Changing Scenes (Changing Teams #2) (4 page)

Astrid: LOL

Astrid: And?

Donato: You from the south?

Astrid: I’m from Queens. Christa said you specialize in Mediterranean seafood.

Donato: Babe, gumbo is from Louisiana!

Astrid: …um, oops.

Astrid: and, babe?

Donato: Sue me, you’re a babe.

Astrid: :)

Astrid: So when are you going to cook me something?

Donnie: I made you a five course meal at the restaurant.

Astrid: That was for Britt, not me.

Donato: You want some gumbo?

Astrid: Maybe. I like spicy.

Donato: Calling.

Chapter Five

Astrid

For no good reason, I’d fallen asleep on my couch. Also for no good reason, my phone was vibrating beneath me at seven in the morning. I checked the display and swore, since nothing was as irritating or as intrusive as family.

I accepted the call and growled, “This had better be good.”

“Don’t I always have good news?” Michael replied. “Hell, just hearing my voice is a ray of fucking sunshine.”

“It’s a ray of something, all right.”

Michael laughed shortly. “Listen, sugar, I got you a job. One that will get you cash money each and every shift.”

“Really?” I sat up, suddenly wide awake and not at all irritated. Okay, maybe there was a little leftover irritation. “Where? As a makeup artist?”

“No, cocktail waitress.”

“What?”

“Listen,” Michael hissed, “you wanted a cash job on the up and up as much as possible. I found this. You want it?”

“Do I have to be topless?”

“I’m going to pretend that you did not just ask me that.”

I groaned. “Fine, I’ll try it out. Where is it?”

Michael rattled off an address with the strict instruction that I was to meet him there at nine. I dressed myself in jeans and a plain green sweater, thinking that this wasn’t the sort of place where one wanted to be too cute.

I walked up to the place at 8:55 on the nose; not only had my money situation made it so I couldn’t afford cab fare, what with not being mired in traffic I was suddenly punctual. Michael was lounging beside the door, looking like the world’s most disinterested bouncer.

“This is it?” I asked. The currently unlit sign over the door proclaimed it Al’s Place.

“Sure is,” Michael replied, then he handed me an old style flip phone.

“What’s that?” I asked. “Your plan downgrade you to last century?”

“It’s a prepay phone,” he explained. “Al’s a good guy, but you don’t want to let these sorts of people too into your real life, know what I mean? So I gave him this phone’s number and my studio’s address as your contact info. Oh, and I told him your last name’s DuFresne.”

A smart girl would have demanded to know what exactly made Al the sort of man you gave fake contact info to. A smart yet poor girl shrugs and sticks the phone in her bag, while hoping for the best. “Thanks, Michael. I really appreciate all of this.”

“Come on in, I’ll introduce you to the man in charge.”

I followed Michael inside, and saw a middle aged man behind the bar. He was polishing the old wood to a mirror sheen, which made me feel better about this situation. A jerk boss wouldn’t care if his bar was shiny, right?

“Al,” Michael boomed, “here’s my cousin, Astrid.”

Al gave me a once over. “She’ll do,” he replied. “When can you work?”

“Me? Um.” I searched my memory; I had something booked for late Friday afternoon, and Thursday was Thanksgiving. No way was I giving up turkey day for some bar job. “Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays?”

“Excellent.” Al reached under the bar and tossed me an apron. “We open at ten. You want to work today? You get tips only, no checks. I don’t like paperwork.”

That was fine with me, since I didn’t want any records of me working here. “Sure. You want a resumé or anything?”

“Michael assures me you’re quality. I trust his opinion.”

I looked up at my cousin and beamed; not only had he gotten me a cash job, it was kind of, sort of safe. In a totally not safe way. “Yeah, I wouldn’t put too much stock in Michael’s opinions if I were you. He’s a wild card.”

Michael grunted as Al and I laughed. Yeah, this job wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

Chapter Six

Astrid

Donato: You awake, babe?

Astrid: Yes.

Donato: Got work early tomorrow?

Astrid: Off all day.

Donato: Awesome. I’ll pick u up.

Astrid: Pick me up for what?

Donato: Adventure ;)

Donato: Address?

And those text messages were why I was standing outside my building at half past midnight on Thanksgiving—well, by then it was technically the day after Thanksgiving—freezing my butt off and wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Yeah, Donnie was cute and all, but was anyone cute enough to risk hypothermia?

He pulled up a few minutes later, driving a white van with Thirty-Nine and Twelve’s logo on the side. Donnie came around to my side and opened the passenger door for me. “Hop in,” he said. “I brought coffee too.”

