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Eventually, I texted Leo back, a smile tipping up the corners of my lips when I let my mind linger on memories of him and me inside a supply closet in Mavericks Stadium.
Me: I remember that moment. It’s my favorite.
Leo: Me too, baby. Me too.
Before I could respond with heart eyes or a kissy face emoji, another text came through.
Leo: Shit. I’ve gotta get back to practice, but I’ll call you after, okay?
Me: Sounds good. I’ll just be here packing up all of Nonna’s sex toys.
Leo: Goddammit, Gemma.
I giggled and typed out one final message that I knew would probably make him roll his eyes and smile.
Me: Have an awesome practice, baby!
I slid my phone back into my pocket, and it took a good five minutes to swipe the real-life heart eyes from my face.
But, eventually, I refocused on my workday priorities.
Alma and I had been hard at work for most of the morning. Well, when I said we’d been hard at work, I really meant me. She’d mostly just been gabbing in my ear and acting like she was working on her laptop.
I called bullshit, though.
Every damn time I walked past her screen, I found her messaging with her friend Marty on Facebook or watching pirated reruns of Dr. Phil on YouTube.
By the time the clock had struck noon, I’d barreled through over fifty inventory photos and managed to package up all of yesterday’s orders.
With me running the pleasure ship, Alma’s Secrets had never been more on top of shit than we were right now.
Funny how I’d never been good at any of my temp jobs until I found one where I stroked dildos all day.
I tossed the last package into the plastic bin I’d managed to talk the guy at the post office into giving me and plopped my ass down into one of the plastic-covered dining chairs. It squeaked as I adjusted in my seat, and Alma slipped off her reading glasses and let out a deep breath.
“We’ve been two busy bees all day, huh?”
“Well, I’ve been busy,” I answered with a knowing smirk. “But I’m not sure your three hours’ worth of Dr. Phil videos on YouTube counts.”
She grinned. “In my defense, that man would wear anyone out with his psychoanalyzing drivel.”
I laughed at that. “Then why do you watch him?”
“Because he’s entertaining,” she said through a giggle. “Plus, I’ve always had a thing for bald men.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And hungry,” she added and shut her laptop. “Time for lunch?”
Right on cue, my stomach growled its agreement, and I nodded. “You want to eat here or head to the diner?”
“Let’s eat here,” she said and stood up from her seat. “I just made a fresh batch of pasta salad last night, and I’ve got enough lunch meat to feed Leonard’s football team.”
I grinned. Alma’s pasta salad was legend. I didn’t think her theory about standing up to feeding the entire team had truly been tested, but I also didn’t think she was wrong. It was carb-loaded, one hundred percent guilty goodness.
“Sounds good.”
I followed her into the kitchen and helped set the table while she dished out the food. It didn’t take long, even for a slow little old lady, and within ten minutes, we were sitting across from each other and chowing down on turkey sandwiches, potato chips, and Alma’s homemade pasta salad.
Colorful penne, veggies, a little cheese, and some kind of Italian dressing and seasonings, it was hands down the best pasta salad I’d ever tasted in my life.
“I want this recipe,” I said and popped a forkful of penne into my mouth.
“That’s nice, dear, but you can’t have it.”
“What? Why not?”
She grinned. “Because it’s a secret recipe.”
“What do you mean, it’s a secret?”
“I’ve never given that recipe to anyone. Not even my sister Darla.”
A guffaw mixed with a laugh as I judged her aloud. “Well, that’s a bit selfish, don’t you think?”
A soft laugh left her lips. “If Darla were still alive, she’d definitely agree with that. But I don’t care. It’s my recipe, and I do what I want with it.”
God, she was a trip. Ornery as hell, but entertaining nonetheless.
Foiled from adding a recipe to my very slim roster, I just grinned and savored the secret pasta. I’d learned since I’d started working for Alma that there was no use arguing with her. And there sure as shit wasn’t any way to convince her otherwise. The old biddy was set in her ways, and there wasn’t a single man, woman, or child on this earth who could change her. Luckily, even after I was done working for her, I had a feeling anytime I wanted her pasta, all I’d have to do was give her a call and come on over.
“So,” she said after taking a bite of her sandwich. “How are things going between you and Leonard?”
