Chapter Nine
Lottie
Anthony has beef grease on his chin, but he hasn’t paused to wipe it with a napkin. His sandwich is almost gone.
“What’s the verdict?”
He looks at me, startled. We’ve been so focused on our food for the last five minutes we’ve hardly conversed. I’m still stuck on his impassioned declaration that if he could, he’d pursue me without looking back. I don’t know what to make of it. Not that it matters, since any man is off-limits to me. But if Anthony feels that strongly, what’s holding him back? Is it simply that I’m an Iowa girl? Or is there more to it?
“I meant, did we get it right with this sandwich?”
“Oh, yes,” he answers without delay, licking his lips. Such nice lips. “This is a sandwich made right…” His eyes catch mine, a small smile growing on those distracting lips. “Which is why it’s named the Made-Right…”
“You know, you’re kinda slow on the uptake for a lawyer.”
He tosses a soggy napkin I missed at me, and I pitch it right back with my fork. “Star softball batter right here. Better luck with your next date.”
A strange light gleams in his eyes at my words, and my breath catches. It’s like he’s silently saying there won’t be a next date, not with anyone else. But he doesn’t say that, and that tells me everything I need to know.
I relax. This is fake. Whatever Anthony feels is irrelevant to both of us. We’re doing this for appearances. I can tell my mom I gave him a chance, as she insisted I do. He can assure Aunt Doris he asked me out.
One and done.
“We were talking about your ex.”
I jab a French fry into a puddle of ketchup. Why does he want to know so badly?
“John and I were best friends in high school. We grew up going to the same church, played in the band together, became study buddies. He asked me out when I was sixteen, and we got married fresh out of high school.” Memories assault me, and I try to blink them away, but I can’t stop the tears that fill my eyes. He was my best friend before he was my boyfriend. How could he have betrayed me like that?
“I had Felicity when I was twenty. Before that, I worked on our family farm and took a few night classes at community college in Ankeny—near Des Moines. John was working around the clock to turn his YouTube channel into income.”
Anthony’s brows lift in surprise. “He’s a YouTuber?”
I twist my lips. “A gamer. Mostly Minecraft, some Fortnite.”
“Oh. He was one of those.”
He air-quotes the words, and I’m able to smile. “Yep. And he was good at it. Right now he has twelve million subscribers.”
Anthony cocks his head. “Doesn’t that pay well?”
“It’s very lucrative. When Felicity was three, John met a female gamer online, and they began a relationship. I had no idea.” My throat is on fire, and I reach for my glass, grateful I’m not the one who spewed half a beverage across the table. “He grew distant gradually as he put more into that relationship than he put into me. It went on for two years.”
Anthony surprises me when he reaches across the table and touches my hand. “I’m so sorry, Lottie. You didn’t deserve that.”
I can’t make myself look into his eyes and see the compassion and who knows what else that’ll be there. “Eventually he went to meet his new woman, telling me it was a gaming convention. And it was, so I had no idea. But he spent the entire convention sharing a hotel room with her.”
My voice catches as I remember the devastation when I discovered the truth. “I saw some sketchy things on the credit card summary and began digging through his online accounts while he was gone. It wasn’t hard to piece it together when I saw their messages.”
“Did you ask him to leave?”
I shake my head. I should have. But he’d been with me since I was so young. The only man I’d ever loved. “When I confronted him, I begged him to end it and stay with me. But he chose her and moved out. I’m glad now. But it’s been hard. Especially on Felicity.”
“Does he ever visit?”
This part hurts the worst. “He didn’t want any visitation.”
A low whistle emits from Anthony’s mouth. “Felicity deserves better. You both do.”
I finally meet his brown eyes and find them kind and warm. “Thank you, Anthony. You’re very kind to say so.”
He looks down, like he’s afraid to keep staring into my eyes. “Well, I mean it.”
I blow air from my mouth and glance around the diner. People are watching us. I’ve let this get much too serious. I need to keep this lighthearted. This isn’t real, after all.
