That's (Not Exactly) Amore (4 page)

“No more than usual.” I smile. “I guess I’ll go shower now.”

“Laini. One more thing.”

I knew it was coming. I should never have called him “Mark.”

“This officer. What’s he like?”

Deep breaths. Try really hard to stay cool. This is not so easy when I’m picturing the better-looking-than-Brad-Pitt cop and remembering how his eyes smiled as his lips curved up. Gorgeous lips, full and inviting.

“Laini?”

Snap out of it! “Mark is very nice. About my age, I’d guess.”

“Oh?” She fingers the thin material of her robe. “Is he married?”

Shoot. She’s on to me. I sigh but can’t help grinning at the way she picks up on signals. “No. He isn’t married.” At least I don’t think he is. Oh, good grief. What if he’s a slimy two-timing toad? I clear my throat and try to deadpan. “Anyway, we’re going for coffee at Nick’s Monday.” Where I intend to make sure he’s not looking for an adulterous affair with the desperate chubby chick.

A frown creases her brow. “Oh, honey. Do you think that’s a good idea?” She takes a cautious step toward me.

“Why not?”

“He has such a dangerous job. You’d be worried all the time.”

I understand her fears. After Dad died, it was all about self-preservation and safety for everyone she loves.

“Relax, Ma. It’s coffee, not marriage.”

“Sometimes marriage starts with coffee.”

From her lips to God’s ears.

I send her an indulgent smile, walk the few steps between us, and kiss her on the cheek. “Let’s not jump the gun.”

Cringe. Why did I have to mention guns? Her eyebrows lift as though she just thought of Mark’s need to carry a weapon.

Before she can voice the thought, I turn and sprint down the hall, calling over my shoulder. “Gotta go shower, Ma. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

For all intents and purposes, the weekend is pretty uneventful. Mom and I trudge down the street to the community church she’s been attending for the last few months. I’ve been with her several times and I like it all right. This Sunday, she kept smiling at a nice-looking older man across the church from us. I don’t think she knows I saw. But I did. And I noticed him staring at her more than once when she didn’t appear to be paying attention to him. If getting past Saint Peter meant I’d have to give a brief summary of the sermon, I’m afraid I wouldn’t make it.

But my mother flirting—yes, flirting! It’s a little discon-certing.

During the weekend, I received three or four calls, each, from Tabby and Dancy, like I always did when we were roommates. Usually they asked me for culinary advice. And this weekend resulted in plenty of cooking questions too, but that’s okay. The normalcy of it all helped me pretend nothing had really changed all that much.

Of course all of that disappears as I walk the three blocks from the subway station to my apartment on Sunday night, amid a February snowfall. The realization hits me—I mean, really hits me—that I’m alone. All alone. For the first time in years—since our sophomore year of college, Tabby and Dancy are both gone for good and I’m the only one still in our cozy apartment. It used to feel like home. A haven. Now it just feels like a depressing rut.

I let myself in at the bottom of the steps and trudge slowly upward. My legs feel like four-hundred-pound weights, getting heavier with each step. I hesitate when I reach the landing, and stare at my closed door. My friends made sure the locks were all changed, and I find the new key wedged behind a loose baseboard the super keeps promising to have repaired.

The thought of going into that bare apartment has been plaguing me all weekend. I’m seriously thinking of advertising for a new roommate. Well, not advertising exactly. But definitely looking around.

I step over the threshold into darkness, and when I switch on the light, I’m smacked with a scene like something from a movie. Bodies popping up from behind furniture and shouting, “Surprise!”

I’m truly speechless as a thrill washes over me. Well, it’s either a thrill or the beginnings of a heart attack.

Dancy and Tabby are the obvious ring leaders. They step forward, grins spread across their beautiful faces. “What’s this?” I say. “You guys know it’s not my birthday.” Please, give me the three months I have left. Let’s hold off on thirty-one as long as possible.

Tabby slings her arm around me. “This is a housewarming party!” On cue, her steptwins, seven-year-old Jenn and Jeffy, begin to blow party-favor noisemakers.

And then I notice something really different. Furniture I’ve never seen. A gorgeous modern red sofa and love seat, a fluffy off-white recliner—these things look vaguely familiar—a desk in the corner with a computer sitting on top, wrapped up in an enormous red bow.

I give a sharp gasp. “What on earth . . . ?”

