Maybe it’s best that I kept that to myself.
“Dexie.” Marti raises her hand in the air in a wave.
The lunch crowd has cleared and it’s too early for the dinner rush, so only a few people are seated at tables.
I don’t wave back because I’m holding a large square white box in my hands.
I was going to bring this to her with Rocco on her birthday, but I’m not sure if I’ll see him again.
Suzanne dropped by my office at Matiz when I got back from Rocco’s apartment. She made her offer. I told her I needed time.
She left with a smile and an assumption that I’ll be packing my bags to head to Los Angeles soon.
I went home, boxed up Marti’s purse, tied a big blue bow it and came straight here.
“This is for you.” I push the box at Marti as she approaches me.
She gazes down at it. “For me?”
I nod.
“Come and sit. I’ll make you the seafood linguine.” She motions to a table in the corner.
I follow her in silence.
“Are you and Rocco partners yet?” She laughs. “He hasn’t been in for a few days. I miss his face.”
I miss his face too and the way he kisses me. I miss the promise that was there in his eyes the other night. Today it was replaced with distance.
“We won’t be partnering.”
That draws her brows up as she sits in a chair next to the table. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I rest the box on the table. “I’m not sure when your birthday is, but I wanted you to have this today.”
“It’s next month.” She leans forward as I sit. “When you’re my age you try to forget when your next birthday is.”
I manage a small laugh. “Open it, Marti.”
Anxiety knits her brow as her hands move to the large blue bow. She tugs on one end freeing it.
Her hands move to her lap. She stares at the box. “My heart is beating so hard.”
I push my chair closer to her. “I hope that you’ll like what’s inside.”
Her eyes scan my face. There are years of wisdom in her gaze and gracefulness that speaks of a degree of inner strength I can only hope to have one day.
She reaches for the box, tugging the lid off. She drops it on the table and peers inside.
Blue tissue paper is pushed aside by her hands and then she gasps. It’s so loud that the people seated two tables away from us turn to look.
“Dexie,” she whispers my name softly. “How did you do this?”
I watch as she reaches for one of the leather straps. She pulls the purse out of the box and sets it on the table in front of her.
Her fingers run over the old leather that’s now bordered by new leather a shade darker.
The straps are new. The buckle closing the purse is as well.