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“Oh, God, Joe, did you see his face?” She leaned against a light post, bending over as she gave in to her laughter.
“I saw.” He made no attempt to hide his grin. “I just wish whoever was sitting at that table had had the spinach pasta. The green woulda gone well with Mama Santori’s famous red gravy in his hair.”
She airily waved her hand. “Nah. Too Christmassy. This week’s Valentine’s Day, so I think the red was perfect.”
He couldn’t argue the logic. He simply delighted in her amusement. The dimple slew him and he had a feeling the sound of her laughter would echo in his mind for a very long time to come.
“My mother would tell me I earned myself an extra year in purgatory. But you know what? It was worth it!”
“If it’s any consolation, my mother, who’s probably a lot like yours, told me the guy’s a dog. He’s here with different women all the time.”
She shook her head in disgust. “The creep. He saw me at The Red Doors. That’s why he asked me out. He seemed to believe I’m a good little teacher by day and a wicked dominatrix by night.”
Joe really wished he’d gone ahead and smashed the guy’s face into red spaghetti, to match his hair and clothes. Anyone who’d spent more than five minutes in this woman’s company should have recognized the goodness shining in her eyes and the sweetness of her smile. Absolutely the only thing mildly wicked about her was her sense of humor. And, perhaps, a bit of temper.
Two of the things he liked best about a woman.
She fisted her hands and put them on her hips, looking disgruntled. “My first date in six months and it blows up, not just in my face, but in front of dozens of strangers.”
“Six months? You’ve gotta be kidding me. You been living in the nunnery next to that school of yours?”
“I’m not so good in the dating department,” she replied, looking embarrassed. “It doesn’t help that everybody knows my parents and any man I go out with has to duck and weave to get past my nosy neighbors.”
“Note to self—study up on ducking and weaving. Anything else I should remember?”
“Yes,” she said with a grin, obviously realizing what he meant—that he planned to be one of her dates. “At least feed me dinner before doing something to make me dump a plateful of pasta on your head.”
He reached for the collar of her coat, buttoning it to protect her from the wind whipping down the street. She’d rushed out of the restaurant so quickly, she’d barely pulled it on over her shoulders. After he finished, he held her shoulders, making sure she knew he meant what he was about to say. “Meg, I can’t promise to never make you mad. But I will never intentionally say or do anything to hurt you or give you cause to dump a plateful of spaghetti onto my head.”
She stared at him intently, gauging his sincerity. “No, I don’t think you would.”
She shivered. Probably from the cold. Or, possibly, because she felt the same certainty Joe did that something kind of incredible was happening here. But what?
Seeing her clutch her coat tighter, Joe said. “Okay, let’s get you something to eat.” He offered his arm to lead her back to the restaurant.
Her eyes widened. “I can’t go back inside.”
“Sure you can. I’ve got an in with the owners.” He took her arm. “Come on, we’ll go in through the kitchen door.”
She didn’t move. “I can’t show my face in there again. All those people saw what I did. Besides, he’s still inside. His car’s right over there.”
“Well, then, he’s eating pizza cursed with my mother’s evil eye.” Seeing her reluctance, he improvised. “Look, I’m parked in the alley behind the building. You wait for me there, I’ll go in and snag us a pizza. We can sit in my truck and eat it, okay?”
He wondered for a minute if she’d agree, or if she was still feeling too uncertain because of the emotional ups and downs of her day. Seeing what she’d seen on the computer screen today had really hurt her. When she got over her amusement at the vision of her lecherous date with pasta hanging off his ears, she’d probably begin feeling very vulnerable again.
“What do you say, Meg? Do you want me to take you home? Or do you want to have dinner with me?” He held out his hand, waiting, letting her make the choice. If she said she wanted to go, he’d take her. If she wanted to go alone, he’d get her a cab. But he really hoped she wanted to stay with him.
When she slipped her hand into his, he had his answer. He smiled gently. “Pepperoni?”
“And no mushrooms,” she replied vehemently.
“Great.” Leading her to his truck, which was parked within feet of the back door of Santori’s, he helped her inside and said, “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Sneaking in through the back door, he waved to his brother Tony, who was the only Santori child to follow their parents into the business. Sure, they’d all waited and bussed tables during high school, but only Tony wanted to run the restaurant when their parents were ready to retire. Joe was happy with the small construction company he’d built with his own two hands. His brother Lucas enjoyed swimming like a shark through the chum-filled waters of the legal system as a hot-shot attorney. The twins, Mark and Nick, had parlayed their enjoyment of pounding the crap out of people into careers in the military and law enforcement, respectively. Charlotte, the baby of the family, was unsure what she wanted to do with her life. But at twenty-two, just finishing college, she had time. Besides, she still had a lot of growing up to do.
Looking at Tony, he pointed to their father, who was tossing a pie crust into the air, then pressed an index finger across his lips. “Shh.”
Tony gave a good-natured shrug and turned away, not watching as Joe pioneered a pepperoni pizza out of a huge wall oven. He boxed the pizza and stole toward the door. As he left, he grabbed an open bottle of Chianti his father kept back here for medicinal purposes.
He was pulling the back door shut behind him when he heard his father yell, “Ant’ny! Where’s my pie?” The old man began cursing and yelling in Italian, wondering what had happened to the pizza he’d been about to take out of the oven. His brother winked at Joe and shrugged in complete innocence.
Joe whistled as he walked toward the truck. His first real date with his fantasy woman was gonna involve drinking house red right out of the bottle, and eating his family made pizza in a pickup truck parked in an alley.
Sounded like the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
