Speak Low (Speak Easy 2)

Licking my lips, I walked two steps before stopping again and glancing up.

And you might want to cover your ears too. Amen.

#

By the time I opened the restaurant door, I was more than ready to confess my love to Joey and beg him not to follow through on his revenge plan. Pulse racing, I walked past the hostess at the entrance to the dining room and took the huge central staircase up two flights, two steps at a time. By the time I reached the third floor I was winded and my hip hurt but I didn’t care. The hallway smelled delicious, and I hoped I wouldn’t be interrupting dinner. My hands shook as I knocked on the door.

No one answered.

I put my ear to the door and heard conversation. It actually sounded as if a lot of people were in there. Crap, now what was I going to do? What if his mother had company? The scene I imagined between Joey and I could not take place in front of an audience! Disappointed, I nearly turned around and left, but suddenly the door opened.

“Tiny!” Marie shouted. “I knew I heard a knock! Are you alone? Come on in, honey.”

Taking me by the arm, she shepherded me into the living room, where, to my horror, the entire Lupo family was gathered. Adults were sitting on the furniture and young children scuttled around underfoot. A quick scan of the room told me Joey wasn’t among them.

My heart fell.

“You all remember Tiny? She’s Bridget’s sister….” Marie switched to Italian and I caught the words sposata and Vincenzo, so I figured she was introducing me as the sister of the woman who was married to Vince.

Several people crossed themselves; others nodded and smiled. Marie went on with introductions but I knew I’d never recall anyone’s name. I only cared about one person, and I didn’t see him here. Just as I was about to ask if he was home, Mrs. Lupo rose from her seat on the sofa and kissed my cheeks. “Cara, good to see you. You stay for Sunday dinner.”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude on your family dinner, I just—”

“Nonsense, Tiny, you’re family,” insisted Marie. “And if you’ve never had Joey’s arancine, you’re in for a treat.”

“Joey’s what?”

“Sorry. They’re rice balls,” she said. “And they’re delicious.”

“No one make them better than me but my Giuseppe,” Mrs. Lupo said proudly. “He don’t even let me come in there today.”

“That’s right, Ma. You just rest. Joey can handle the cooking today.”

A ball of rice didn’t sound that appealing to me, but I would’ve eaten anything they asked me to in order to stay. He’s here! I glanced at the kitchen door, which was closed. Would it be strange if I asked to go in there? “Can I help with the meal?”

“Absolutely not, you sit down with us.” Marie led me to a dining chair, which had been brought out to the front room. Perhaps she’d heard about my cooking somehow. Helplessly, I sank into the seat and looked around. There were three or four older women, one old man and two younger men that I thought might be Joey’s brothers-in-law, and probably five or six kids. I didn’t see Joey’s other two sisters, Joanna and Therese, and I guessed they were in the kitchen with him.

“I’ll let Joey know you’re here, Tiny. Can I bring you a cup of coffee?” Marie asked.

“Thanks. But no thank you on the coffee. I’m fine.”

She smiled at me and went into the kitchen, and my stomach knotted itself worse than the rags in my hair last night. What would Joey do when he heard I was out here?

A moment later, he pushed open the swinging kitchen door and stood in the frame, staring at me through the arched threshold between the dining room and front room. My heart thumped three times in quick succession. My God, he was so beautiful—his face took my breath away. He had a dimple on his chin. Had I not noticed that before? And the lightness in his brown eyes. The lashes so dark and thick I could see them across the room. The mouth. Dear Lord, that mouth. My bottom lip fell open as we locked eyes, and my breath was stuck inside me.

He wore an apron over a blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up and dark trousers. He’d removed his collar and tie to work in the kitchen, and the top button of his shirt was undone. He held a dishtowel in his hands.

I felt paralyzed by the sight of him. How had I ever thought he wasn’t the one? I wanted him so badly—I felt it in every nerve ending in my body. But now what should I do? I could hardly take off running, hurdle th

e sofa his mother sat on, and launch myself at him, which is what I wanted to do. And Joey’s face was unreadable; I couldn’t tell if he was angry at me for coming or glad to see me. I smiled and raised my hand in a pathetic little greeting, and he nodded grimly and backed into the kitchen again, the door swinging shut behind him.

Shit! That reaction was not in the fantasy of how this moment went.

Maybe he didn’t want me here. My throat threatened to close up, and I took several deep breaths. Conversation went on around me, but I barely heard it. It was half in Italian, anyway. I’d have to learn some more words if Joey and I were going to be together.

The thought sent chills cascading down my spine.

Joey and I were going to be together.