn’t mistake the easy small talk for a get-out-of-jail-free card. At any minute he was going to ask her what she’d meant the other night, and she didn’t know what to tell him. A lie wasn’t beneath her, if she was able to think up a good one. Just so she could put the whole stupid thing to rest.

A loud bang from the kitchen made her jump.

“Carlo, you okay?”

After a muttered string of curses in Italian, he said, “Yeah.”

Sara and Dom exchanged smiles.

Even after her seven-year foray into the world beyond Little Italy, Dominic Paladino was still the best-looking man she’d ever seen. It didn’t help that he was standing so close. She should’ve gotten his soda instead of inviting him into her space.

Dammit, the tummy fluttering had to stop. Now.

Dom was still looking directly at her. “So he’ll walk you home?”

“Who?”

“Carlo.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked as she made her break to the other side and went over to clear off the last dirty table. “Walk me home? I live five blocks from here.”

“I know. But it’s late.”

“Nine o’clock is nothing. There’s plenty of traffic. Some nights we let groups hold meetings here and I don’t get out before eleven.”

“What? That’s crazy.”

“Tell my dad that. He’s the one that says it’s our civic duty. Although how hosting a chess club is considered civic duty is beyond me.” She didn’t dare stop. If Dom knew he’d momentarily thrown her off balance, he didn’t show it. She walked right past him, straight to the microwave in back. “Your slice should be ready.”

Of course it wasn’t hot because she hadn’t set enough time. She added fifteen seconds and drummed her fingers on the counter while she waited, thankful for the partition between them. So far, so good, but she still hadn’t come up with anything to say when he finally asked about the elephant in the room.

The microwave dinged.

Sara took a deep breath.

Dom was already on the other side of the counter, putting the top on his soda when she came around the wall.

“Here,” she said, setting the paper plate in front of him. “If you want another slice you have to tell me now, because—”

“You’re leaving. No, thanks. One will get me home fine.” His smile dazzled, as always, but he looked tired. Like he’d had a rough day.

She smiled back, wondering what had put the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. The tie and blazer probably meant he’d just gotten off work. Despite what she’d written in the article, she’d known he was a good student and a hard worker. “Look, Dom—”

“Sara—”

They spoke in unison. He motioned for her to go first.

Nodding, she said, “I owe you a long-overdue apology.”

3

DOM REMEMBERED THAT shy smile though he didn’t know why he should. He hadn’t really noticed her much back in school. And she wanted to apologize? He hadn’t seen that coming.

Earlier, when they’d been talking about the old neighborhood, they’d had a moment where they’d connected. The past had briefly converged with the present. And then something had happened, but he didn’t know what.

“I shouldn’t have written that op-ed piece. It was wrong and I knew it and I still—”

“Hey, you don’t need to do this,” he said, cutting her short. “That’s all in the past. We were kids. I shouldn’t have brought it up. Wait.” He thought for a moment. “Wrong to write the article or wrong because you knew it wasn’t true?”

“Here,” she said, pushing a bunch of napkins at him.

“You must think I’m a real slob.” When he reached for one, his fingers brushed against hers. Something twitched, nothing big. A reminder that he was aware of how soft her skin looked, of the way her hips flared. How the shirt clung to her breasts.

“I don’t want to see you get sauce on that snazzy blazer.”

He glanced down and shrugged. “I had to meet with two new clients, and then I had an interview.”

Behind him, the bell over the door rang.

Sara tilted her head to the side to see who it was. “Sorry, we’re closed,” she said with a warm smile she had yet to give him. Although he kind of liked that little shy one. “Come back tomorrow. We’re open at ten.”

After some grumbling, the door closed.

“I need to go lock up.”

“Okay, I get the hint.”

“No, I wasn’t—” She almost touched his hand but stopped herself and grabbed a ring of keys. “No rush. At least for the next ten minutes.”

