flea-market finds, so they’d spent many a Sunday getting up at dawn hunting down bargains.
Everywhere she looked now, she saw the touch of Sal’s hand. The pineapple stencil he’d carefully painted around the perimeter of the floors; the blue print wallpaper he’d helped her hang; the old chandelier—one of their flea-market finds—that he’d purchased for a song and then carefully rewired and hung. The house and deli had been her comfort, something to hang on to, something safe and secure after Tony’s death. It gave her a way of easing the lonely hours. With Sal around, her loneliness didn’t seem so acute, so hard to bear.
But for some reason, tonight, the loneliness was back, and worse than ever.
Sal. He invaded her thoughts again. They’d had such a wonderful relationship—a friendly relationship—until she’d announced she had a date. Sal had changed from a warm, caring, concerned friend into a man who seemed obsessed with protecting her virtue.
Then he had to go and kiss her, she thought with a frown. And not just a friendly peck on the cheek, but a man-woman kiss, the kind that shook her to her soul. Annie’s lashes lowered and a great fountain of warmth washed over her as she relived the touch of Sal’s lips on hers.
That certainly wasn’t a friendly kiss; it was a kiss filled with yearning. So what was he doing with Mrs. Altero’s granddaughter? Trying to drive her crazy, probably, she decided.
Annie rocked faster, feeling restless. Sal was a man who was used to this type of thing. Kissing one woman one day, and dating another the next. He’d dated women galore and had lots of experience.
But she hadn’t. Despite the fact that she was twenty-six, married and widowed in the space of two years, her knowledge and experience with men was nil. She’d never really even kissed anyone except Tony. And now that seemed so very long ago, she could hardly remember. At times she couldn’t even picture Tony’s face.
She’d come to her marriage a virgin, and since Tony’s death there had been no one else. She’d never even wanted anyone else. Until now.
Setting her cup on a table, Annie stopped rocking and abruptly stood up to go to the window again, letting the air cool her flushed face. She wasn’t falling in love with Sal, she told herself firmly. What she was feeling was an emotional attachment. She was just having a hard time separating the two.
A faint breeze rustled the curtains, filling the room with the night’s sweet aroma. The pungent smell of sausage and peppers drifted through the open window, the remnants of someone’s dinner, no doubt.
The street was quiet tonight. In the summer, it wasn’t unusual to find lawn chairs scattered up and down the block, with neighbors gathered to gossip or watch a baseball game on a television that someone had dragged out. The kids would run free, playing baseball or tag. Invariably someone would bring out a pitcher of lemonade or a jug of wine, and they would sit discussing the day’s events or just listening to music long into the night. Tonight the street was empty except for an occasional car. Even Mr. Benedetto hadn’t taken his nightly walk.
It was strange to see the street so quiet. Annie sighed. Perhaps the burglary had had more of an effect than she realized. Shivering, Annie wrapped her arms around herself.
“Hey, Annie, waiting for someone?” Sal stood beneath the window with a wide grin on his face. Her startled gaze flew to his. Oh, Lord, he knew she’d been watching—waiting for him. Her heart began to pound and her face flooded with heat. Now she’d done it, really made a fool of herself, standing here pacing back and forth from window to window, watching and wondering what he was doing.
And he’d caught her.
She glanced down at him, gathering her dignity. He’d dressed for his dinner with Mrs. Altero and her granddaughter, she noted, taking in the gray pinstriped suit. His jacket was slung over his shoulder and his
Everywhere she looked now, she saw the touch of Sal’s hand. The pineapple stencil he’d carefully painted around the perimeter of the floors; the blue print wallpaper he’d helped her hang; the old chandelier—one of their flea-market finds—that he’d purchased for a song and then carefully rewired and hung. The house and deli had been her comfort, something to hang on to, something safe and secure after Tony’s death. It gave her a way of easing the lonely hours. With Sal around, her loneliness didn’t seem so acute, so hard to bear.
But for some reason, tonight, the loneliness was back, and worse than ever.
Sal. He invaded her thoughts again. They’d had such a wonderful relationship—a friendly relationship—until she’d announced she had a date. Sal had changed from a warm, caring, concerned friend into a man who seemed obsessed with protecting her virtue.
Then he had to go and kiss her, she thought with a frown. And not just a friendly peck on the cheek, but a man-woman kiss, the kind that shook her to her soul. Annie’s lashes lowered and a great fountain of warmth washed over her as she relived the touch of Sal’s lips on hers.
That certainly wasn’t a friendly kiss; it was a kiss filled with yearning. So what was he doing with Mrs. Altero’s granddaughter? Trying to drive her crazy, probably, she decided.
Annie rocked faster, feeling restless. Sal was a man who was used to this type of thing. Kissing one woman one day, and dating another the next. He’d dated women galore and had lots of experience.
But she hadn’t. Despite the fact that she was twenty-six, married and widowed in the space of two years, her knowledge and experience with men was nil. She’d never really even kissed anyone except Tony. And now that seemed so very long ago, she could hardly remember. At times she couldn’t even picture Tony’s face.
She’d come to her marriage a virgin, and since Tony’s death there had been no one else. She’d never even wanted anyone else. Until now.
Setting her cup on a table, Annie stopped rocking and abruptly stood up to go to the window again, letting the air cool her flushed face. She wasn’t falling in love with Sal, she told herself firmly. What she was feeling was an emotional attachment. She was just having a hard time separating the two.
A faint breeze rustled the curtains, filling the room with the night’s sweet aroma. The pungent smell of sausage and peppers drifted through the open window, the remnants of someone’s dinner, no doubt.
The street was quiet tonight. In the summer, it wasn’t unusual to find lawn chairs scattered up and down the block, with neighbors gathered to gossip or watch a baseball game on a television that someone had dragged out. The kids would run free, playing baseball or tag. Invariably someone would bring out a pitcher of lemonade or a jug of wine, and they would sit discussing the day’s events or just listening to music long into the night. Tonight the street was empty except for an occasional car. Even Mr. Benedetto hadn’t taken his nightly walk.
It was strange to see the street so quiet. Annie sighed. Perhaps the burglary had had more of an effect than she realized. Shivering, Annie wrapped her arms around herself.
“Hey, Annie, waiting for someone?” Sal stood beneath the window with a wide grin on his face. Her startled gaze flew to his. Oh, Lord, he knew she’d been watching—waiting for him. Her heart began to pound and her face flooded with heat. Now she’d done it, really made a fool of herself, standing here pacing back and forth from window to window, watching and wondering what he was doing.
And he’d caught her.
She glanced down at him, gathering her dignity. He’d dressed for his dinner with Mrs. Altero and her granddaughter, she noted, taking in the gray pinstriped suit. His jacket was slung over his shoulder and his
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