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She didn’t fight him, just waited on the brick sidewalk gone wavy with age. She tensed a second when he lightly touched the curve of her back but she eased just as quickly. As they came to the door of the restaurant, he reached around her to open it.
“Someone taught you good manners. That’s the second time you’ve opened a door for me.”
The dull pain that he carried in his chest sharpened for a second. “My father was very old school. He would say, ‘Ryan, my boy, you treat a woman like you want your sisters to be treated. It’s the O’Doherty way.’”
“Kind of got off track when you first met me, didn’t you?”
“Hey, I showed you up to the floor.”
“Yeah, but you would’ve liked to drop me down the elevator shaft.”
“Was I that bad?”
She nodded.
“Then I’ll try to make up for it over dinner, okay?”
She smiled. “I’ve really gotten over it, so don’t let it worry you.”
A man who was almost as round as he was tall approached them, his hands outstretched. He asked with a strong Italian accent, “Miss Lucy, how are you today?”
Her smiled reached her eyes. Ryan felt a hot stab of jealousy. What would it take to have her smile at him like that? He wasn’t going to analyze that thought.
“Mr. Volpentesta, I’m doing fine. We would like a table.”
“Anything for you, my dear.”
Ryan gave her a quizzical look. The wait even on weeknights for a table at Volpentesta’s was long and she’d just waltzed in without a reservation.
The restaurant was an authentic Italian bistro right down to the red checked cloths and the candle on the table. The room was dark enough to make for a pleasing ambiance but not so dim that he couldn’t appreciate Lucy’s incredibly expressive face.
She wore little make-up. On occasion he’d noticed that she’d applied a gloss to her lips that made them dewy looking. Her hair was always contained by a ribbon or clip or was braided. More than once he’d pictured what it might look like free. She was unique. He’d give her that.
It had been a long time since he’d found a woman so interesting. She reminded him of Irish coffee. Sweet, fresh cream on top with a stout bite beneath. What kind of magic was this woman conjuring over him?
“Come this way, my dear.” Mr. Volpentesta led them to a table for two in a far corner of the room.
“How do you know him?” Ryan said close to her ear.
“I live upstairs.” She turned and followed the man again.
“Good choice,” he said, more to himself than her when they were given a cozy spot. What he’d had in mind had been more of a friendly meal than a lovers’ evening. He looked around the room but not finding a better option he accepted his fate. He held her chair out and waited until Lucy was settled before he sat.
“Your father has left nothing out.” She spread her napkin in her lap.
“He was a thorough man.”
“Was?”
Left no choice, he said, “He died.” He couldn’t keep the heartache out of his voice.
At her stricken and pitying look, he wished he’d lied. She placed a hand on his forearm and gave him an earnest look. “I’m sorry.”
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