Dom stripped the offensive pineapple off his pizza and took a bite as he watched her walk to the door. Those jeans couldn’t have fit her any better. He wondered if she knew she had the perfect ass.

While she fiddled with getting the key in the lock, he quickly took two more bites, just to get his stomach to shut up. When Sara turned to make the return trip, he whipped out his wallet and pretended he hadn’t been checking her out.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I was going to keep that one in the fridge so we could give out slices tomorrow for our homeless regulars.”

“What happened to no free food, ever?”

Her eyebrows went up, and he laughed.

“I didn’t know you guys did that. That’s great.” He pulled out a twenty and slid it over to her.

“I know. I’m proud of my folks.” She frowned at the money. “I just told you—”

“Consider that my contribution to the program.”

She sighed. “Obviously I can’t say no to that. Thank you,” she said, picking up the twenty and going to the register. She put it in an envelope way in the back of the drawer, then took out a stack of bills.

“Am I in the way?” He realized he should’ve moved to a table. They had more talking to do and he had a feeling she’d be less open with him right there in her face.

“You’re fine,” she said just as he picked up his plate and moved.

He glanced over at Sara and caught her looking back, and she might’ve been checking him out, too. And here he was in conservative gray dress slacks. Shit.

“Hey, I heard about your father’s heart attack. How’s he doing?”

He quickly swallowed. “Good. Retired. Not liking it much. But his health is better.”

“Good. And Tony, he’s—” Sara lifted a brow. “Is ‘getting married’ okay, or does it fall in the banned words category?”

“I’ll make an exception,” he said. “Yeah, Tony’s getting married. Catherine’s great. They’re good together.”

“I’m happy for them.”

“You know Tony?”

She finished counting her stack before she shoved it in a bank bag. “Not really. I don’t think we ever said so much as hi.” She shrugged. “Kind of like how I know you.”

If she didn’t know Tony, then basically she was running out the clock. Too bad. He still had a question for her.

“Did you ever go to college?” she asked, searching around the register, lifting receipts, moving the pizza box.

“More than I ever thought I would. Two masters, can you believe it?”

She touched her hair and sighed as she pulled the pencil from behind her ear. “Yeah, that makes sense. For a jock you were no slouch in the grades department.”

Dom knew the exact moment she realized what she’d said. Her eyes widened for a split second and she looked down, gaze glued to the stack in front of her. Well, that was one question answered. She’d known it was bullshit, but she’d printed it anyway. Still curious as hell, he pretended he hadn’t noticed the slip and took another bite. Chewed. Then said, “I wasn’t a jock.”

“All the different sports you played? Of course you were.”

“That’s not all I did.” Damn, he was getting tired of people homing in on superficial qualities. He had the ambition and smarts to do lots of things with his life.

“It’s not like being a jock was bad. That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Hey, I just thought of something...about you,” he said, and grinned at the dread on her face. “You kicking ass and taking names when you were editor of the paper. Christ, that one day you were riled up about cafeteria lunches and the faculty doing something stupid. We were all packed into the gym for some announcement.” He took a sip of his soda, his memory suddenly clear as a photograph. “You wore that pink sweater, the one with the cats on it.”

She gave him a one-sided grin. “You remember that?”

“You rained down hell on the entire staff. I always wondered if your grades tanked after that.”

The grin was faint but still there, and now her head tilted slightly to the left. “Huh.” She picked up another stack of bills.

“I graduated a few months later. I assume you were editor your senior year.”

Sara’s smile vanished and she looked down at her hands. Guess he’d assumed wrong. He wondered what had done her in, giving it to the faculty or writing a slanderous implication about him. He’d been plenty pissed, but he hadn’t said anything, not to anyone who mattered. Just his friends and Coach Randal. Pissed on his behalf, they’d urged him to file a complaint but he hadn’t.

“I think the emergency has passed,” he said, although he was still hungry. They’d been talking. Everything was good. But he’d lost ground with her. “Why don’t you put the rest of the pizza back in the fridge, give it to your regulars tomorrow?”