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“Are you speechless again?” He pokes my thigh with his finger. “I love that I can do that to you.”
“My wedding ring,” I whisper. “I’m still wearing it.”
His gaze darts to where my hand is now resting in my lap before it shifts to his hand. “I am, too.”
“We should take them off now.” I touch the back of mine with my right thumb. “We can’t wear them at home.”
I feel Daniel’s gaze on me as I slide my ring off and tuck it back into the inner compartment of my purse. I carefully zip it shut.
He tugs his off and leans back on the seat as he steers the car. He struggles to get it into the front pocket of his pants, but he does.
When he looks through the windshield again, I do the same.
As the miles pass, the sound of the traffic around us is the only thing punctuating the silence until the unmistakable skyline of Manhattan begins to come into view, and I exchange a look with my husband that says it all.
We’re back to the reality where no one knows we’ve exchanged wedding vows or ourselves with one another.
* * *
I was hopingto share a shower with my husband when we got back to my apartment, but one of his potential clients demanded his attention.
I had to hold in a laugh when I heard Daniel talking to Everest Truscott on the phone as we boarded the elevator on our way up to my floor.
Daniel was patient as he explained that he would meet up with Everest for a drink after dinner tonight.
Apparently, Everest is not a patient man because he wanted the drink to happen during dinner.
Instead of feasting on the baked cod and rice pilaf that Daniel promised to make us, I’m at Calvetti’s in search of a bowl of the ever-elusive minestrone my grandma refuses to serve me.
“Gina!” Marti calls out as soon as she spots me. “Come and give me a hug.”
I’m all in for that, so I cross the crowded restaurant and land in her arms in record time.
I almost always wear heels, but I make a point of never stepping into this restaurant or Marti’s home without them.
The reason is simple and private.
When I hug my grandma like this, with me towering above her, she fits perfectly against me. Her head rests on my chest, and her arms circle my waist.
I always close my eyes and savor the feeling because one day, this will be a memory, and I want it etched in my mind now.
“I knocked on your door last night.” She taps my back with a closed fist three times. “You weren’t there, so tell me about him.”
Since I absolutely cannot do that, I step back from the embrace and sidestep by asking for the one thing I know she wants more than information about any man in my life.
My grandma lives to feed the people she loves, those she likes, and even those she dislikes.
“I’m hungry,” I say because it’s not a lie.
She taps her forehead twice. “What am I doing? Of course, you’re hungry. It’s dinnertime, and you can’t cook an egg.”
Um, yeah, I can. It’s the only thing I can cook, but I do it well.
I ignore that and smile. “Can I have the minestrone?”
She laughs like it’s a joke. “I’ll get you a big bowl of spaghetti with meatballs. You love that.”
“I do,” I debate asking for the minestrone again, but I decide to settle for what she’s offering because I know it’ll be delicious.
