The Next Best Thing (22 page)

Not only is Matt DeSalvo an executive with a big grocery store, but he also represents a huge shift in my own status as a baker. NatureMade is a prestigious store, on par with Whole Foods, if much smaller. This deal could keep Bunny’s alive for the foreseeable future, as well as bump up my own status.

And Matt DeSalvo’s really cute. And he looks like Jimmy. And he’s the bread man. And maybe my dead husband wants me to date him.

“Did you grow up in Mackerly?” Matt asks, and I tell him, yes, I sure did. We chat amiably about our families, sip our cocktails. The dirty martini tastes like something you’d drink if your airplane crashed in the Sahara and the only fluid available to you was leaking out of the engine block, but it does go a long way in relaxing me. We order a few stuffies to start off with, earning us another disgusted look from Roxanne, since now she’ll have to make an extra trip to our table. She doesn’t approve of appetizers.

Despite Roxanne being Roxanne, Matt continues to try to ease himself into her good graces, not realizing she doesn’t have any. Jimmy, too, was always a sweetheart to waitresses, both at Gianni’s and anywhere else we might eat, always chatting them up and asking what they’d recommend, where they were from. Matt also seems to find
me
really charming. Just like Jimmy.

We’re halfway through our main courses (steak for me, salmon for Matt) when I hear Ethan’s voice. I look past Matt, and there he is, talking to Tommy Malloy. He looks up, smiles at me, and once again, guilt flashes its hot brand across my gut. I wave. “Ethan just got here,” I say to Matt. I’d mentioned Ethan earlier in the conversation…as Jimmy’s brother and a fellow food executive. Not as my boyfriend.
Say something, idiot!
my conscience orders in a shocked voice. I don’t. “I told him to join us.”

“Great!” says Matt, seeming sincere.

Then I look back at Ethan and feel something else…I
missed
him. Haven’t seen him for four days now, and as
he approaches, weaving through the crowded restaurant, I recall the goodbye kiss he gave me the other day, the heat that flowed through me, the way I kissed him back, almost making him miss his flight.

“Hi,” I say, standing up and kissing him quickly on the cheek. I give him a hug, too. Matt DeSalvo can draw his own conclusions.

“Hi,” he says, and though it’s just one word, his voice reverberates inside me. He touches my arm, and a wave of lust rises hot and fast, making my knees feel a little unreliable. Ethan’s lips curl into that slight, knowing smile, and those knees turn to mush.

Then Ethan looks at Matt, and his smile falls. “Jesus,” he breathes.

“Ethan, this is Matt DeSalvo. Matt, this is Ethan Mirabelli.” I bite my lip. Ethan stares, his face pale.

“Hi there,” Matt says, half rising and extending his hand. “I’m told I look a lot like your brother. Sorry.”

“No, no,” Ethan says, recovering a bit. “But…wow. At first glance, yes.” He clears his throat. “Nice meeting you.”

“Have a seat,” Matt says. “Lucy says you’re in the food business as well.” I’m glad he mentions this, as now Ethan will see that I talked about him. It makes whatever lingering guilt I’m feeling dissipate almost entirely.

“That’s right. I’m in marketing at International Food Products,” Ethan answers.

“Makers of
Instead?
” Matt asks.

“That’s right.”

Matt’s eyebrows rise. “I’ve heard of your company, of course.” He glances at me with a little smile. “So, Ethan, what do you think of Bunny’s going big time?”

Ethan glances at me, then back at Matt. “I think Lucy will make the right decision,” he says a trifle awkwardly.

“Ethan, sit,” I urge.

“Actually I’ll let you two finish your dinner.” He can’t seem to stop looking at Matt. “I told Nicky I’d drop by.”

“Oh,” I say. “Okay. Tell him hi for me.”

“Will do. Matt, nice to meet you.”

“Same here,” Matt says. They shake hands once more. Then Ethan gives my shoulder a quick squeeze and with that, he’s gone.

“Nice guy,” Matt says, watching him go.

“Yes,” I answer. “Very nice.” I pause. “He’s very close with his son.”

“As it should be,” Matt replies, smiling. “I love kids myself. Would love to be a dad someday.”

E
THAN IS QUIET WHEN HE COMES BY LATER
that night. My head is swimming…not so much with details of a bread distribution contract, but with how much Matt reminds me of Jimmy. Maybe it’s nostalgia, but the whole time, I’d felt an unnerving tingle with Matt DeSalvo.

“When you said he looked like Jimmy…” Ethan says, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I didn’t really think about it.” He sits on my couch and stares at the rug.

“Kind of strange, wasn’t it?” I ask.

“Kind of something,” Ethan answers.

“So,” I say. “We talked about the bread. Seems like a good thing.” Ethan nods but says nothing. “How was your trip?” I ask.

Fat Mikey jumps up next to Ethan and headbutts him fondly. “It was fine,” Ethan says, petting my cat.

“You said the hotel was nice,” I remind him.

“It was. Very nice.”

He looks a little lonely sitting there, scratching Fat Mikey’s ragged ears, and I try to imagine what it felt like,
to see someone who looked so much like his brother…and how much he must miss Jimmy. Poor Ethan.

“I missed you,” I tell him, and he looks up fast, making my heart squeeze.

“Did you?” he asks, his lovely smile curling his lips.