“Bless you,” I muttered. Once I was in, he delved into the back of the van, emerging a moment later with a thermos and two travel mugs.

“You want milk?” he asked. “Sugar?”

“Black is fine,” I said. He filled one, screwed on the top, and handed it to me. I gripped it, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. “So, what’s this adventure all about?”

“We’re going shopping,” he said as he pulled away from the curb. “You like shopping?”

If he only knew. “Doesn’t everyone? But I don’t think anything’s open right now.”

Donnie glanced at the clock above the dashboard. “Actually, this place’ll open up in about half an hour.”

“Great,” I said. “I’m going to be like one of those girls on the true crime show, kidnapped by a cute guy and sold into slavery.”

“You think I’m cute?”

I raised my mug, hoping to blame my warm cheeks on the steam. “I’m sure they’ll get a good-looking actor to portray you. Ratings and all.”

“Ratings.” We stopped for a traffic signal, the streetlight above making the interior of the van bright as day. “You’re not wearing a drop of makeup, are you?”

“Um, no.” In fact, this was the most casual I’d been in public in years. My hair was pulled back in a bun, and I was wearing jeans, an orange turtleneck sweater, and a navy blue down vest. And cowboy boots; one must be stylish, even in the cold. “Is that all right? You didn’t say where we were going.”

“It’s fine,” he said, his dark eyes holding me. “I like seeing the real you.” We watched each other for a moment, then the light turned green, and Donnie returned his attention to the road.

“All right, go ahead and ask me,” I said.

“Ask you what?”

“About my eyes.”

Donnie glanced at me, his forehead wrinkled. “What about your eyes? You have x-ray vision or something?”

I blinked. “You’re really not curious?”

“Seriously, babe, you’ve lost me,” he said. “Help a guy out and tell me what I’m supposed to be curious about.”

“Everyone wants to know if they’re green because of contacts, or if I have some crazy white ancestor,” I explained.

“I got lots of crazy white ancestors,” Donnie said. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

I laughed, and watched my reflection in the passenger window. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that about you.”

“S’okay. Besides, I already know everything I need to about your eyes.”

“And what’s that?”

“That they’re gorgeous.” My jaw dropped, but before I could say anything, he continued, “And anyway, it’s not like the fish’ll care what color they are.”

I shut my mouth with a clack. “Fish?”

“Yeah. Didn’t I tell you? We’re going to the fish market.”

“At one in the morning?”

He shrugged. “It’s when it opens.”

We got to the market, and after Donnie showed his parking tag to an attendant we found a space, parked the van, and entered the market. It was like going to the world’s biggest shopping mall, if all that mall sold was seafood. “I’ve never seen so many dead fish in one place,” I said, then I eyed my companion. “I thought you were the head chef.”

“That I am.”

“You don’t have some kind of minion to buy this stuff for you?” I asked, then added, “And why are you coming all the way to New York for fish? Don’t tell me, Connecticut fish aren’t as tasty?”

“This is the best fish market on the east coast,” Donnie replied. “And the last time I sent a minion, he came back with twelve dozen scallops and one whole trout.”

“Was that bad?”

“Yeah. I sent him for lobster.”

We laughed together, and wandered up and down the endless aisles of fish. Donnie led me through stalls that featured every kind of fish and clam known to man, and a few things that could have been sea monsters. After a while, I asked, “So you come down here every week?”

“Depends on the restaurant,” he replied. “I’d like to, but certain times of year we just don’t sell as much seafood. But with the holidays and all we can use the stock. The prices here more than make up for the travel and gas.”

“And that’s the only reason you came down to the city in the middle of the night?” I pressed.

He looked sidelong at me and gave me this devilish grin that lit me up all over. “Not hardly.”

We strolled up and down the aisles, Donnie browsing the fish much like I shopped for shoes. I observed as Donnie ordered vast amounts of salmon, whole specimens of other types of fish, and so many scallops it was like they’d emptied the ocean. Eventually we reached a man selling sacks of clams and mussels.

“Donnie,” the man greeted. “Bet I know what you’re after.”

“I bet you’d be right,” Donnie said. “Trevor, this is Astrid.”

“Nice to meet you,” Trevor said. “You one of the new cooks?”

“No, Donnie just asked me to come along,” I replied.

“Don, you brought a date to the fish market?” Trevor shook his head. “How did your mama raise you?”

“Hey, no mama bashing,” Donnie said. “You got my order?”

“Yeah, I’ve been setting it aside each week ever since Gabe screwed up,” Trevor replied. “Go show your girl an octopus or something. I’ll have this sent over to the van.”

