Page 14 of Blood Money

I laughed. “Well, most people here use public transportation of some kind or another. And you could always make new friends.”

I glanced through my bangs at her wistful expression, and my chest went all funny. The wind caught a stray curl, and it fluttered around her face before she tucked it behind her ear. What I wouldn’t have given to do that for her. I set my nearly empty bottle to the side and lifted the one she gave me. Knowing I was placing my lips where she’d had hers was strangely erotic.

God, I’m a fucking weirdo. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“I would hate that. I love driving. It’s… empowering,” she explained with a fanciful quirk at the corner of her mouth. Then she gazed at me. “And areyouvolunteering to be my new friend? Becauseshecertainly isn’t in line.” She nodded toward the girl with Gabriel.

“Eh, screw her. And yeah, I’ll be friendnumero uno.The most important one.” I chuckled.

“Well, you did give me your chair,” she playfully rationalized.

“As any gentleman would,” I teased as I looked up at her.

“Somehow, I have a feeling you are no gentleman,” she teased back with a cute little wrinkle in her nose.

Fuck, she had no idea how right she was, but I gasped in mock outrage and splayed a hand over my wounded heart. “I am hurt.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes.

“I’ll tell you what. I have to, uh, work in the morning, but you meet me in front of the Walgreens tomorrow and I’ll take you to lunch. I’ll show you what a gentleman I can be. I’ll pull out your chair, pick up the tab, and walk you home afterward,” I offered with a gallant-ish bow from my seated position.

Her regretful wince told me I wasn’t going to like her answer. “I can’t. I’m helping my nonna in her bakery tomorrow,” she explained.

Wait. What?

Bakery?

No way.

I stared at her face, studying her and searching for the little girl’s features in her matured ones. What were the odds, right? My mouth moved before I thought through my words. “You’re the little girl with the pink cupcake.”

“Huh?” she asked with a questioning smile.

Of course she wouldn’t remember. I was probably around six back then, and if she was sixteen now, then she couldn’t have been more than four. Funny how that day stayed in my memory bank for over twelve years as if it was yesterday.

“Mrs. Romano’s bakery,” I clarified. “I remember you. Hell, it was probably almost this time of year. You were there. You swiped a pink cupcake from the case, and your grandma chewed you out.”

I neglected to tell her about how I had to have the same treat she’d had that day. Nor did I tell her I never even got to taste it. I certainly wasn’t going to tell her that my “job” was delivering flowers for La Cosa Nostra. Flowers that had drugs in the bottoms of the vases.

“Really? I mean, I’m not surprised, because those were and still are my favorites. But I can’t believe you remember that!” Her melodic laugh sent a satisfied shiver down my spine.

Tapping my temple, I smirked. “Good memory.”

“Obviously,” she replied as she tried her damnedest not to smile.

“So, did you ever get your phone fixed?” I asked.

Her good humor vanished, and I felt like a grade-A asshole for bringing it up. “No,” she mumbled dejectedly.

An idea came to me, and I nudged her again. When her bright green eyes met mine, I momentarily forgot what the hell I was thinking.

“What time are you done in the bakery?” I finally blurted.

“We close at six, but I have to help clean up.”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you out front.”

“Uh….”