Dancy grins. “Mother left all of her old furniture behind when she and Dad got back together. It was just sitting in storage collecting dust. Mother doesn’t care what I do with it, as long as she doesn’t ever have to look at it again. So I felt like this was a good time to get rid of it.”

“But Mark said they caught the thief. I can get my old furniture back.” I run my hands longingly over the sofa top.

“This suits you better,” Tabby says, giving me the permission I need to let the other stuff go.

I throw my arms around Dancy. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Hey, I bought the computer.” Tabby steps up and wraps her arms around us both.

Not that I’d let her take the wonderful machine away, but I do feel I should be honest. “Mark recovered the old one.”

“That old thing?” Tabby waves away the very thought. “It was ancient. Five or six years old. So obsolete it might as well be a typewriter.”

I nod. “Thanks, guys.”

I include their new men in my gratitude. And the twins. “I can’t believe you did all this for me.” And oh, darn it, tears start flowing. Dancy grabs tissues from my new coffee table and shoves them into my palm.

Even though they don’t think I see it, Dancy and Tabby exchange “the look.” It means “girl talk.” Tabby turns to David and the twins, her gaze encompassing Jack, Dancy’s boyfriend.

“Hey, why don’t you guys head over to Nick’s and grab us a big chocolate cheesecake?”

“I don’t like cheesecake!” Jenn announces with a stomp of her pink snow boot.

David swings her up into his arms. “Then we’ll get you something else.”

Jeffy hops on the bandwagon. “I don’t like cheesecake either.”

Jack swoops the boy up for a piggyback ride. “Let’s go, then, shall we?”

“Can we walk in the snow?” Jeffy asks.

“That’s up to your father, lad,” Jack says in his oh-so-British accent.

They bustle out the door and Tabby heaves a sigh. “I love being a mom, but sometimes . . .”

She flops down onto my new swanky sofa and stretches out, legs straight, arms slung over the back of the couch.

I join her on the couch and Dancy takes the recliner.

“Those two are full of energy,” I have to admit. “But so much fun. That week they spent with me during your honeymoon was awesome. Any time you two want to go away, just let me know. I’m game.”

“Thanks,” Tabby says, her eyes looking a little guilty. “We just might take you up on that sometime soon. I’m pooped and need a vacation away from here. Even if it’s just a weekend at a bed-and-breakfast somewhere.”

“Just let me know.” I look around. “It’s not like there’s anyone for them to bother.” My eyes go wide. “Not that they’d be a bother anyway.”

Grabbing my hand, Tabby sits up and faces me. “I know what you mean. Now, let’s talk about you.”

“Yes,” Dancy says, adjusting in the recliner so that she’s facing us. “What are we going to do about you being so alone?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe being alone isn’t such a bad thing.”

Tabby produces an unladylike snort that I’m positive would offend her mother. “Oh, come on, Laini. Without someone to cook for, you’re completely lost.”

“I just cooked for you two Friday night, didn’t I?”

“I mean on a regular basis.” Tabby grins. “I don’t suppose you’d want to move into my guest room and be our full-time cook?”

Is it pathetic that I almost jump at this completely rhetorical question?

Dancy saves me a response. “Hey, if anyone gets a live-in cook, it’s me.” She waggles her eyebrows at me as though we’re negotiating. “We have a state-of-the art gym in the building with an indoor track and a swimming pool.”

“Yes, but in my world, you could work out with Freddie.”

Dancy shoots me a mock look of horror. “That human torture chamber? Don’t be swayed by anything that so-called friend has to say.”

“What I want to know,” I say, keeping my tone and face sober, “is why both of you are trying to sway me with promises of exercise. Do you think I’m fat?”

I swear their gasps suck all the oxygen from the room. They practically trip over each other’s words trying to apologize. Until I take pity on them. “Guys, guys! It’s okay. I’m teasing.”

Dancy shoots a throw pillow at me, and Tabby backhands my leg. “That wasn’t very nice!”

“I’m definitely going to be looking for a roommate. So if either of you hear of anyone looking . . .” I stare at Tabby pointedly because as an actress she knows all kinds. “Only normal people need apply.”

“Fine. But I can’t be held responsible if I’m not sure what normal is anymore.” Her eyes twinkle and she moves in closer. “Okay, it’s time to talk about something very serious.”

I frown and glance from Dancy, whose face holds the same expression, to Tabby. “What’s going on with you two?”

