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“Your nonna is really something.”
“She is. You know, when I flunked out of college, she was the only one who stood by my side. I’ll never forget that.”
“Seems like things have been smoothed over. Everyone loves you,” she says.
“Yeah. It was a long time ago. At least it feels that way.”
I surprise myself by sharing such a personal story, but I think I’m filling the silence because I don’t have the balls to say what I’d really like to.
The one thing I want to ask Livvy is something I can’t bring myself to—how she feels about me. It’s entirely too risky for a bunch of reasons, not least of which that both our futures are on somewhat shaky ground, and who knows if we’ll even all be in the city a month from now?
35
ENZO
Next day,reality smacks me right in the mouth, starting with my sous-chef calling in sick, which means I have to do his job, not that I don’t want to, but I have other shit to take care of. On top of that, Owen is on the warpath because two of his waitstaff are late, and he can’t cover for them. And I’m ninety-nine percent sure we received the wrong order of organic herbs, which might sound minor, but for a restaurant like EastSide that prides itself on unique dishes, nothing creates a signature like unexpected flavors. As I clean up and prepare for my shift replacing my missing sous chef, there’s nothing I can do about the herbs until Weston comes in because he has all the orders on his iPad or the cloud or something like that. Sure, I could check on the office computer, but my brain does not work like his, and what is logical to him and most other people is entirely lost on me.
That’s why I stick to the cooking.
The chaos of the restaurant business can either invigorate you or put you in an early grave. Being an optimist, I remind myself this crap is all part of the game, and this is what it takes to shine in the restaurant-laden world of New York City. Why let it get me down?
But on a day like today that tries even my nearly unlimited patience, there’s a happy buzz in the far reaches of my thoughts that keeps reminding me it’s there.
Also known as the girl next door.
Literally.
After we escaped my family’s clutches the night before, I drove Livvy home and let’s just say the night got even better.
While scrubbing stuff in the kitchen would make most chefs like me pissed off, the monotony of it is giving my thoughts time to wander.
To a place I wish I were right now.
It starts with dropping Livvy at her door. I knew the gods were smiling down on me when I found a parking spot right in front of her building.
“Thanks for coming to the house of Messina. You handled it like a champ,” I tell her. “For the uninitiated, we’re not an easy bunch.”
She drops her head back on the seat and smiles dreamily. “It was such a treat.” She turns to look at me. “I cannot believe your mother cooked vegetarian for me. Not even my own sister will do that. They were all so real, Enzo. So normal. And I mean that in the best way.”
I know exactly what she means, and that fact that shegets itmeans she getsme, and I am so here for that. I lean across the console between us and run my thumb over her smooth thigh, where her dress has ridden up almost to her panties.
For fuck’s sake, I’ve been looking at that all night, clenching my fingers into fists to keep them to myself, even under the tablecloth, where no one would have known except us. But I behaved like a good boy.
She shivers lightly at my touch and even though the interior of the car is dim, I can see enough of her in the ambient streetlights to know she’s giving me a sly look.
I knew she had it in her.
“What are you doing?” she asks in a sing-song voice.
I shift in my seat because, of course, my blue jeans are getting awfully tight in the dick area, and I twist a hank of her hair around my free hand. The way she smells is mind-blowing, it always is, but in the confines of the car, even though it’s subtle—just inviting and fresh and clean—it’s like a freaking contact high.
“I was wondering, Livvy, what kind of panties you’re wearing under that pretty dress.”
Even in the dark, I can see her eyes widen and her lips open. And when I move my fingers further up her thigh, nearly to her panties, I brush her tender skin and I’ll be goddamned if her legs don’t part the smallest bit.
Fuck me. If she keeps this shit up, I might have to propose.
“That feels nice,” she says, barely above a whisper.
