Yesterday's Stardust (17 page)

Suzette met her at the door, high heels in hand. It was all Francie could do to look her in the eye and say good-bye. What her sister had become since she’d gotten pregnant and left home was unspeakable. “
I did what I had to do.
” Francie hated the line. Especially when she used it herself.

Francie kicked off her shoes and went straight for her nephew’s room.

“Hi, Aunt Frazzie.” Franky sat up in bed. He lowered the ladder on his fire truck, set it on the window sill, and slid under the covers.

Francie grinned at his name for her. Folding a white sailor suit, she sat on the edge of the bed. “Hi, little man.” She pushed aside a dark ringlet and smacked a loud kiss on his forehead.

“I’m not little. I’m almost this many.” He held up four fingers.

“Only three more months.” She picked two books from a basket.

“Winnie-the-Pooh
or
Ring O’Roses?
”

“Tell me about Applejack.”

“Again?” She pulled the blanket up to his chin. “Applejack was the tallest, strongest horse for miles around. All the farmers wished they had a fine plow horse like your grandpa’s Applejack. His hooves were as big around as a dinner plate…” Dark eyes fluttered as she spoke. In minutes, his soft, deep-sleep breathing filled the tiny room.

Francie turned off the lamp, walked to her room, and pulled out her diary. This wasn’t the life she thought she’d be writing about.

T
eeth, long and sharp, sank into her arm. Some animal, a dog or a tiger with a massive head, gouged a huge chunk, shook her, and bit again.

Her own cry woke her. Her left arm throbbed. She opened one eye. A thin square of light from a street lamp outlined a window to her right. Faint music played somewhere beneath her. Katie Melua. “The Closest Thing to Crazy.” She breathed a sigh. She was home.

A light blazed on above her.

“What the—”

Dani grabbed the sheet and pulled it up with one arm.

“What the heck are
you
doing here?”

Nicky.
Her eyes shot open. “Where—”

“What’s with the tattoos? Where’s Rena?”

“In your father’s room.”

Nicky folded his arms and stared. Katie Melua sang about the link between being close to crazy and close to you.

Dani shook her head to clear it. A wave of dizziness stopped her. She closed her eyes again then opened them slowly, hoping the statue-stiff figure in the doorway had slipped back into her nightmare. “I got hurt down at the beach and Rena came to the hospital with me. The stuff they gave me for pain made me a little foggy, so she offered to let me stay here.”

He didn’t blink.

She turned away and saw the prescription bottle sitting on the nightstand. She reached for it. The bedside lamp swayed before her eyes. Her head hurt, her arm throbbed, and Nicky’s silence magnified it all.
Say something. Scream, kick me out, don’t just stand there.
She squeezed the childproof cap and willed tears not to fall. “Rena’s a good kid. It was nice of her to let me stay. “

Nicky snorted and took two strides into the room. Dani pulled back.

“Give it to me.”

The bottle shook. The sheet fell off her bandage. Blood soaked through the gauze in a crisscross pattern.

“What happened?” His voice lost some of its edge.

Once again, the change in his tone unnerved her, brought the tears closer than his anger had. She didn’t trust herself to answer. Nicky read the label on the bottle then put one white pill in her hand and put the cap back on. Dani pulled the covers back with her good arm. “I need to get some water.” She stood. The angles of Nicky’s face swam like the bottle painted on the building next door. She sank onto the bed, head down.

“I’ll get it.”

She held up her hand. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.” By the time she lifted her head, he was standing in front of her with a glass of water. She swallowed the tablet and stood slowly, determined to take the glass back to the bathroom herself.

“It says you’re supposed to take this with food. I’ll get you something.” He turned toward the door.

“No. Thank you, but I’m fine. I need to get going anyway.”

He turned back to her slowly, rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Good idea.” Two words, thick with sarcasm. “It’s not safe to sleep in a locked car around here, but walking the streets at night is no problem, especially if you’re good and drugged up.”

If he’d said it in jest she would have had a comeback, but there was not even a hint of amusement in his voice. She narrowed her eyes to block the glare from the overhead light. And his eyes. “Where’s my phone? I’ll call a friend to pick me up.”

“At two in the morning?”

“Yes,
at two in the morning. Believe it or not, I have friends who will pick me up at two in the morning.”

She stood, slower this time, and stepped toward him. He didn’t budge. She moved to his right. He blocked the way.

No command in her repertoire would stop the tears. Her breath shuddered. The next thing out of his mouth would be a sarcastic jab about women using tears to get their way.

“Look.” Nicky rubbed the dark stubble on his chin, leaving several unguarded inches on his left. She moved. His arm shot out. His hand grasped the doorframe. “You’re quick.” Ripples deepened above one eyebrow. He sighed. “Come downstairs and get something to eat first.”

More of a command than an apology, his words seemed to compound the effects of the pill. She nodded, subdued as if the jagged tiger teeth hovered over her.

Dani sat on the stool Nicky pointed to and looked around. Crocks of rising dough covered with white towels sat on the back of the black iron stove. Racks of drying pasta as long as Nicky was tall lined the counter. The smell made her stomach growl. Nicky buttered a piece of bread and cut several slices of cheese, then poured a glass of milk and set it in front of her without a word. He nodded at her thanks then turned his back on her, washed his hands and punched his fist into a mound of rising dough.

He wore khakis, a form-fitting white T-shirt, and an apron folded at his waist. Biceps bulged as he worked. He stood at a slight angle, giving her a perfect view of his profile. Did he know how gorgeous he was? He could easily have been a model. All he lacked was a smile.

