Thirst (The Calvettis of New York 1)

“I’ll email you when I’m back home.” She tucks the card into the back pocket of her faded jeans. “I’m Nora Kemp, by the way.”

“I’m Dexie Walsh,” I say with a smile. “But you knew that from the card.”

“I’m Trisha.” The other woman nods. “I’ve been looking for a clutch forever. I’ve found a few, but I’m still on the hunt for the perfect one. Is that something you can do?”

“Absolutely.” I pull my phone from my bag and scroll through the photo library until I land on the image of a pink clutch I made last year for a friend of a friend. “Are you thinking of something like this?”

Her eyes scan the screen as her smile spreads quickly. “That’s it. I love that, but in white with gold rivets instead of silver and a touch bigger.”

“I can work on a sketch and send it to you.” I drop my phone back in my tote. “Email me once you’re home and we’ll collaborate.”

“This is fate,” Nora says, looking around us. “We were meant to run into you today, Dexie.”

I’ll call it luck because there’s the potential for two sales in my future. I know that they may never reach out, but I always hold out hope that the people who show interest in my handbags will follow through and place an order.

“Today would be perfect if we could agree on where to get some pasta.” Trisha laughs. “There must be thousands of choices in the city.”

“Trust me on this, ladies.” I take a step toward the edge of the sidewalk and raise my hand at the approaching traffic. “I’m going to grab us a taxi. You want to eat dinner at Calvetti’s.”

“Please say you’re joining us so you can tell us all about New York,” Trisha says, glancing at Nora. “We’re here celebrating my fortieth birthday. I’d love to know what it’s like to be a twenty-something single gal living in the big city.”

It’s hard work being a twenty-seven-year-old struggling purse designer who spends her days coming up with catchy campaigns to sell lipstick shades she’ll never wear and her nights alone in her bed.

“I assume you’re single,” Trisha continues. “You’re not wearing a ring.”

I look down at my bare hands. “I’m still looking for Mr. Right.”

“Maybe he’s waiting for you at Calevetti’s,” Nora offers with a sly grin. “Let us buy you dinner as a thank you for breaking up our argument.”

Wrapping her arm around her sister’s shoulder, Trisha giggles.

“I’d love to, but I have to work on a purse tonight for a client.” I smile as a taxi slows. “I’m headed in that direction though. We’ll stop at Calvettti’s and then I’ll walk home and leave you two to enjoy the best pasta in New York City.”

Chapter 4

Rocco

Just as I glance toward the windows at the front of my grandmother’s restaurant I catch a brief glimpse of long blonde hair kissed with pale pink streaks. The fleeting image is enough to lure me to my feet, but the woman disappears out of sight just as my grandmother approaches with a ten dollar bill in her hand.

“Why are you standing, Rocco?” She waves her hands to motion for me to sit back down. “Your food is coming. Patience, my boy. You need to learn some patience.”

I look over at the two women wearing I heart NY shirts who just walked in.

My grandmother, Martina Calvetti, adores tourists and native New Yorkers alike. She makes everyone feel at home in her restaurant. The only time I remember her without open arms and a smile on her beautiful face was in the months following my mom’s passing.

I was six-years-old, but the memory of my grandma crying as she stood in the kitchen of this restaurant trying to prepare enough food to feed everyone in our family after her eldest daughter’s death has stuck with me.

She’s not only the strongest woman I’ve ever known, but she has the biggest heart.

“I thought I saw someone.” I don’t elaborate beyond that.

The pink-streaked blonde hair was a reminder of the woman who lives in the building next to mine. I caught her eye through the window a few nights ago after dusk fell. She was staring at me. I gladly returned the favor. The next morning I watched as she hurried to get ready for her day.

For the most part, she was in her bathroom out of my view, but as she was leaving her apartment, I saw the light blue dress she was wearing.

I took the stairs two at a time to make it down the six flights before she exited her building.

Her elevator beat me.