XOXO (The Calvettis of New York 3)

That hasn’t been on the menu for years. “What’s the special occasion, Marti?”

“Your dad requested it.” She heaves a sigh. “He came in earlier but had to leave. He’s volunteering tonight.”

That sounds like my dad.

He’s been putting in time helping with little league coaching since I was a kid. It was some of the best days of my life. I took a ball to my ankle during a game late in the season when I was twelve.

It wasn’t a career-ending injury. I hobbled around for most of the off-season, but when it came time to sign up again, I declined. I wanted to focus on getting to bed extra early so I could be up at dawn to deliver newspapers before school.

I’ll always regret not having that extra time on the ball diamond with my dad.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she persists. “You seem too happy.”

“Is it a crime to be happy?”

“Did you make a lot of money today?”

That’s an obvious question since the only reason I’ve ever smiled for years was because I landed a huge deal.

“I make a lot of money every day,” I answer with a straight face.

She studies me. “Are you going to tell me you’re in love?”

I’m spreading this news around too much. I need to tell Arietta how I feel before Marti hears it. Otherwise, half of Manhattan will know about it by midnight.

“I like someone,” I say quietly. “A lot.”

She leans back in the chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s Arietta.”

I perk both brows. “What?”

“Don’t try and lie to me,” she warns. “You don’t think I have eyes? I saw how you looked at her when you two were here together.”

Was it that fucking obvious back then?

“When will the wedding be?” She looks toward the kitchen. “I’ll get champagne for us to toast. Call Arietta. Tell her to come.”

I stop her with a hand on her wrist before she can get out of her chair. “I think I should tell her how I feel first.”

That earns me a light swat across my hand. “You haven’t told her yet?”

“I’m working on it.”

She moves her hand to cup mine. “Tell her, Dominick. Do it now.”

“Right now?” I joke.

Her face goes stoic. “No one can guarantee you another minute. Why waste even one when you can be with the woman you love?”

She’s damn right.

“At least give me a bowl of lamb stew and a glass of wine before you boot me out.” I tap on the back pocket of my jeans. “I brought my wallet. I can pay for it.”

That sends her up to her feet. “My grandchildren don’t pay for food here.”

Shaking her head and mumbling to herself, she takes off in the direction of the kitchen.

I’ll enjoy my meal and another hour with her before I stop by Arietta’s place to tell her how I feel.

***

I step out onto the sidewalk outside of Calvetti’s into the warmth of the evening.

The daytime temperatures are creeping up. I don’t know by how much. Judd is the one who has a pulse on that. He may claim he never wanted to be a meteorologist, but I’ve always wondered if that was his true calling.

“Mr. Calvetti?”

I turn at the sound of a deep voice.

I shake my head because I swear to fuck I’m seeing things.

“Vernon Greenwalt?” As much as I want his name to come out in a calm statement, it sounds more like a confused question.

He extends a hand to me. “One in the same.”

I shake his hand, noting the expensive watch on his wrist. It’s a custom piece crafted by hand. He made mention of it in an article a couple of years ago.

While I try and find the words to ask him what the hell he’s doing outside my grandmother’s restaurant, he points at the windows that look into Calvetti’s. “I stopped by your office. The doorman in the lobby suggested that I might find you here.”

It’s pure luck that he did. I glance down at the phone in my hand.

“I didn’t call,” he explains. “I wanted to talk face-to-face.”

I wish to fuck I wouldn’t have stopped by my apartment after work. I ditched a three thousand dollar suit for a pair of faded jeans and a sweater with a small hole near the bottom hem.

He doesn’t seem to notice.

I won’t offer him an invite to talk to me inside of Calvetti’s. My grandmother tries to make everyone feel at home to the point that business gets buried under the stories she tells.

I learned that the hard way when I brought Mr. Morano here for dinner one night.

“Let’s grab a drink,” he suggests. “I’m looking for a smooth glass of bourbon.”

I know there’s a bar around the corner that will have something to quench his thirst. This wasn’t how I envisioned my first meeting with my long-time idol, but life is full of surprises, and this is one I’m more than willing to roll with.