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“My Aunt Teresa had big thoughts about it. She kept saying Stefano knew that Uncle Rico would leave me his half of that restaurant when he died, and that he was playing a long con. But I didn’t believe her. Who actually marries somebody just to shore up his inheritance?”
I wince. Because there are lots of assholes in the world. It is not so hard to picture.
“And then one night at work—when I thought Stefano was outside smoking during his shift—I stuck my head out there. And found him making out with someone I had never seen before. Turns out he had another girlfriend the whole time he was dating me. Aunt Teresa was right.”
“Oh, I am sorry.”
She shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s a good thing. I was having trouble sorting out my feelings until I saw the two of them together. I broke up with him the next day, and then everything got easier. That was right before Thanksgiving. Of course, work is really awkward right now.”
We both laugh, and then I point to the elegant building ahead on Water Street. “This is it. I live here.” It’s a hundred year old brick warehouse converted into luxury condos. “I rent my unit from the team captain.”
“Nice digs, Ivo. Wow.”
“I was lucky to get it.” Still, I feel a sense of pride as we climb the red-carpeted steps up to the door, which is swept open by the doorman.
“Evening, Mr. Halla. Good game tonight.”
“Thank you.” It’s funny, but I’d forgotten all about the game.
“We kept that package cold for you.”
“Thank you. I’ll take it off your hands.”
Chiara knocks me in the hip with hers. “Good use of idiom.”
I laugh, because I cannot believe she’s standing here next to me in the lobby of my building.Keep cool, Ivo.Don’t mess this up.
Miguel hands metwoboxes. My mother has gone crazy this year. One of them is ice cold from the refrigerator, one is not. “Thank you!” I say from underneath them.
“Can I carry something?” Chiara asks.
“No, you may not wait on me tonight. Just ring for the elevator?”
She hurries ahead. “Nice lobby. Very swanky.”
“Do not be too impressed. My place is a studio.”
A few minutes later, when I unlock the door and let her in, she lets out a hoot of surprise. “Ivo, this istechnicallya studio. But it’s bigger than some two bedroom apartments.”
“It is nice,” I agree, stepping inside. To the right—but beyond a translucent partition—you can see the outline of my king-sized bed against the far wall.
The space is vast, though. To the left is a generous living area, where the big sofa faces a TV that’s suspended from the ceiling. And straight ahead is a glorious kitchen that I rarely use, because cooking for one man is not very much fun.
I carry both boxes over to the counter. I shrug off my suit jacket. “May I hang your coat?” I ask.
“Let me do it,” Chiara says, taking my suit jacket and carrying it over to the coat rack on the wall. “You’d better open those boxes.”
I find a knife and cut through the packing tape. Then I start pulling things out of the cold box. Mist rises into the air from the piece of dry ice in the bottom. “Mama wanted me to have a Finnish Christmas. She knows I miss my family over the holidays.”
Chiara makes a soft noise. “Three brothers, two sisters.”
“That is right.” She was wrong when she said we didn’t know each other very well.
From the cold box, I pull out a small ham and a container of cooked beets. Two cheeses. And a container of my mother’s mashed potatoes. “I do not even want to guess how much it costs to send mashed potatoes overnight across the sea.”
“Speaking as someone who knows, people enjoy feeding you.” She touches my arm. “You do like your food.”
“The food was only part of why I always went to Romano and Bianchi,” I point out. “Not to put you on the spot, but it’s true.”
