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He straightened. “I remember you.”
“Oh, really?” Grace went behind the counter and took out another dish.
“You’re Louise’s niece. I didn’t recognize you without the rhinestone crown.”
Grace gripped the sundae dish to prevent herself from bouncing it off his thick skull. “And you’re Mica Barzonni.”
“Yeah. Well, tell Louise she can mail the check...for the pumpkins.”
“I will.”
He started to head for the door.
“Oh, Mica. Why don’t you stop off at the grocery store. Pick up some soap on your way out of town. Looks like you’ve run out.” She tapped her forehead.
He reached up to his forehead, rubbed it, then studied his greasy fingertips. He glared back at her.
Grace ground her jaw, picked up the ice-cream scoop and pitched it from hand to hand defiantly. One word. Try me, and I’ll really let you have it.
He spun on his heel and stomped out of the shop, leaving a clod of mud and grass on the floor.
“Ooooh!” Grace fumed, wishing she felt some relief from having had the last word.
Sarah rushed to her side. “Was that Mica? I wanted to say hi.”
“It was.” Every smug, judgmental inch of him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Grace frowned. “You look surprised. Why?”
“Mica doesn’t come to town much. Especially since the accident.”
“What accident?”
Sarah paused. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“He was in an accident a few months ago that nearly killed him. He was working on his mother’s car and it dropped on him. He’s lost the use of his left arm. He keeps his hand in his jeans pocket so people don’t notice. If he seemed—”
“Arrogant as all get out?” Grace interrupted.
Sarah smiled. “Well, yeah. He’s always had that about him.”
“I would have thought he’d have grown up by now. Learned some manners. Do you remember when he used to call me silly because I was upset about losing Miss Teen Illinois? He didn’t get it. Those pageants were important to me and a huge part of my life back then. I thought I wanted to be a model, but then I realized my real talent was in fashion design. I was heartbroken that I didn’t win for a lot of reasons. That win would have given me a substantial scholarship to college. My mother didn’t have much money but my winnings all went in a back account for my education.”
“Did you ever tell him this?” Sarah countered.
“No...” Grace’s shoulders slumped. “I guess I was pretty harsh earlier. Aunt Louise owes him money for the pumpkins. I think I’ll deliver it in person.”
* * *
AFTER LOUISE RETURNED from rehab, Grace got a signed check from her and asked to borrow her car. Then she drove south to the Barzonni farm. It was one route she didn’t need a GPS to follow.
She rang the bell when she got to the house, but no one answered. She rang it four more times, but there was still no answer.
Remembering that the family often used the kitchen door, she walked around to the back and knocked. Still no answer. She looked down at the check Louise had written.
It was a flimsy excuse for her to be here, but Grace was ashamed of her remarks about Mica’s dirty boots and the grease on his face, and she wanted to apologize. She didn’t know why he rattled her cage the way he did, but he did.
She banged on the door. “Hello? Anybody home?”
“What do you want?” Mica asked, startling her as he came out of the apartment over the garage. He stood on the balcony, his right hand on the railing as he glared at her.
“I, uh, brought the check we owe you.”
“You could have mailed it,” he said, starting down the steps.
He came toward her, and Grace was certain that no male model, no Hollywood star, no European prince, was as drop-dead handsome as Mica Barzonni. His blue eyes seemed to be taking inventory of her every eyelash.
I didn’t even check my makeup before I left Louise’s! This jet lag is going to be the end of me.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the check at him as if it would singe her fingertips.
“Thanks.”
“Mica...” She cleared her throat. “I came out here because I owe you an apology.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “No, you didn’t.”
“What?”
“You came out here because you found out about my acci— My arm. Who told you?”
“Sarah.”
“Good old Sarah. Well, you would have found out sooner or later. Everybody knows.”
“And they shouldn’t? Is it a secret?”
“I guess not. Still...”
“Still...what?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Because, little miss preteen, then I see the pity in their eyes like I see in yours. You feel sorry for me.” He shot the words at her with acidic bite.