“I’m curious about your mom’s story,” I say, plucking my last fry from my plate. Anthony’s plate is long since clean, and I wave at Melinda. She’ll know to bring the dessert menus. Not that I need one. “She’s seventy-two, right?”
He appears pleased that I know. “Yes.”
“And how old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
Only four years older than me. I was right on the money with his age. “Your mom was forty when she had you?”
A faint smile lifts one corner of his mouth. “A certified old maid, according to her. She left Iowa at age thirty to find better-paying work. Then my dad came along and swept her off her feet.”
I can’t keep in the romantic “awww” that seems like an auto reflex.
“He was a confirmed bachelor, too. A sought-after Italian chef with no time for love in his life.”
“How did they make it work?”
We pause to give Melinda our dessert orders. I ask for the classic cheesecake. It’s my go-to comfort order. Anthony orders apple pie with a side of home-style vanilla ice cream.
“When my mom had me, my dad realized he couldn’t continue the crazy work hours. Chefs work long hours, especially in five-star restaurants. Ratings are everything, and there’s no messing around, no vacations. It’s grueling. So he quit.”
“What did he do after that?”
“He took a loan and bought a food truck. But Italian cuisine and food trucks aren’t a typical combination. It struggled. He tried lots of different ventures after that, none of them successful enough.”
I tilt my head at the raw emotion in his tone. “Successful enough for what?”
“To live comfortably. To make enough money.”
I purse my lips. “Money isn’t everything. Did you have food to eat and a place to live?”
He nods.
“I’d say he did enough, then.”
He gives me a thoughtful look. “That’s one way to look at it.”
Again, we’re getting too serious, and I slap my hand on the tabletop. “So. Important question here. How long are you staying in town? Because you wouldn’t want to miss the crowning of the Pork Queen at the state fair.”
“The Pork Queen?” he slowly repeats. “I hope you’re making that up.”
At my look of offense, he holds out a hand as if to take back his words. “Oh, no. Were you the Pork Queen once?”
“As a matter of fact, I was.”
He presses his fist to his lips, and it takes me a minute to realize he’s trying desperately to hold in laughter. He can’t, and it bubbles over in a high-pitched giddy sound.
“The Pork Queen. You.”
“Is that so hard to imagine?”
“Yes!” He’s chortling now, holding his belly.
I throw down my napkin and stand up. “Anthony Lucio, you’re a jerk!”
“What did you do, dress up in a pig costume?” The words barely make it out of his mouth around all of his guffaws.
“No, you big idiot, I dressed like it was a beauty pageant. Because it is.”
His mirth evaporates in one instant. “Oh.” He blinks. “I’d a liked to see that.” The shock that surfaces on his face tells me the words popped out without permission. He ducks his head. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
A strained silence follows. “We should go,” I finally say.” At the counter, Timmy says the whole meal is on the house. Anthony argues. Timmy wins.
“You people are stubborn,” he huffs as we walk to his car.
“And you’re not?”
“I’m half-Iowan, what do you expect?”
I look at him in amazement. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Never thought I’d say it,” he mutters before throwing himself behind the wheel. “This place makes me cranky.”
“I’ve noticed.”
We’re back to our snarky banter. So much safer than the deep topics we waded through during dinner.
“You never answered my question,” I say when my house is in sight. “How long are you staying?”
He sighs heavily. “I asked my boss for three weeks. I’ll reassess at that point.”
I twirl my thumbs in a circle. “You’ll miss the Pork Queen competition, then.”
“Pity that.”
I smile in the semi-darkness. Why do I like his snippy comments?
He pulls to a stop in my driveway but makes no move to get out and walk me to my door.
“Better make it look like we didn’t have a good time,” he says when I linger in my seat.
“Right.” I collect my purse from the floorboards and open the door. “Thank you for a nice evening, Anthony. Be certain to tell your aunt that we gave it a try and just don’t have chemistry. I’ll tell my mom the same.”
He says nothing, and I don’t look at his face. I know what I’ll find. Because we both know we have chemistry. Enough to blow up a high school science lab.