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Her response is muffled by the two double doors whipping shut.
Pauly and I glance at each other.
“She is quite incorrigible, yes?”
His tone is unmoved, even though I recognize the charmed flicker in his eyes. “You like her.” I chuckle, readjusting my apron.
“I tolerate her. She keeps me on my toes and smells like my nonna’s Italian bake shop.” He runs his fingers and thumb along the inky scruff lining his jaw, his watch catching the light from the fluorescent kitchen lights. “Perhaps I should fire her after all. She is trouble.”
“Or maybe you should ask her out.”
Two dark eyes slant in my direction. “I am twice her age, Mr. Elliott. That would not be wise.” As he says this, he drifts away for a moment, almost as if he’s considering the notion of doing something unwise. He shakes his head with a gruff cough. “Enough bumming around. We will be opening shortly,” he tells me, pausing for a fleeting moment before he disappears around the corner. “By the way, have you considered my proposal?”
Tightening my apron, I tense.
Since I turned down the Seattle offer, Pauly has been relentless in trying to secure me a higher paying position at a different restaurant location.
The restaurant just happens to be in New York.
I shuffle my feet, reaching for a towel. “I’m starting to wonder if you’re just trying to get rid of me,” I tease, dodging the question.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know about June, so he doesn’t understand why I’m not jumping at the chance to further my career and relocate closer to my “sister.”
I told him I didn’t want to leave the Baileys behind, even though they’re two people who would probably love to see me gone…to any place but there.
But he keeps poking me about it. He said he’ll move staffing around to accommodate me the moment I say the word.
Pauly pivots toward me, still stroking his short beard. His expression hints at a trace of levity. “Nonsense, Mr. Elliott. I’m hoping to join you there.”
My brows knit together, and I drop the towel to the counter. “What?”
“It is my home,” he tells me, nodding his head. “I grew up in Tarrytown, just north of Manhattan. I have been considering moving back, and I think you may be the final push I need.” A low chuckle rumbles in his chest as he turns away from me again, lifting his hand with a curt wave. “No pressure, of course.”
I stand there for a moment, watching him move around to the back of the kitchen as my heart picks up speed. The transfer offer hasn’t strayed far from my mind since Pauly brought it up over Thanksgiving week this past year as we lifted weights together.
June had video called me that day, a few hours before her parents arrived to spend the holiday with her. Pauly was near, so I tried to keep my longing in check. I tried to be aware of the way my eyes danced with love as I stared at her through the phone in her brown sweater dress, just a shade darker than her hair. I tried to prevent my mouth from spewing out foolish things that would give us away. And I feel like I’d succeeded, for the most part.
But Pauly noticed something.
“Anima Mia. It is my Manhattan location,” Pauly had said, his workout tank drenched with sweat as his muscles flexed and his neck corded. “You should work there.”
I bent over, stretching my legs. “That’s a very generous offer. I’ll think about it.”
He grunted at me. “You will not. I know when you are lying, Mr. Elliott.”
Chuckling, I approached the weight bench, trying to ignore the way my skin hummed with the desperate yearning to say yes. To be close to June. “You can call me Brant, you know. I think we’ve reached a first-name basis at this point.”
“I will call you Brant when you become my executive chef at Anima Mia.”
Fair enough.
He’s hounded me ever since, bringing it up almost daily…and every day it gets harder and harder to say no.
Letting out a sigh, I press my palms to the metal countertop, a thought trickling back to my mind. Curiosity nudges me, so I pull out my phone and do a Google search for the Italian word stellina.
Then I smile.
“Little star,” I murmur aloud.
