“There is no way to fuck up packing, Frankie. You toss the shit in, close the case. It zips, you’ve succeeded.”
“Ben, just the idea of tossing my stuff in a suitcase without folding or strategizing placement gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Then it’s good you packed.”
“I know.”
“No, Francesca.” His voice was deep and not easy, but low and heavy with meaning. “It’s good you packed.”
My voice was not easy, but quiet and also heavy with meaning when I replied, “I know.”
He was silent a second, maybe letting that sink in, before he asked, “You got a guesstimate when you’re gonna be at my place?”
“With the way my day is planned, maybe I should come to the restaurant, get the keys, go to your place, and see you when you’re off.”
This I had thought about in the last several hours since leaving Benny. These were not good thoughts, primarily because everyone likely knew I’d bailed on him, and although his family seemed to be playing Switzerland with that, others might not. And when it came to the pizzeria, those others could be there.
They were also not good thoughts because Benny worked late and I wanted to see him, but I also needed sleep.
Maybe I’d nap while he was at the restaurant.
“Uh…honey, you came back to me. I’m not workin’ tonight,” Benny said, cutting into my thoughts.
“You’re callin’ in Vinnie Senior?” I asked, not certain how I felt about that either because it would mean there would be little delay in the Bianchis knowing I was back.
“No. Manny can cover the kitchen for a day or two. He does it sometimes when I got a day off and he doesn’t fuck up my kitchen when he does it. Long haul, though, Man doesn’t have it in him. It’s gotta be Pop.”
I found that interesting.
I didn’t have the time to find out why that was interesting.
I only had the time to say, “All right.”
“I’ll give Man a call, get to the restaurant, make sure everything’s sorted for him. So, again, when am I gonna see you?”
“Around six.”
“Right. Then see you around six.”
Suddenly, I felt extremely happy and couldn’t keep it out of the “Yeah” I gave to him.
“Yeah.” He gave it back to me.
I drew in a steadying breath.
“Later, Benny.”
“Later, Frankie.”
I disconnected and looked down the hall to where Trey, my rep, was standing, head bent to his phone, thumb moving over it, expression set to annoyed.
And I thought, Fuck him. I was good at my job, even if the learning curve meant that for four months, my downtime was spent with my nose in patient information leaflets, company brochures, past sales reports, and team evaluations.
He was going to have to suck it up.
I was there to stay.
Or, at least for the next minute.
The one after that, we’d see.
Chapter Thirteen
Kid Friendly
I had butterflies at the same time I was experiencing pleasantly unpleasant (or unpleasantly pleasant) flashbacks as I parked in front of Benny’s house.
I sucked in a breath, grabbed my purse and computer, and exited my rental car.
When I did, as if she had a sixth sense, I saw Mrs. Zambino standing out on her stoop, high-heeled boots on, hair up, arms crossed on her chest that was covered in a sweater I was pretty certain I saw a celebrity wearing in last week’s issue of Us magazine.
She wore it better.
She was staring at me, a severe look on her face.
Well, there you go. Benny’s family was Switzerland, but Mrs. Zambino was pissed at me.
I ignored that, juggled my bags, waved enthusiastically, and called, “Hey there, Mrs. Zambino!”
Her body jerked in a peeved way, then she turned and stomped into her house.
I made a mental note I had work to do with Mrs. Zambino and turned toward Benny’s.
I was at the top of the stoop when the door opened.
Then I wasn’t at the top of the stoop, seeing as Benny’s arm flashed out, hooked me around the waist, and yanked me inside.
The door slammed shut about a second before I slammed against the wall of Ben’s foyer, pinned there by Benny.
“Couch or bed?” he asked, his eyes an inch from mine, and a throb pulsed between my legs.
“Wh-what?” I asked back, following, but not able to process what was happening quickly enough to make an appropriate response.
“Bed,” he rumbled, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “Room to move. We’ll break in the couch when I’m focused.”
When he was focused?
What did that mean?
I had no chance to ask. My purse and computer bag were on the floor, my hand was in Benny’s, and he was dragging me toward the stairs.