Page 71 of The Man with a Treasure

Laughing, I agreed, “And after all the cooking you have done for her.”

“Right?”

Sal, once again trying to use slang, had me saying, “Now you sound like a girl from one of those reality shows.”

Teasingly, he sneered, “Sal Rossi is all man.”

‘Baby steps and patience’ became our motto as the first week passed us by. As had the dishwasher, the washing machine also dumbfounded Scarlett. Sal put in dirty clothes—after convincing her to put on a fresh undershirt of his. “See? Now, we will add soap.” After all was ready, he started the machine.

Never had we known watching clothes wash could be so entertaining. Seeing Scarlett sit in front of that front-loader machine, completely enthralled with the process, was another tender moment I was learning to appreciate. She pointed. “Bubbles!”

Sal tapping on his cellphone had me asking, “What are you doing?”

“Telling Mae to add Bubble Bath to her list.”

Even though I had aimed a gun at Mae, she still dared to return from time to time to clean our home and deliver anything we requested.

My eyes raced to Scarlett. She was going to love that. And it was Sal’s idea.

Sal peered over my shoulder as I started texting. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” I texted Mae:

Please add candles to that list, too.

Thank you

Scarlett loved the dryer. Well, she loved when the clothes came out nice and hot. She held our unfolded, straight from the dryer clothes to her chest and sighed. “They are so warm and smell so good.” I stood there, smiling in the doorway, until she said, “Like you, Angel. You smell wonderful.”

“Hey!” complained Sal. “Do I not smell wonderful?”

She rubbed the warm clothes against her face. “Oh, you smell just fine, Sal.”

Licking the inner part of my lips as I backed down the hallway, I tapped my chest, smirking at the loser. And that, fucker.

He chuckled, “Asshole.”

As I walked away the victor, I heard, “What is asshole, Sal?”

“Errrrrr…”

Putting my clothes away, Scarlett sat on my bed and watched. “Why am I here and not in, um, where is it again my mother is?”

I closed a drawer. “Italy.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. “It is very hard to understand, um, places.”

“Well, let’s fix that.” I walked to my open bedroom door and hollered, “Sal!”

“Yo,” echoed from the other side of the house.

I shook my head. “Slang. Not yo thang, remember?”

His reply? “May you be a baldheaded old man before your time.”

Scarlett was watching me laugh at my friend, but the way she was focused on my mouth somehow felt… private. “Uh,” out my door, I stuttered, “do, you uh,” cough, “have a—”

“Today, Mr. Angelo Bianchi,” sung out from the other side of the house.