There was a newspaper clipping beneath it. A short paragraph in the police blotter mentioning a nursing home employee under investigation for intimidating families of patients to earn large bonuses for on-time collections. The employee had been suspended without pay.
Well, that explained all the damn jewelry.
“That doesn’t look like any kind of jewelry or flowers,” the woman called over, craning her neck to see what I was looking at.
The last thing in the envelope was an advance copy of Label’s May issue.
Dalessandra, looking strong and fierce, stood with four other women on the cover next to the headline “No More Secrets: Survivors Share Their Stories.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“Well, what is it?”
“A magazine,” I said.
“Huh. Guy thinks you want to do a little light reading? You sure there’s no diamond ring in there?”
I flipped through the magazine to the spread. Dalessandra and each of the other four women had written essays. There was a breathtaking, full-page picture of Dalessandra and her friend Simone… in an embrace?
“I’m tired of keeping secrets. I’m in love with Simone. We’ve been in a relationship for years.”
“Holy. Shit,” I breathed.
I scanned to the bottom.
Editor’s Note: Paul Russo was fired from Label. He is currently employed by another magazine. At the time, Label made the mistake of choosing not to enforce his non-compete and requiring Russo’s harassment victims to sign non-disclosure agreements in return for cash settlements. We have since reversed our stance on both issues. Victims will never again be silenced in our offices. On a related issue, managing editor Irvin Harvey has been fired for violating our harassment policy. Dominic Russo will take on the role of managing editor while beauty editor Shayla Bruno steps into the creative director position.
I wanted to read every word.
But first, I wanted to give Dominic his pizza.
“I need a box,” I announced to the dining room.
“Yeah. A ring box,” the lady at Table Eight harrumphed.
“A pizza box. Did anyone see which way he went?”
Every woman in the restaurant pointed to the right.
Table Two dumped their leftovers onto the bare table and handed me their box. “Thanks!” I said, shoving my masterpiece inside.
“Go get him before someone else does,” the woman said.
I hit the door at a run, pizza box firmly clutched in my hands.
“Dominic Russo!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. But I didn’t see his familiar frame anywhere.
He’d left minutes ago. He could have driven away by now. Out of my life again.
I kept running. Kept looking.
“I didn’t know Jorge’s delivered,” a guy in coveralls said as I sprinted past.
“We don’t,” I called over my shoulder.
I charged across the street to the next block, my heart racing. Where was he? He couldn’t be gone. Not now.
I saw the cluster of people, the blue bus stop sign at the end of the block, and stumbled.
Could it be? Would he be there?
I took off again, my heart in my throat.
The sunshine was bright and warm on my face. It felt like hope. Like love.
And there he was. Sitting on a glossy green bench against a fence behind the bus stop. He was hinged forward, hands hanging between his knees, eyes on the ground.
“You forgot your pizza,” I wheezed out.
He tensed and looked up at me, an expression of hope so pure it stitched together every tear in my heart.
“Ally.” He was on his feet, reaching for me.
“Oh, hey, Jorge’s delivers,” a woman in a bright yellow jacket said to her neighbor.
“Man, I could go for a slice of pepperoni right now,” her neighbor said.
“Here.” I thrust the pizza at Dominic.
“Baby, I don’t want a pizza. I want you,” he said dryly. “I want to tell you how fucking sorry I am for everything. I want to make it up to you. I want to demand another chance.”
“You want this pizza,” I insisted, shaking the box.
“Listen, honey, if he doesn’t want it, I’ll take it,” the guy called from the bus bench.
“Remember when you told me that if I wanted anything in the world, I just had to ask you?”
Dominic nodded, looking at me very seriously. “What do you want, Ally?”
“I want you to open this pizza. Please.”
Reluctantly he released his grip on my wrists and took the box from me.
He lifted the lid, and for a moment, I wondered if the pepperonis had gotten sloshed around during my sprint. But then I saw him clench his jaw and swallow hard, and I knew my little message was intact.
He looked up at me, blue eyes burning with intensity. “I don’t have my reading glasses on me. Can you read it for me?”
Jorge’s pepperonis were huge. Dominic knew exactly what they spelled.
But he wanted me to say the words.
We stood there, a pizza box between us.
I wet my lips and took one last breath before the plunge.
“It says ‘I Love You’—well, ‘I Heart U,’ but you get the gist.”
The pizza box was sailing in the direction of the bus stop, and I was flying through the air, landing exactly where I belonged. In Dominic Russo’s arms.
“Woo! Free sidewalk pizza!” someone hooted.
But I was too busy being kissed.
He rained kisses over my cheeks, forehead, and chin. And finally, finally, Dominic’s mouth was on mine.
He tugged on my hair, pulling my head back. A move so familiar and so missed, I teared up.
“I love you, Ally.”
“You guys got any Jorge’s garlic bread you wanna throw over here? I won’t complain.”
Dom rolled his eyes. “If you give me a minute here, I’ll buy you all everything on Jorge’s menu.”
“Deal!”
I laughed for the first time in what felt like forever.
“Say it again, Maleficent. Please?” Dom begged.
“I love you, Charming. I’m ready for our happily ever after.”
He picked me up right off the ground and twirled me around to the hoots and hollers of our little audience.
I wrapped my arms around him tight enough that he’d never escape. “You Russos keep changing my life at bus stops.”
Epilogue
Ally
“What are you doing?”
“Shh. Don’t distract me with your near nakedness. I’m trying to see if my straw is long enough to reach the bottom of the glass without sitting up,” I told him.
But it was too late, I was distracted. Because the breathtaking view of sugary white sand and turquoise waters was already eclipsed by Dominic Russo in package-showcasing swim trunks and dark sunglasses.
I loved the intense man in vests, but the relaxed, sunscreened, island tan version was possibly even more appealing.
“It’s your birthday, Ally. I’ll order you mango margaritas all day long if it means you never have to see the bottom of your glass.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Russo?” I peered over my sunglasses and batted my lashes at him.