When the fanfare has subsided, I slither back onto my stool.
“Not a fan of the attention?” Jesse asks.
“No,” I answer emphatically. “Big difference between me and my sister, Gia. She’s the performer. I’m the nerd.”
His gaze goes to the back of the room, where men are talking, and then comes back to me. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Nerds are cool. Look at Dr. Deborah Birx during the coronavirus or Karen Uhlenbeck. She won the Abel for mathematics, which is like the Nobel Prize. Those women are badass.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
I smooth out my dress. “I much prefer to sit in the corner with my copper mug and make quiet conversation with a friend.”
His dimples appear. “I’m glad to oblige.”
My smile is bashful because I was actually talking about Sienna, but it’s nice to know he considers himself my friend. It’s sweet, as is the way he always seems to hear what I have to say even though his attention is given to the room.
Jesse knows who is where and what is needed at all times. I wish I had his ability to be in two conversations at once.
“So, if you don’t club with members, what do you do on a Friday night?” I ask.
“The usual.”
“That’s really vague.”
He shrugs as he pours a draft. “I do what you do. Drink with friends. Watch movies. Catch a UFC fight.”
“You’re a UFC fan?”
“You sound surprised.”
Something by the entrance of the room catches his attention. He’s talking, yet he doesn’t seem to be fully in our conversation.
“Are you a fighter?”
He looks back at me with a confused expression. My question is still lingering on my lips as I wonder if I asked the wrong thing.
His jaw tightens as he bows down with his eyes closed, almost annoyed with himself. “Do you want another drink?”
“I’m good.” I hold up my half-filled cup.
“Right.” He pats the bar top, seeming uncomfortable.
Uncle Frankie walks up to the bar, and Jesse moves quickly to tend to him. He leans in, and Jesse meets him halfway as my uncle whispers in his ear. Jesse nods, not saying a word. Seeming satisfied with Jesse’s agreement, Uncle Frankie stands up straight and nods with a point to Jesse, who turns around and grabs the phone beneath the bar. While he makes a call, I sit and watch. Uncle Frankie notices me staring and walks over.
“How you doin’, Amelia?” he asks, closing in on the space where his daughter was sitting a short time ago.
“Good. Just waiting for Mom and Gia.”
“Where’s Sienna?” he asks with his arms open as he surveys the room.
“She left.” My voice rises at the end with hesitation.
His mouth purses, like he’s displeased by the news. With a slight nod, he walks closer and leans an arm on the bar. The strong scent of his Acqua di Parma cologne wafts in the air. “Let me ask you a question. Is there anything going on with her and”—he thumbs toward Jesse—“the bartender?”
“Jesse?” I can feel my forehead wrinkling with the surprise of his question. “Not at all. I can tell you for a fact, no.”
“That’s good.” His mouth grimaces even though he approves of my answer. “Because that would complicate things a lot. Between you and me, I’ve grown fond of the kid, and I’ve been bringing him on board to help with the business a little.”
I don’t know much about Jesse, aside from the simple conversations we have at the bar, but I’m surprised to hear he might work for my father and uncle.
“I’m sure he’s a great asset,” I say with a closed-mouth smile.
Uncle Frankie seems to agree as he pats my hand. “You’re a good one. I told your father we should have taken care of that Buonno kid after he … you know. But his father is a friend of the family. I want you to know I thought a good ass-kickin’ was in order.” The thick gold ring he wears on his pointer finger hurts my hand a little.
“It’s fine. Thank you, but Anthony isn’t worth it.”
“You remember that. I have big plans for you. Keep your eyes focused on everything around you.” His words are poignant, so I nod dutifully.
Jesse hangs up the phone and gives my uncle a nod.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” Uncle Frankie walks to the back of the room and ushers the men, including my father, into the hallway toward the President’s Room—a conference room meant for closed-door meetings.
“I didn’t know they were working tonight,” I say out loud.
Jesse hears me as he pours a glass of wine. “I’m sure it’ll be a quick one.”
I glance at my watch. My mother and sister should be here soon. And by soon, I mean, in the next twenty minutes.
“Is your family always as late as mine?”
Jesse looks up at me while he makes a drink but doesn’t answer.
“You don’t like to talk about yourself, do you?” I ask despite his silence.
“Like you, I don’t like the attention.”
“I can tell. One inkling of a personal question, and you shut down.”
His lip quirks. “That’s a bad thing?”
“No. It’s just … never mind.”
As he brings the drink to one of my aunts on the other side of the bar, I admire his form. He might not like attention, but he certainly attracts it without trying. It’s in his build. He’s tall and lean. He’s wearing a simple black dress shirt and slacks, and yet he looks like he could be on the cover of a magazine.
My aunt gives him a flirtatious smile as she accepts the drink and then walks into the dining room.
Jesse and I are now the only two left in the Oak Bar. I finish my drink as he wipes down the counters. With the room empty, I can hear a Michael Bublé song coming from the speakers. I take a deep breath and tap my fingers on my thigh.
A low laugh escapes Jesse’s throat. He raises a brow at me and then smiles. With a shake of his head, he leans his elbows on the bar and lowers his gaze to mine.
“What?”
“Do you play poker?” he asks, and I nod my head. “Everyone thinks the key to the game is in the hand that’s dealt, but the only way to win is to read your opponents’ tells. You, my friend, have many.”
“Opponents?”
“Tells.” He smiles. “You’re nervous.”
I lift my gaze to the ceiling. “There is nothing to be nervous about.”
He folds his arms across his body and looks down at me, studying my expression. I try to keep a straight face, not giving away how jittery he makes me.
“Ask me something personal,” he finally says.
I hold up a hand. “Is this because I made that comment? It’s cool. I didn’t mean to pry into your life—”
“Amelia.” My name comes out deep and low. “I’m giving you the chance. One question, and I promise I’ll answer.”
My teeth graze my lower lip as I think about what to ask. I only get one question, so I’d better make it a good one. I shift in my seat as I think about it. A million things run through my head, and yet, for reasons beyond comprehension, I decide on something deeper.