It was endearing and I started to see Victor in a new light.
Grace Pastore may have spent countless nights awake and worrying about her husband, but she was loved.
She was respected.
Cherished.
She was everything I wanted to be and not because she gave out the best candy on Halloween.
But try as he might, Rocco was no Victor Pastore. Not in that regard anyway.
Pushing him out of my head, I meander my way to table six and take the couple’s order. I need to get back to the Academy. Four days off and I’m turning into a lovesick fool, forgetting about my dreams of becoming center stage. Rocco would be nothing more than a distraction. A roadblock on the path to my dreams.
I clip the order to the line and send it through to the kitchen.
“You’re distracted,” my mother points out. “If you’re not going to be of any help, you might as well go home.”
It’s times like this when I wish I could be like Joaquin and just shrug her insults off, but I’m weak when it comes to our mother, always seeking her approval and never getting it. If anyone else in this world demeaned or ridiculed me the way she does, I’d cut them with my sharp tongue and make them feel smaller than she makes me feel.
“I’m sorry, ma,” I mutter. “I figured since I had the day off from school, I could help out around here. Save you the payroll.”
Silly me.
“Won’t be saving much of anything if the customers walk out because they’re not being served. Take this to table three and while you’re at it, table four can use a refill.”
“Right,” I murmur, lifting the hot plates from the counter.
“And Violet?”
“Yes?”
“Get rid of that hoodlum before he steps foot inside my restaurant,” she warns, glaring behind me.
Carefully balancing the plates, I turn to see who she’s referring to. My gaze moves to the glass windows and I watch as Rocco walks across the parking lot with two men I’ve never seen before trailing behind him. Ignoring his posse, I focus on him, taking in the suit and…is that a tie? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wear one of those before—at least not correctly.
He pulls open the door and the overhead bell chimes—not that we need a bell to announce his presence or anything. Rocco walks into a room and the aura instantly changes, commanding the attention of everyone sharing his space. The second his eyes find mine the plates nearly fall from my hands. I hate how my body betrays my common sense and reacts to him on its own accord. Every nerve comes alive, all my senses are heightened and my stomach flutters with anticipation. It doesn’t matter that my mom is staring daggers at him or that she ordered me to throw him out of the restaurant.
I’m drawn to him like magnet.
Keeping up with the delivery of mixed signals, he winks at me from across the restaurant and takes a seat at the other end of the counter.
As curious as I am by his presence, I look away and focus on grabbing the customers’ refills. Once I deliver them to the table, I glance toward the kitchen. My mother raises an eyebrow, silently ordering me to get rid of him and I shake my head defiantly.
She forgets she used to feed him and all the times he used to crash on her couch.
She forgets all the Mother’s Day cards he gave her even after his own mom passed and the wounds were still raw.
All she sees is the man who took her son to the other side.
Sighing, I shove my hands into the back pockets of my jeans and make my way toward him. He lifts his head from the menu and drinks me in for a moment. The heavy intensity of his stare makes me recall the feel of his lips against mine and I feel my cheeks immediately heat.
On top of everything else, Rocco is a fantastic kisser.
Bastard.
I pull my hands out of my pockets and cross my arms over my chest. Trying to act as nonchalant as possible, I ask, “What are you doing here?”
But he speaks over me, asking, “Why aren’t you at the Academy?”
Neither of us respond for a moment, then I give in.
“I had a four-day weekend, that’s why I flew to Miami.” I point a finger at him. “Your turn.”
“One of us had to cave,” he says simply.
His gaze darts behind me and he lifts a hand to wave at my mom. Of course she doesn’t reciprocate the gesture.
“She fucking hates me,” he mutters under his breath before bringing his eyes back to me. “Think if I order something she’ll spit in my food?”
As much as she hates him, she’d never do that.
“It’s possible,” I deadpan.
He smirks at me.
“What’s with the tie?” I ask, motioning to the red silk tie he’s sporting.
Red is definitely his color.
“I’ve got an important meeting today and need to dress the part.” He looks to the kitchen again then leans his forearms on the counter and inches forward. “How are you doing?”
I shrug a shoulder.
“I’m fine,” I say evenly.
“Bug,” he sighs.
I hate that he can see right through me, almost as much as I hate the fact I can’t lie to him.
“I’m worried about my brother,” I admit. “I’ve tried calling him and texting, but he doesn’t answer.”
Not surprised by my admission, he settles against the back of the stool and fixes me with a look.
“I spoke to him,” he reveals. “He’s having a service for Pilar. I’m going to fly out tomorrow so I’m there for him but then I’m taking the red-eye home.”
“Home,” I repeat, shaking my head. “That’s going to take a while to get used to.” He smiles at me but doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches between us until I tap my fingers against the menu in front of him and ask, “Did you want to order something to go?”
“No, that’s okay. I just wanted to check on you and make sure you’re doing alright before I leave.”
I like that even though I was too stubborn to call him, he took the time to come here and check up on me, but it’s confusing and I’m tired of the games.
I’m about to tell him that when. He reaches into suit pocket and pulls out a long, narrow black box. He lays it on the counter between us and pushes it toward me with his index finger. Curious, I narrow my eyes and lift my chin.
“What’s this?”
He stares at me thoughtfully for a moment, contemplating his answer then his gaze drops from my face to the box.
“Rocco?” I call.
“It’s for you,” he says finally, lifting his eyes back to me. Shrugging a shoulder, he continues, “It’s nothing big, just a little something for your birthday.”
“You bought me a birthday present?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
Again, he just looks at me and I feel my throat tighten slightly. I hadn’t so much as received a card. Not from my mother and certainly not from my grieving brother and here he was, albeit two days later, handing me a birthday gift. Something he picked out especially for me. I try not to get too excited…too hopeful. I remind myself, this is Rocco and everything he does, he takes back.
“Since when do we exchange gifts?” I rasp.
“We don’t,” he replies, sliding off the stool. He smooths a hand down over his chest and winks at me. “Consider this the exception. But do me a favor, open it when your mother isn’t around. I don’t trust her not to flush it down the toilet and before she asks, I didn’t rob it.”