Is he serious? “Actually, I don’t feel that way at all. In fact, Mica, I think you’re just as self-centered and arrogant as you were when we were kids.”
“I was never those things.”
“Fine. You are now.” She jammed her hands on her hips. “And another thing. My life has never been silly. Okay? I worked hard for everything I’ve accomplished.”
He took another step toward her, his face dangerously close to hers. “I seriously doubt that. You haven’t got the first clue what it is to work hard. This farm, this land and all it demands, is hard work. I suppose you still tromp around in a pink dress and smile and wink for some judges and you think that’s work? Get real.”
“That was a long time ago. And there was more to it than that.”
“You know what? I don’t have time for this. You live in your world. I’ll live in mine. Got that?”
“Got it,” she roared back.
“I think we’re done here. I’ll give my mother your check. She’ll be thrilled. Probably fly to Tahiti with all this money.”
“You’re a jerk, Mica Barzonni.”
The anger in his eyes died instantly, as if she’d doused the fire. His face softened and she felt he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes were imploring, seeking. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That was rude of me.”
Surprised at his apology, she stared at him for a long moment. She’d had her shields up and had been ready to wield a sword against him if need be. She held her breath, waiting for the next attack.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” he murmured. “I like your Aunt Louise a lot. She’s a nice lady. And I don’t know anything about you or what you’ve done with your life. Forgive me?”
“I do,” she replied softly, sensing his disappointment in himself.
He moved a step closer. “I don’t want to fight with you. Or anyone.” He touched his left arm. “It embarrasses me that I’m not...well, who I was.”
“Don’t say that. You’re Mica and that’s a good thing. At least I always thought so.”
He massaged his arm, then let his right hand drop.
“It had to be painful. Sarah said the car dropped on you.”
“Funny. A lot of it I don’t remember. But every hour of every day, I’m left with this reminder of my carelessness. It was so stupid,” he said angrily.
She reached for his hand, but didn’t touch him. He jerked away from her.
“See why I don’t like going into the details?”
“It’s upsetting.”
“More than you can imagine,” he replied.
“Then let’s talk about something else,” she said, smiling at him.
“Like what?”
“We have a lot of years to catch up on. I don’t know what happened to you. I mean, not about your accident. I remember you talking about engines and machines and the things you wanted to invent. Did you end up going to Purdue?”
“You remember all that?”
“I remember everything about you.” Her words came out as a whisper.
“I got my engineering degree,” he said, leaning closer.
“Mica, that’s wonderful. I’m proud of you.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I always wanted the best for you. I knew you’d succeed. You were so determined and focused as a teen.”
Confusion wrinkled his brow. “You thought that?”
“I did.” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “You see, I was paying attention.”
“I’m...I’m surprised.” He raked back a lock of hair. “You surprise me.”
“That’s a good thing, huh?” She felt a warm glow in her chest.
“Yeah,” he said, though he still didn’t smile. He glanced back toward the kitchen door. “Hey, I was just about to raid the fridge for dinner. Everybody went out to Gabe’s house—”
“And you didn’t go?” she interrupted.
“No, I don’t usually...”
“Why not?”
He placed his right hand on his left arm without looking at it. His eyes were focused on her. Grace liked the attention Mica gave her. A lot.
“I wasn’t up to it.” A dark shadow clouded his sky blue eyes.
Understanding cracked like a bolt of lightning across Grace’s mind. “Mica...are you asking me to dinner?”
He blinked as if he remembered where he was. Who he was with. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Great.” She beamed. “I’m starving. I spent the afternoon surrounded by sugar and ice cream and didn’t steal a bite for myself.”
He took two steps back. “This way.”
Inside the kitchen, he went straight to the large refrigerator and began withdrawing plastic covered bowls. “Manicotti. Salad. Mixed fruit. Ooh, and Mom’s herbed Italian bread.”
He spooned pasta onto two plates and put the first one into the microwave.
Once the food was heated, they sat at the kitchen table.
The garlic and basil aroma made Grace’s mouth water. She finished her pasta long before Mica. She looked up. He held his fork midmotion as if he’d forgotten to take a bite in the process of watching her.
