A Girl's Guide to Moving On (19 page)

“And you,” I added. I didn't want to eat alone. “Please stay, Nikolai, and join me.”

He hesitated. “Sun Young cook for you.”

“I couldn't possibly eat all that myself and I'd end up throwing the rest away. Please,” I added again.

Nikolai exhaled a sigh. “I cannot tell you no. You ask and I have no heart to refuse.”

“Good.” I brought two bowls down from the cupboard and set them on the table. While I got out the silverware, Nikolai reached inside the bag and removed the container.

Before we ate, he gripped my hand and bowed his head in silent prayer. I was touched he would do that. I knew so little about him and I wanted to know more.

“What brought you to America?” I asked.

“Airplane.”

I laughed, which confused him. “I meant, why did you come?”

“For opportunity. To bake my bread, to start new life. I am alone, but I have American friend in Ukraine. Like soldier but not in uniform. He help me, arrange for me to come to Oregon because I help him. Because I help him he able to help me.”

“What did you do, Nikolai, to help this soldier?” I speculated this was some undercover operation. Oh heavens, I knew next to nothing of foreign intrigue.

“What I do?” he repeated and looked away. Slowly he shook his head, dilemma written in his face. “I promise not to say, not to anyone. I sorry, but I make promise, then I keep promise. I cannot tell, not even for you.”

“I understand.” A man who kept his word was an honorable man and I appreciated his integrity.

“I not talk about this, okay?”

“Of course.” I wasn't sure I understood what role he might possibly have had. I decided it didn't matter how or why he came to America; I was simply grateful he was here. I dipped my spoon into the soup and looked down. Nikolai had mentioned his wife and that he'd been married. I wanted to know more about her, but felt funny asking. “Tell me more about Magdalena.”

His eyes grew sad. “We meet at school. I sixteen, she fifteen. She come from poor family. We marry and live with my family. I bake bread and she help my mother at the house. She sad we have no children. She sick long time.”

“When did she die?”

He reached for my hand. “Long time. Twenty years now. I alone twenty years. I love Magdalena. She only woman for me, I think. Then I meet you.”

“I was alone thirty years,” I whispered, my throat thickening. The emotion wasn't because of Sean or the sad state of my marriage. It was what Nikolai had said about meeting me.

He frowned, not understanding. “You married. How you be alone?”

“I was married, but I was alone. My husband didn't love me. He loved other women.”

Nikolai scowled. “He fool, that man. I not understand how he not love you.”

“Pimple on a log,” I said, not wanting to belabor the point of my marriage. I'd started a new life now and didn't want to look back.

“You mentioned your mother. What about your family in Ukraine?”

He looked away and cast his eyes down. “My mother die long time. My brother die. He in Army and my sister angry; she move away and not speak to me for long time. Before I leave for America I call and tell her I go to Oregon and she cry. She sorry, but she bitter woman. She think our mother love Magdalena more than her, but she wrong.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“No, no. I not alone. I have friends. I have new life. I work for deli now, but I dream of baking bread for more than people who come to deli. I think and plan and work hard for this new life I plan. I tell you one day what I dream. Okay?”

“Okay.” If he continued to look at me with those intense dark eyes I feared I would throw myself at him. Steeling myself against the strong attraction I felt for him, I said, “I have a new life, too.”

Nikolai's grip on my hand tightened. “You alone no more, either. You have Nichole and me and class. First time I see you it like someone stick a fork in my heart. I can hardly find seat to sit in desk.”

I remembered the first class with Nikolai. The entire class period he didn't speak. I was afraid he was so new to the country that he didn't know any English. He did, I learned later. In fact, his English was better than most everyone else's in the class. That first class, however, all he'd done was stare at me. It was after that night that he'd started to meet me in the parking lot and bring me bread.

He told me I was no longer alone and I believed him. Nikolai, for whatever reason, loved me. Me, who for far too many years had felt completely unlovable and unloved.

Rocco and I either talked or texted every day since our first official non-date when I'd met his friends. Unfortunately, due to our schedules, we hadn't been able to see each other. I hoped we'd be able to square things later this afternoon. He'd texted to ask for help with Kaylene's Halloween costume and I was happy to lend a hand, glad for the excuse to see him. Besides, there was something important I needed to set right with him.

Since my position as a substitute teacher was full-time and I volunteered one Saturday a month at Dress for Success, that gave me only one free weekend a month when Jake had Owen.

Kaylene had attempted to make her own rock-star costume with limited success. Her version and Rocco's version clashed, so I'd been called in as mediator.

