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Too much to hope for. She drew a heart inset with a J in the dusty film of the nearest bottle, then quickly swiped it clean.
“The show’s not going to help much, is it?”
Tad straightened to his full six feet-two and rolled his shoulders until his spine cracked. “It won’t hurt, but we need a more long-term strategy. Tony cutting the menu would be a start.”
Having had this argument with her father over the size of the menu and how stock mountains inevitably led to waste, she knew it was a losing proposition. Dad’s kitchen was off-limits and he refused to listen to any suggestions that would interfere with his royal vision.
Tad shrugged in response to her silence. He knew it was a dead end. “But why are we focusing on imminent financial ruin when there’s goss to be had? Saw something molto interessante when I was leaving work last night.”
Lili's felt like a bird was trapped in her chest and she fought to keep her reaction light.
“Oh?”
“Do I owe you a solo spin on the Harley?”
“I just took his photograph.”
“The old ‘come up to my studio to see my negatives’ trick? I haven't tried that one since freshman year in college.” He laughed. “Even I could see that Cheshire grin of his from forty feet out. He is so warm for your form.”
That Jack was still smiling when he hit the street gave her an unreasonable burst of hope.
Lili studied the racks taking up the entire west wall of the basement, then looked at her cousin squarely. “I know.”
“Why so sad? I thought that's what you wanted.”
“He wants to date me.” Or he wanted to date her. “No nookie until I agree.”
“Weird strategy to bag chicks, but okay. And that's a problem because?”
“Have you not been paying attention to what’s gone down in the last twenty-four hours? I told him it wasn’t happening and he backed off.”
Tad snorted his disbelief. “So, you trot out a bunch of excuses and now you’re annoyed that he’s not down on bended knee still begging for the chance to be your arm candy?”
“No,” she said uneasily. Was she annoyed? When had she become that person?
“Women. You have no freaking clue what you want. Kilroy does, though.” Tad’s lips turned up in a shade of a smile. “I bet I could learn a thing or two from him.”
“So I should date him so you can have a bro-mentor?”
“You should date him because he likes you and you like him. Quit overthinking it.”
Quit overthinking it. A hot prickle crept up her neck at the thought of how much Jack desired her, and how, unlike Marco, he had no problem showing it. His probing gaze touching every part of her. His dirty (she hoped) French talk. His large, manual labor hands on her, inside her, setting off fires in places that hadn’t seen that kind of heat since the Bronze Age.
Tad regarded her curiously. “I don’t even want to know why you’ve turned that very bright shade of red.”
Flustered, she forced her body to calm. She had very good excuses—reasons, dammit!— for not dating Jack Kilroy. If people were already wielding the bitch forks after one hot smooch, a relationship would whip up some sort of fan club bitchery frenzy. Setting herself up for online target practice in the cruel, unwinnable court of public opinion sounded like social suicide. She refused to become that girl again.
“It’s not as simple as liking someone. You’ve heard what people are saying. He’s the worst possible person for someone like me.”
Tad looked affectionately bored. “Remember when you used to come crying to me because Diana Matteo said your body was sixty percent pasta instead of water?”
She shut her eyes as images of Diana and her cronies squirting packets of ketchup in Lili’s hair streamed on the backs of her eyelids. Three years older than her, Tad was closer than a brother and had always been around to pick up the pieces. He knew it hurt then, and that it still did.
“What did I tell you to do?”
“Ignore them. Then stop taking third helpings of Mom’s lasagna.”
“Well, perhaps that wasn’t the best advice.”
