Page 79 of Legally Yours
“Well,” said Bubbe, clearly delighted. “She’s a little thing. Good too, since my Daniel’s no giant. She’s a bit young for him, a little flashy. She’s from Queens originally, and half-Jewish, she said, on her mother’s side. I know her grandmother, Rachel Kremen, because we used to go to the same temple when we were girls. Good family, although they’re Reform, you know—”
“Bubbe,” I interrupted somewhat impatiently. “What was her name?”
“Oh, yes, it was…ah…Katie…Katie Corleone. Her father’s Italian, of course, but sheishalf-Jewish.”
“Yes, you already said that, Bubbe.”
I was already pulling my computer off my desk and opening up Facebook. The name Katie Corleone sounded kind of familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Bubbe continued to describe her face, her hair, her clothes, and any other details she could come up with while I typed in the name and location and perused the list of faces. There were a few Katie Corleones in Brooklyn, but none who looked like the person Bubbe was describing to me, and none who looked familiar.
After a few more minutes, I closed my laptop.
“You don’t say,” I murmured as Bubbe recounted the latest gossip from that week’s canasta game.
I glanced at the clock. It was now close to ten. I desperately wanted to call my dad again, but I didn’t want to interrupt his first legitimate romance in almost twenty years. Poor Dad; all I’d ever wanted for him was someone who would really love him for the kind, caring person I knew him to be.
“All right,bubbela,” Bubbe said. “I have to get sleep. I’ll tell Danny you called when he comes back.”
“Sure thing, Bubbe. Give Dad my love, and you too.”
Twenty-Six
“Dang, that is anicecar!”
I was waiting in the lobby of my building when the Mercedes pulled up outside. Another student leaving the building whistled.
“How are you this evening, Ms. Crosby?” asked David as he opened the back door for me.
The student, a kid name Ray who lived a floor below me, ogled as I quickly approached Brandon’s kind driver. I wanted to go before I attracted any more attention.
“Fine, thanks, David,” I replied. “You?”
“Just swell, thank you.”
I slid inside, where I found Brandon frowning at my coat.
“I thought you were going to dress up,” he complained, touching the plain, heather-gray wool.
The car started, and I tipped the toe of my black Manolo at him, also displaying the sheer black hose I had on. He looked more appreciatively at my leg.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’ll like it, I promise. But if I wore this dress in this weather without a coat, I’d probably freeze to death.”
Brandon nodded. “Good. Well, this is for you.”
“Brandon!”
I started to protest another needlessly expensive gift before I saw that all he held was a single red rose, the kind sold at newsstands. It was wrapped with a bit of cellophane and garnished with Queen Anne’s lace. I took it from his fingers and held it to my nose, inhaling its faint, sweet scent.
“It’s perfect,” I murmured, charmed by the simple token. I twiddled the petals around my face. “Thank you.”
“Well, I had to at least get you flowers. Or, a flower.”
He smiled shyly in acknowledgment, but I was too distracted by his appearance to care. He wore all black underneath his wool overcoat: a black three-piece suit fitted with a starched black shirt and tie underneath and polished, black wingtip shoes. It wasn’t much different from his normal business wear except for the lack of color, which contrasted with the mop of blond that he’d allowed to go unusually wavy to make him look even more like a lion than usual. He looked positively edible.
His smile disappeared as he watched the trajectory of the rosebud over my cheeks and lips. His pupils dilated slightly, and he continued to stare at my mouth as he absently unbuckled his seatbelt and slid closer.
“Come here,” Brandon commanded, nuzzling under my collar to access my neck. “God, you smell good. I missed you this week, you know that?”
His nose trailed around my jaw while his big hand threaded its fingers through my hair. He pulled my face to his and fitted his mouth to mine, begging to taste as much as he could, nipping my bottom lip a few times before pulling back and letting me catch my breath.