Rocco had to work half a day Saturday, which was for the best. I figured the costume making would go better without him and agreed to drive over to his house. Rocco and I could talk later.

I didn't let Owen, who was with Jake, know, because he'd be disappointed not to see Rocco and Kaylene. He'd been reluctant to go with Jake as it was, and I didn't want a battle on my hands. I'd already called Jake twice to see how Owen was doing. Jake was polite, but I could tell he didn't appreciate the second call.

I arrived at Rocco's around ten on Saturday. Kaylene had the door open before I made it to the front porch. I liked the house. It was an older two-story, probably built around the early 1960s, with a big hedged-in porch and dormers. It reminded me of the house I'd grown up in in Spokane, minus the gazebo my father had built for my mom.

“My dad's impossible,” Kaylene complained, even before I entered the house. “He refuses to let me wear the costume I made. He said I looked like…well, it's probably better I not say.”

“Let me take a look at it and we'll see if we can reshape it into something he finds presentable,” I suggested. I shrugged off my coat and purse and brought out five gossip magazines I'd picked up at the store. I figured the photos would give us both ideas.

Sitting at the kitchen table with the magazines spilled across the top, Kaylene flipped through the pages. She found several dresses she thought would work and I did, too. We tore the pages out and set the magazines aside.

“You ready to shop?” I asked.

Her eyes widened. “Shop? My dad would never spring for a dress like that,” she protested.

“We're not going to buy anything new,” I told her. “We're headed to a few secondhand stores. I promise you, by the time we're finished Lady Gaga will envy your outfit.”

Kaylene's eyes widened before she raced into the other room to grab her coat.

Rocco had been smart to seek my advice. Dressing others was something I loved, which was why I chose to volunteer at Dress for Success. We hit pay dirt at the first shop. The perfect dress was on display at Goodwill and we found complementary jewelry at St. Vincent de Paul. We splurged on a hat we found at an antiques store. The outfit was fantastic, if I did say so myself.

We arrived back at one just as Rocco pulled in to the driveway. Kaylene dashed across the yard and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing until he protested.

“Hey, hey, I thought you weren't speaking to me,” he reminded his daughter. He made eye contact with me and grinned. Kaylene dragged him into the house and showed him our purchases and then modeled her outfit. As expected, he gave our choice his seal of approval.

“Thank you, Nichole,” she said, hugging me, too. “You're the best ever.”

That was high praise coming from a teenager.

“Can I go over to Dakota's?” she asked. “She's going to go c-r-a-z-y when she sees my costume.”

“Be back by five-thirty,” Rocco shouted as the teen raced out the door, packages in hand.

I'd been waiting to talk to Rocco. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?” I asked.

He studied me apprehensively. Perhaps it was something in my voice.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Something on your mind?”

I had to admit there was.

We moved into the kitchen and Rocco went about getting us each a cup of coffee. I pulled out a chair and sat down, hoping he wouldn't take this wrong. No matter; it needed to be said.

He handed me a mug and held his own, standing with his back against the kitchen counter, his ankles crossed. “What's the problem?” he asked, keeping his gaze steady on me.

I was surprised he was able to read me this easily. “It's about last week when I met your friends.”

“What about it?” His mouth tightened slightly and he tried to hide it by taking a sip of his coffee.

“I need to tell you something first.”

He gestured with his free hand for me to go ahead.

“I'm not much of a drinker. A glass of wine does it for me and I rarely drink beer. I had three that night with you.”

“So?”

“So…three beers mess with my head.” Rocco wasn't making this any easier. He kept his distance, I noticed, and his guard was up. I could almost feel the room growing chillier. “And then your friend asked if I was your woman. I could see you weren't sure how to answer. That woman was there with that ridiculous leather jacket that said she was his property. Really? Apparently, she hasn't heard about the Emancipation Proclamation.”

“That's what you want to talk to me about?”

“No. Sorry, I didn't mean to get sidetracked. It's about what your friend asked…you know, if I was your woman.”

“What about it?” He straightened and set the mug aside.

“You looked uncomfortable and hesitated, and I've never seen you hesitate about anything. But that's not the point. I smiled and you thought…I don't know what you thought, but then you told him I was…your woman.”

“And you have a problem with that.” His mouth got tighter and I could see that he'd clenched his jaw.

“I think we should talk about this first, because I didn't see us in a committed relationship. You wouldn't even call it a date.”

“In other words that's a problem for you.” Rocco pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing his arms. It took me a moment to tear my eyes away from his massive arms. One of these days I was going to ask him about his tattoos, which I'd never had a chance to study.

