Mark laughs at me, then his smile dims when he sees I don’t join in.
“Oh, that was a serious question?”
I nod, popping a chocolate covered raisin into my mouth and glancing over at him. “Yep.”
“On a one to ten scale? A thirteen.”
“She’s really pretty, did I mention that?”
“Okay, scratch that—fourteen.”
I roll my eyes at him and look back at the TV screen. “Your answer sucks.”
“No, that idea sucks,” he shoots back. “If you’re horny, call one of the many women you can fuck without that kind of drama.”
“They’re all boring.”
“They are not all boring,” he states.
“That’s the problem. They’re not, but I’m bored. Just thinking about making those calls and spending those evenings with these other girls… it makes me want to give up women altogether.”
“Well, I would advise that before pursuing the Morelli girl.”
“But she’s gorgeous and funny and you haven’t seen her lips. You’d understand if you saw her lips.”
“I have seen her lips,” he reminds me. “And they are nice, yes, but no lips are that nice. Your dad would have a motherfucking apoplexy.”
“I think I’m gonna do it,” I say, nodding.
Shaking his head and looking off at nothing, Mark asks, “Why am I even here?”
“Do you know how to bake?”
Mark looks at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind. Maybe I have, but I’ve been thinking about things and there’s an idea I keep coming back to.
“Francesca said she needs a baker. And Adrian said some shady guys were lingering around the bakery, but I don’t think he put a guard on her unless it’s the kid I saw tonight, and I don’t think he’s good enough. I mean, unless he was in the restaurant the whole time and I didn’t notice, but I don’t see that being the case.”
“Was there a question in there somewhere?” Mark asks.
“What if you worked at the bakery and kept an eye on her for me?”
Mark’s jaw legitimately falls open and he pushes up so his feet touch the floor. “What is wrong with you, Sal?”
I offer a casual shrug. “I don’t want sketchy assholes sniffing around her.”
“What exactly did those lips do to you tonight?” he asks.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Trust me, not a damn thing.”
“They better have worked actual fucking magic to get this kind of rise out of you.”
“She won’t even agree to a second date with me,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “She’s playing hard-to-get like it’s an Olympic sport.”
“Your expectations of women—nay, life, but in this instance, women—are way out of line with the rest of the world,” he tells me. “I’ve had lots of women not want to go on second dates with me. You know what normal men do?”
“No, and I don’t care,” I say, before he can tell me. “Do you know how to bake?”
As if he deeply regrets what he’s about to say, Mark admits, “I do.”
I grin. “Perfect.”
“This is not a good idea, Sal. Suppose Morelli figures it out?”
I recline with my hands folded behind my head, turning my attention back to the television. “One step at a time, Mark. One step at a time.”
—
I go home for dinner Sunday night. My ma likes to get as many of us together as she can, but about half the time my dad doesn’t show up. After years and years and years with the man, she accepts and ignores that now, carrying on family dinner without him.
This Sunday he shows up.
And I feel like he’s keeping an eye on me.
Which is unsettling. I try to think of what I might’ve done lately to stir his ire, but I can’t come up with anything he should know about.
It crosses my mind someone might’ve seen me out with Francesca. Going places with her in public is really not a great idea, but it’s not like I can be a pain in the ass and expect her to show up. I can’t even get her to agree to dinner.
Yet. I will. Maybe I should reserve a private room for that so we have more privacy. Too many people between our two crews, too many eyes in this city.
I wish I could get her to come to my house. There’s no way she will—I can’t even blame her. It’s not bad enough she knows who I am and doesn’t fully trust that I’m not pulling some shit on her, but she probably knows as well as I do that the odds of her winding up in my bed drastically increase if we’re that close to it.
Maybe we could leave the city. I spend most of my time inside, but if I could convince her to come out with me for a few hours, we could afford a little drive time.
I get out my phone to look up some potential places I could take her. The last of dessert has been served, so I don’t think Ma will lose her shit, but then she does.