“I want to know all about ‘Mark.’”

“Mark?” Way too innocent. They’ll never buy it. “Mark who?”

“You know,” Tabby says—not to me, to Dancy, “I once played the role of a German interrogator. I learned the dark arts of torture.”

She comes at me with menacing fingers. “No tickling!” I say, moving back. “You know I can’t stand that.”

Dancy suddenly closes in on the other side. “Seems to me, if you don’t want to be tortured, you should start talking.”

“Okay, okay! Stop it!” I jump up and scurry to the love seat. Dancy and Tabby dissolve into laughter.

“Are you going to talk?” Tabby asks.

“There’s nothing to say. He’s cute.”

“Rugged cute, or pretty-boy cute?” Dancy asks.

David is rugged; Jack is pretty-boy.

“A little of both, I guess. He’s tall, blond. Blue eyes. Big muscles.”

“Sounds dreamy,” Tabby says.

“Down, girl. You’re a Mrs. and a mommy.”

Tabby sticks out her tongue. “And you’re taken.”

“You’re right about that! I am off the market.”

I clear my throat. “Ahem, girls. We’re talking about me.”

“Oh,
now
she wants to talk about McDreamy.”

“We’re having coffee tomorrow at Nick’s.”

They share another look.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re just trying to get Joe jealous.”

My mouth drops open. I cannot believe Tabby just said that. I mean, that’s just the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever . . .

I stop, stare, and grin. “Well, maybe a little. Not that he’d ever notice me.”

Tabby’s eyes practically bug out of her head. “Is she kidding?”

Dancy shrugs. “Who knows?”

“What? I’ve suddenly been sucked into an invisible cloud?”

“Honey,” Dancy says with smug determination, “Joe noticed you the first time he saw you. He practically swallowed his tongue.”

“You’re crazy. He did not!”

Tabby sends her a wink. “How much should we bet this little coffee date with Officer Hottie gets our Laini here a date with the Italian stallion?”

“If I wasn’t so broke,” I grumble, “I’d take that bet.”

Let them joke. Let them make bets. Let them talk over my head. But oh, please, please, let them be right!

4

B
ut why don’t you like the idea?” I’m following Joe Pantalone around like a lovesick teenager. He hates all of my ideas for decor. I’m getting frustrated and, quite frankly—fed up. Jazz and I did a conference call earlier and came up with a few ideas. Old New York—retro, yet very hip. Old is new, you know?

But Joe is having none of that. So as far as the redecorating, we have to go back to the drawing board.

“I like the idea of a sloped awning between the two buildings.”

Well, at least he’s throwing me a bone.

“That was Nick’s idea in the first place,” I admit. Which isn’t easy considering Nick’s on the opposite side of the country and I could really use the credit.

Joe stops for a minute and turns to an employee. “Take over here, will ya?” Then he looks at me. “You want to sit out front and have some coffee? We could discuss what I have in mind.”

I glance at my watch: 10:55. “Actually, Joe, I’m meeting someone in about five minutes, so we’re going to have to wrap this up.”

He glances at the door as the bell dings. “Is that who you’re waiting for?”

A blonde wearing a skirt that’s way too short for this time of year wiggles her way to the counter. Have I ever given this guy any indication that I would hang out with someone like that? I’m uncomfortable wearing shorts more than two inches above my knees.

“No.” The bell above the door dings again, and my heart does a flip as Mark saunters in. I almost don’t recognize him in regular clothes. Jeans, a tan T-shirt under a striped button-down shirt. He’s wearing a leather bomber jacket. I can’t help feeling a bit smug. “That’s him.”

“Him?” Joe’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Are you telling me you brought a date to the coffee shop?”

“Well, it isn’t a date, exactly. He arrested the guy that broke into my apartment Friday night and we sort of hit it off.” I look at him askance, a lot more casually than I feel inside. “It’s just coffee.”

Mark is walking toward me, his face split by a great smile.

“Just coffee, huh?” Joe mutters. He stays planted by my side and I’m starting to wonder if Tabby and Dancy are right. Maybe Joe is a little more into me than he lets on.

“Hi, Mark.” I know I’m a little more effusive in my greeting than I would be if Joe weren’t standing there just begging me to make him jealous, but it’s not every day a girl gets a chance like this, so I’m making the best of it for however long the illusion lasts.