“This place has so much atmosphere. What does it feel like to stand in the exact place your great-great-grandfather stood, making bread the same way he did?”

Nicky shrugged. He rolled out dough, sliced it into strips, and lined them on baking pans. He brushed the breadsticks with melted butter and sprinkled them with parmesan cheese.

This is going well.
“I worked at a pizza place in high school. A chain. The breadstick dough was frozen, and we had to put this thick yellow junk on it—coconut oil and artificial who-knows-what.” She took a bite of the bread. “Nothing like this. Nothing. This is incredible.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

She watched his hands, mesmerized by his speed and skill. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask.”

“Did Rena say something to color your opinion of me before you met me?”

He turned toward her, wiping his hands on his apron. “No. Did she know you before that night?”

“Not really. I came in for dinner earlier, and I fed her some lines.”

Nicky raised one eyebrow, walked to the sink, and washed his hands then dried them on paper towel.

She’d seen glimpses of a smile. Flashes that disappeared like match light. Somewhere deep inside this man, there had to be more. What would it take to make Nicky Fiorini laugh? “When she told you you had delusions of grandeur—that came from me.”

His eyes held just the slightest gleam. “Figures.”

“So you formed your opinion of me simply on the fact that I fell asleep in a car.”

“Yeah.”

“So if I had met you before you called the cops on me, you would have had an entirely different attitude?” “Maybe.”

For no reason she could come up with, she felt like laughing. She cocked her head to one side. “So if we started all over and pretended I’d never been here in the middle of the night—the first time—would you be nice to me?”

Without a word, Nicky walked over and picked up the prescription bottle and read the label. “Maybe. When you’re done with these.”

She giggled. “Can I ask you another question?”

“Why not? You’re on a roll.”

“When’s the last time you really smiled?”

He opened a massive stainless steel refrigerator, took out a tub of butter and a carton of cream. Angled toward her now, he raised hinges on an industrial-sized mixer, raising the beaters out of a bowl. He added cream without measuring then put the carton away. Back at the mixer he paused, finger on the power button then sighed. He walked away from the mixer and pulled out the stool across from her. “How about if I ask the questions for a while?”

Dani pushed her plate aside, folded her hands in front of her, and nodded.

“You were at the memorial at the beach.”

“That’s not a question.”

Nicky bit the corner of his lip. “I’ll take that as a yes. So you do have a death wish, or the cost of my ad in the
Times
just went up because they’re paying you guys enough money to make risking your life worth it.”

“Still not a question.”

“Here’s one.” He fingered a strand of her hair. His fingers brushed her arm just above the bandage. “What’s with the weird hair?”

“I was trying to blend in.”

“With what? Tomatoes?”

“With the kids. For a story.”

His eyes widened. “You were trying to pass yourself off as one of them?”

“What better way to get the inside scoop?” She smashed a crust crumb with her fingertip and let a slow smile spread. “It worked.”

“Then how’d you get hurt? They didn’t beat you up for being a poser?”

“No.” She took a gulp of milk. “China was there. She saw me and flipped out.” She left out the part about the gun. “She hit me with a stick, and then she passed out. I’m guessing she’s on her way to juvie.”

Gripping the bottom of the stool, she waited for a blast like the one he’d ambushed her with the night they’d met.

It didn’t come. Smile lines framed sculpted Roman lips. “Gotta learn when to duck.”

I thought I had.
All her training in bobbing, weaving, and blocking, and she hadn’t even had time to strike a defensive pose. “Guess I need some lessons.”
If I’m going to keep up this charade.
“So it takes a woman making a fool of herself to get you to smile?”

“That’s some of the best motivation I can think of.”

Her head felt suddenly heavy. She propped it up with her hand. “You’re really a lot nicer than your sister says you are. And you’re cuter when you smile. You look scary when you’re mad.”

“Can I have some of that stuff you’re on?” Nicky stood and walked back to the end of the table. He sliced the rest of the dough into strips, put them on pans, and set them on the counter next to the massive stove. He scrubbed the area where he’d been working and where he’d been sitting across from her, then lifted another enormous bowl of dough and carried it to the table. He punched the smooth, rounded dough until it hissed and fell, then dumped it on the table directly across from Dani. “Cinnamon rolls. Want to help?”

“Sure.”

“Wash your hands.”

She wobbled to the sink. Warm water flowing over her wrists seemed to slow time.

“You okay?”

She blinked. “Yeah. Sure.” She cranked the faucet to cold and splashed some on her face.

Cutting the dough down the middle, Nicky pushed half toward her, handed her a rolling pin, and set out containers of butter, sugar, cinnamon, and pecans. Dani pushed the rolling pin out across the dough and winced. Without a word, he rolled it out for her then went back to his own. She didn’t thank him in words, just nodded. “Did you always want to do this—run the restaurant?”

“In a way. I always thought when it was my turn to take over I’d transform Bracciano into something spectacular. I wanted to live in Italy for a year, just soaking up the atmosphere and learning techniques to make our food even more authentic. I wanted to keep the flavor of this place, but buy the building next door and turn it into an upscale dining room.”

“What stopped you?”

“Life. And a father who can’t handle responsibility.”

Dani reached for a gob of butter and slathered it across the flattened dough. “What happened to your mother?” Her voice lowered of its own accord. “Is she still living?”

Nicky handed her a paper towel. “More or less. It’s a long story.”

Sprinkling sugar over the dough, Dani stared into eyes haunted by stories she wanted to hear. If she could stay awake. “I’ve got all night.”