Donnie nodded, and we walked off down the endless aisles of fish and ice. “Trevor’s right,” I said. “Most guys don’t bring a date to a fish market. Especially not a first date.”

“I thought our first date was at the restaurant,” Donnie said.

“When you asked me to nibble your sausage?” I asked, and he laughed. “That’s really more of a third date kind of question.”

“Okay, so we’ve gotta come here two more times before I bring up sausage again,” Donnie said, and it was my turn to laugh. He stopped and scrutinized some gigantic crab legs splayed out like briny red swords. “Listen, you want to know why I brought you here?”

“Sure.”

“This is who I am. Well, not a fishmonger, but I’m a cook. I’m a regular guy, not some fancy New York dude like you’re used to. I just thought that if you could see the real me, I’d know if you liked me.”

“Why wouldn’t I like the real you?”

“You seemed put off by my sausage.”

I frowned to keep from laughing and swatted his shoulder. “New rule—we do not discuss your sausage in public.”

“Private, then?”

“Maybe.” I slipped my hand against his and squeezed. “Just so you know, the real you’s not bad, and I thought that before the fish.”

Donnie smiled and squeezed back. “Good to know.”

Once Donnie had all the fish he came for, we collected the smaller orders and headed back to the van. I helped him load up the crates and sacks, then he opened the passenger side door for me.

“Hey,” he said.

I paused with one foot in the van. “What?” I asked, turning to face him. Instead of replying he slid his arms around my waist and kissed me.

“This,” he said when we parted. “And this,” he added, kissing me again. I parted my lips beneath his and let him deepen the kiss. Donnie was right; he wasn’t like the guys I met and sometimes dated in the city. He was sweet and kind and genuine, and if he didn’t have a van full of fish and clams on ice, I’d drag him back there and show him how much I really did like him.

When we parted he pressed his forehead against mine, his hands cupping my face while his thumbs traced little circles on my jaw. “So this really is a date?”

“I guess so,” I replied.

He grinned. “Any chance we can do this again?”

“With or without the fish?”

The grin widened. “Whatever you want, babe.”

“Then yes.”

Donnie kissed my nose, then he helped me into the van and went over to his side. Once he was behind the wheel, he grabbed my hand. “C’mon, babe, let’s grab some breakfast.”

***

We had breakfast at a nearby diner that all the fish market people, shoppers and sellers alike, seemed to frequent. Donnie and I claimed a booth in the back and grabbed menus from the napkin stand.

“Is this place good?” I asked.

“Good enough,” he replied. “Hard to screw up eggs, you know?”

A waitress appeared at the end of the table and set down a carafe of coffee and two mugs, then left without saying a word. I made a mental note to not stumble around like a zombie at Al’s. “What if I wanted water?” I mumbled. “Or juice?”

“There’s water in coffee.” Donnie grinned as he poured the coffee. “And we can order juice. Tell me what models eat for breakfast.”

“Whatever’s available, really.” I scanned the menu, not that I’d expected anything beyond standard breakfast fare. “What do chefs eat for breakfast?”

“Honestly? Leftovers.”

We laughed again, and I realized a few things. The first was that this midnight trip to buy seafood was the best first date I’d ever had. The second was that Donnie might just be the nicest guy I’d ever met. And the third was the fact that I wanted to see him again. I wanted it a lot.

In my infinite wisdom I decided to play it cool, and we engaged in nothing more than some casual small talk over breakfast. After Donnie took care of the bill we hopped in the van and he drove me back to my building.

“Here’s my stop,” I said as he pulled up to the curb. “I had a good time.”

“Bet no one ever took you to a fish market at midnight before,” he said.

“You’re right,” I said, then I leaned over and kissed him.

When we parted, he asked, “You never told me, did you roast a turkey yesterday?”

“I wouldn’t subject the poor bird to my cooking,” I replied, leaving out how I’d faked a headache to avoid my family. “How about you?”

“I chilled at home, but I’ll be cooking all day today,” he replied. “We’ve got a holiday brunch at the restaurant. “Turkey, ham, the works.”

“Let me guess, half of this haul is for that.”

A lazy smile, sexy dark eyes at half-mast. “Good guess.”

“Sounds like you have a busy day.” I walked my fingers up his chest and tugged at his collar. “You gonna call me afterward?”

“You know it, babe,” he said, threading his fingers into my hair. “Face it, you’re my girl now.”

“Am I?” I asked, ignoring the little flutters in my heart. “Does that make you my boy?”

“Whatever you want, babe,” he said, then he kissed me again. “Whatever you want.”