“Nichole! Answer me. You're saying you've got a problem with me saying you're my woman. Is that right?”

I didn't know how to answer. “I'm not sure.” I was being as honest as I could.

He shrugged. “Okay.”

That was all he had to say. Again? He'd said that before and I didn't have a clue what he was thinking. “That's it?” I challenged. “I really hate it when you do that, because I don't know what you mean.”

“I mean I'm okay with you not wanting to be my woman.”

“First off,” I said, drawing in a deep breath as I thrust my index finger into the air, “I'm not a piece of property—yours or anyone else's.”

“I agree.”

“Stop being so accommodating. I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

I decided to ignore that. “And second”—up went a second finger—“if there is ever going to be a committed relationship between us, we need to come to an understanding first. It isn't something announced on the spur of the moment in a bar because neither one of us knows how to answer the question.”

Rocco relaxed. “I couldn't have said it better myself.”

I hadn't anticipated this. I wasn't sure how I'd expected him to respond, and I'd been prepared for an argument.

The silence stretched between us and I didn't know how to fill it.

“Listen, Nichole, I can see you're a little lost here, so let's clear the air.”

“Yes, please.” I was grateful he wanted to set the record straight, the same as I did.

He leaned forward, his elbows at the edge of the table as he straightened his arms. “I have a past and most of it isn't pretty. I made mistakes, got caught up in the wrong crowd. In my twenties I pretty much ran wild and got into a whole lot of shit that I'd like to forget ever happened. But it did and I paid the price. When I learned I had a daughter I figured it was time to get my life together, and by the grace of God I did.

“I took a job, worked hard, and was lucky enough to find a friend in old man Potter. It was something of a shock to realize I actually had a head for business. Potter Towing has doubled in size since I took over.”

I hardly knew what to say. I held my breath and waited for him to continue.

“When you talk about a committed relationship I don't know what to tell you because I've never been in one. I barely knew Kaylene's mother's name the night I slept with her. I didn't claim Kaylene as my daughter until I had proof she actually was mine. That's the kind of life I used to lead.”

“But you don't any longer,” I added.

“No. I've got responsibilities and a kid to raise, and I'm working hard to make sure she doesn't make the same mistakes her mother and I did.” His deep blue eyes held mine and grew more intense as he spoke.

“I know you're part of that highbrow country-club set. You've got a college education and speak French fluently. I speak pig latin and not that well. If your daddy knew you were seeing me he'd probably run me off with a shotgun, and I wouldn't blame him.”

“You really speak pig latin?”

He didn't crack a smile. “Not fluently.”

I wanted to smile, but I could see that Rocco was serious and he wasn't finished.

“The entire time I've known you I've been waiting for you to tell me to get lost because women like you don't mix with men like me. I'm everything your daddy warned you against and…”

“Stop,” I said softly.

He blinked. “Stop?”

“I'm not going to sit here and listen to you tear yourself down. You're a decent and honorable man who was willing to give Shawntelle a chance when no one else would. You're a loving, generous father, and you're kind to my son and more of a father figure to him than his own.”

“You don't know me that well, and…”

“And I happen to like you.” I said it with conviction. “In fact, I happen to really, really like you, and you're a good kisser. A damn good kisser.” And although we hadn't done more than share a few kisses, I strongly suspected he was just as talented in other areas as well.

For the first time since we came into the kitchen, Rocco smiled.

“And furthermore, I like your friends.” I added, “Sam's crazy funny.” Although Sam had a really bad habit of using foul language.

He looked away. “They liked you, too, especially Sam. He called to ask about you and I told him hands off more than once and I didn't do it politely.”

I held back a laugh. “The only reason he asked about me was because I'm a good pool player.”

Rocco shook his head. “Not even close. Sam had other things in mind, things that would make your beautiful face blush. But before you put me on a pedestal, you should know I've had those same thoughts myself.”

I stretched my arm across the table and grabbed hold of his hand. “It might surprise you to know I've thought about you in that way, too.”

His eyes widened and the biggest grin I've ever seen slowly took shape. “Nice to know.”

I sipped my coffee and he did, too.

“Like I said,” Rocco continued, “I don't know anything about this committed-relationship thing. I've never been in one—hell, I've never even dated. Maybe it'd be best if you explained what you mean.”

“Ah, sure. I mean I'm committed to you and won't be going out with other men and that the two of us are serious about each other.”

“Hell, that's all it means? I was serious about you the minute I pulled you out of that ditch. The entire time I kept hoping to find a way to see you again. Then I found your phone and it was as if God had handed me a gift, because I had a legitimate excuse.”