Ash #2
I repress a quick memory of my last few Saturday nights, attending black-tie charity functions with Guy, or having dinner
with Nicole and Henry at their condo on the Upper West Side, then helping to put the twins to bed before going home myself
to crash in front of the TV to play Halo.
“Single life’s not really all it’s cracked up to be,” I say after taking a big gulp of my beer. “You should know. You’re the
one getting married.”
“Yes. But the only reason I’m in West Harbor is because I’ve met the world’s most amazing woman, and she lives here. What’s
your excuse?”
I shrug. “Your mother.”
“My mother?” Derrick looks outraged. “You’re here doing something for her?”
“That’s right.”
“But I live here!” Derrick cries. He looks pissed. This is the root of his animosity toward me: he’s jealous of my relationship with
his mother. “Why didn’t she ask me?”
“Because, my friend.” I sip my beer as I eye the women dancing in front of the stage. There are a lot of them, but none is
as attractive—or sexy—as Frankie. “Your mom knows that I have a very particular set of skills.”
Derrick rolls his eyes. “Oh, Jesus.”
“It’s not my fault that you can’t handle the truth.”
“Even I know that those are quotes from two very different movies. What does—”
“There you are!” A tall brunette in a silky purple dress puts an arm around Derrick’s waist and presses her soft, shapely body against
his hard, muscular one. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
“I’m right here,” Derrick says in a voice I’ve never heard him use before. He sounds . . . happy? I’m pretty sure I’ve never
seen Derrick look happy before.
But he seems it now as he wraps one of his big arms around the woman and then lowers his lips to hers.
“Ash, this is my fiancée, Jessica,” Derrick says when he finally comes up for air. “Jessica, this is my nephew, Ashraf Merit.”
Jessica’s dark eyes brighten, which doesn’t seem possible since they’re already shiny as stars.
“Oh, Ash!” She throws her arms around me. “It’s so good to meet you at last. I’ve heard so many great things about you.”
Shocked, I hug her back. Her embrace is as hearty as her laugh. “Nice to meet you, too, Jessica.”
And it really is. I never would have guessed Derrick would fall for a witch, let alone a good witch with a hearty laugh and
even heartier hug. His type was always a lot like my own—helpless waifs who need to be rescued.
Not anymore, apparently. For either of us.
“I can’t believe you’ve heard anything at all about me,” I say as she releases me. “Let alone from this guy.”
Jessica throws back her head and laughs some more. She has thick, curly black hair that falls down her back like a waterfall.
I catch Derrick admiring it.
“No, from your grandmother,” Jessica says. “I’m so glad I finally have a chance to meet you. Oh, Dina,” Jessica calls to a petite brunette who comes walking by in stiletto heels and a banging body poured into a little black dress. “This is Derrick’s nephew, Ash Merit!”
“Oh. My. God.” Dina lets out a shriek that I’m pretty sure could be heard all the way across the Sound. “Wait—you’re Ash Merit? And you’re Derrick’s nephew? My God, you’re so cute. Isn’t he cute, Jess?”
“He’s very cute,” Jessica assures her friend with a knowing look. I have no idea what’s going on, but evidently Derrick does,
since when I glance his way, he’s rolling his eyes again. Women.
“Ash, this is my friend Dina Giovanni,” Jessica is saying as Dina snatches up my right hand and shakes it. “I think you might
be acquainted with her sister-in-law, Frankie? Frankie lives next door to you.”
Shit. I should have known this was going to happen. Frankie may not be here, but her entire family is, not just the sister
with the weird hair. I see the long-haired, tattooed brother coming over, curious to see what all the commotion is about.
“Mark,” Dina cries when she sees her husband. “Mark, get over here. This is Derrick’s nephew, Ash Merit—Frankie’s neighbor!”
“Oh, hey!” Now Mark is enthusiastically pumping my hand. “Glad you could make it, man. You probably don’t remember, but we’ve
met before. You drive that cherry ’64 Chevy pickup, am I right? We talked about it one day when you stopped by my restaurant
to pick up takeout. I’m Mark Giovanni, owner and chef at Mama Giovanni’s Italian Trattoria—”
“Right,” I say. I think I might have suffered a compound fracture from his grip. “Nice to meet you. Yeah, it’s a sweet ride—”
“Angie!” Dina is now screaming across the deck for her sister-in-law. To be fair, she kind of has to scream because the band
is so loud. What they don’t have as far as musical talent they appear to be making up for with volume. “Angie, get over here!
This is Ash Merit, Frankie’s neighbor and Derrick’s nephew!”
Before I know it, the sister with the weird hair, her mother—Frankie’s mother—and some old Asian dude are all suddenly clustered around me, saying how nice it is to meet me. The sister is looking
at me with undisguised glee . . . about what, I have no idea.
“Wow,” I say, as a beaming Mrs. Giovanni grips my hand. “You guys really do care about your customers. I can’t believe you
remember me. Though I do think your sweet Italian sausages with grapes is one of the best things I’ve ever—”
“My salsicce all’uva!” Frankie’s mother cries, looking as proud as if I’d complimented one of her children. “He likes my salsicce all’uva! What a sweet boy.”
I glance at Derrick to see if this is normal behavior from Mrs. Giovanni, but he merely smirks and sips his Witch’s Brew.
Whatever is going on, he’s finding it delightful.
“Dennis Hong,” the Asian dude is saying, taking his turn to introduce himself and pump my hand. “I own House of Hong Fine
Chinese Cuisine over on the Post Road, not too far from Giovanni’s.”
“Oh,” I say. What the hell is going on? “Sure, I’ve eaten there. I love your orange—”
“So how much exactly did you pay for that truck?” Mark interrupts to ask me. “And is the muffler missing, or is that just
how trucks sounded in 1964?”
I’ve never been this popular at a party before.
Even in high school and then college, when I was the host who had the most money because of my trust, and therefore threw the best parties because I had the most beer, I never had this many people clustered around me, smiling and asking questions.
Is this just West Harbor? Or is this a sign that someone has been talking about me?
And could that someone possibly be Frankie?
That’s the exact moment the sister called Angie—there’s been no sign so far of the third and youngest sister—shouts, “Oh,
there she is! Frankie! Frankie, over here!”
I turn my head and see her coming toward me from the inside of the restaurant. She looks hotter than I’ve ever seen her—hotter
even than this morning in her red bathing suit, though I tried hard not to look since we were in a medical emergency. She’s
still wearing red, but this time it’s a dress. With her dark hair loose and curly around her shoulders for a change, instead
of done up in a single braid down her back, and her dark eyes so wide and shining, Frankie looks like a model out of a magazine
or boat show . . . or maybe my dreams.
“Oh, great.” Jessica, her arm still around Derrick, looks pleased. “Now that Frankie is here, the party can really start.”
I have no idea what she means by this . . . unless she means the party in my heart. Because it’s done a somersault of joy
inside my chest at the sight of Francesca. I’m not sure it—or I—will ever be the same again.