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I’m flustered, so I step up in line. “I’m sorry, I must have zoned out. I’m just coming from a day at the spa. What were you saying?”
What I really want to ask is what Enzo’s doing here at my hotel, rather than the one they’re staying at.
“Dinner. Tonight. It’s just a small group of us. It’s our last night before we head home tomorrow. Join us.”
I’m able to delay answering by ordering my coffee. If I join them, it’ll ruin Dom’s mood.
Before I can pay, a twenty slides across the counter to the cashier. “No, Enzo, I have it.”
“My treat. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. What have you been up to?”
The cashier takes his order—a caramel latte with skim milk. That doesn’t really sound like Enzo, but who am I to judge?
“Not much. I was here for a dance competition.”
“Oh, you’re still dancing?”
He’s polite enough to act as though he hasn’t heard the rumors over the years when we both know that our predominantly Italian neighborhood in Brooklyn gossips enough to put Page Six in the New York Times to shame.
“No. I own a few dance studios in the city. My kids were performing,” I say.
“Oh, that’s awesome.”
We stand by a pillar, and though I don’t have to pry—since I know all about his life over the past two years—I ask because he doesn’t know that. “And you? Keeping out of trouble?”
A grin with wattage that would match the Strip’s electricity bill lights up his face. “I met someone.” He nods toward the coffee place. “Hence, the caramel latte. I’m not even staying at this hotel.”
He laughs, and I can’t help but smile. Back in the day, the Mancini boys were all so driven to succeed that I never thought I’d see the day when a woman nailed them down. They broke a lot of hearts without even knowing it. The fact that a woman scored Enzo says she’s probably amazing.
“I’d love to meet her.”
His hand touches my arm. “Tonight.”
The barista calls out our drink orders. Being the gentleman his mother raised him to be, Enzo picks up both cups and hands me mine.
“It’ll be fun,” he says. “Are you here with someone?” I have no chance to answer. “Bring him along.”
Don’t worry, he’ll be there.
“Nah, I’m by myself, but it’s a family thing.”
He tilts his head. “No such thing. You know that. Come on.” He pulls out the one thing I’ve feared this entire time—his phone. “Let me grab your number and I’ll text you the details.”
“Um… well…”
“Come on. Did you hear about Carm? He’s practically got the ball and chain around his ankle now too. You can’t tell me you don’t want to meet the woman who wants to spend all her time with Carm?” He laughs.
Carm… the one Mancini who always smiles.
“Okay, maybe just a quick dinner.”
I don’t know why I’m agreeing. Unfortunately, it’s hard to fool yourself and I know exactly why I said yes. It’s as simple as the fact that my relationship with Dominic Mancini has always been complicated and after a drought of almost nine months, I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet.
“Great. Give me your phone number.”
I rattle off mine, then my phone dings in my bag.
He says, “That’s mine. It’s around seven tonight. Nothing dressy. I’ll text you the details.”
“Sounds good. Thanks for the invite.”
As Enzo leans in to hug me goodbye, I wonder if I should give Dom a heads-up or not. Would he give me one? Probably not. Might as well play a little game of my own this time around.