“Yes, I did,” I say, trying for a sultry tone and blushing a little. Rising to my feet, I stand in front of him, glad I’m wearing a short skirt and pretty underwear (and trying to forget that I donned these because of my dinner with Matt). I slip the top button of my sweater from the hole. “Very much,” I add, raising an eyebrow.

“Do tell,” Ethan murmurs, watching my hands as I slowly undo the next button. He swallows.

“Move that cat,” I say, going on to the next button. Ethan obeys without taking his eyes off the pink lace of my bra. Fat Mikey lifts a leg to start a little inappropriate social grooming, but Ethan gives him a gentle shove with his foot, and the cat seems to sigh in disgust, walking off with his tail twitching.

Grinning a little and hoping I don’t look like a total ass, I sit on Ethan’s lap. “Glad to be back?” I ask, reaching to undo his tie.

“I suppose,” he says, smiling into my eyes.

“You suppose. Well,
I
suppose I’ll have to try to make you really, really glad.” I tip his face up and kiss him, a slow, wet, soft kiss. He slides his hands up my leg and makes a little noise in the back of his throat. His mouth is hot and hungry, but, feeling he deserves a little show, I break the kiss, then take his hand and put it over my heart.

“Did you bring me a present?” I whisper.

His eyes are unfocused. “What?”

“Do you have something for me?”

Ethan grins. “I do,” he answers.

“Will I like it?”

“I hope so,” he says with that smile. His thumb slides over the lace of my bra, and my girl parts clench hard and hot.

“I have something for you, too,” I murmur, definitely getting into the role of sex kitten now. I unbutton his shirt as slowly as I did my own, resting my hand over his heart for a second, gratified to find it pounding. Ethan’s hand slides up my back and unhooks my bra.

“Clever,” I whisper. “One-handed and all.”

“Thanks,” he grins, and whatever guilt I might’ve felt earlier that night is gone, and Ethan is all that matters.

This is new for us, this teasing little seduction. Being with Ethan has always been…well, fairly
urgent.
In the past, we’d pounce on each other. Clothes would be torn off, shoved aside, thrown around the room…not removed inch by inch. In the past, it was something more primal, less emotional. But this is more meaningful, more…

I want to tell him I love him, but the words stay firmly lodged in my heart. “I missed you,” I whisper again. It’s the best I can do for now.

His shirt is open now, and I turn my attention to his belt, trailing a series of biting little kisses down his neck while I unbuckle.

“I think I’ll go away more oft—” he starts to say, but his words are cut off as I kiss him again, fierce and hot, and he actually laughs, then shifts me so I’m underneath him on the couch, his weight hard and heavy and wonderful on top of me. I sling a leg over his hips, getting a groan as a reward.

Ethan kisses a particularly sensitive spot just below my collarbone, his beard scraping, his lips velvet and hot, moving lower. I moan and arch most wantonly against him. Smokin’, ladies and gentlemen. Smokin’.

Then I hear the sound, but hey. I’m horny. Ethan’s gifted at what he’s doing, and my brain fails to grasp the significance of the sound. Dimly I think
Fat Mikey
and ignore it in lieu of…oh, yes, Ethan’s hand is under my skirt, his fingers skimming,
don’t stop that, big boy—

“Holy Mother of God! Marie, turn around!”

I convulse so hard that Ethan is bucked off like a cowboy riding an enraged Brahma bull, and instinctively, I roll onto the floor with him before my brain registers what’s actually happening. My sweater gapes open, my unhooked bra flopping ineffectively. My cat crouches under the coffee table, hissing since we almost squished him. Ethan’s pants are undone, his shirt half off, a red mark on his neck (for God’s sake, what was I thinking?). I scramble to close my sweater (and legs, gah!) and clutch a pillow to my chest.

My in-laws stand before me, horror-stricken, Gianni shielding his eyes, Marie with both hands over her heart.

“Ethan,” Marie wails, “for the love of God, what are you doing to Jimmy’s wife?”

E
THAN ZIPS AND BUCKLES, JERKING HIS SHIRT
closed. “Give us a minute,” he barks over his shoulder at his parents.

They obey frantically, almost falling over each other in a stampede to the door. “We’ll be right out here!” Marie calls, as if reminding us that they’ll be listening should Ethan and I decide to finish the deed. The door slams shut behind them.

“Forget to mention something?” Ethan bites out, buttoning his shirt with sharp, almost violent movements.

“No!” I snarl. “I didn’t know they were coming! They just moved!”

“Tell me about it,” Ethan growls. He won’t look at me. “I’m guessing you haven’t told them about us.”

Dang it! “No, I didn’t,” I answer, wincing.

“Well, this is just great,” he snaps. “Thanks, Luce. They weren’t going to approve under the best of circumstances. Now they think I’m a rapist.”

“Oh, Ethan, they do not,” I say, feeling the dangerous wriggle of laughter flopping around in my stomach.

His shirt is buttoned wrong, and seeing Ethan disheveled, he who’s usually so perfectly dressed, I feel a rush of tenderness. “Don’t worry, Eth. I’ll handle this.”

“Will you? That would be great, Lucy. Thank you so much.”

“This is not my fault,” I whisper. “I’m not your enemy here.” Ethan doesn’t seem to agree. “Now, are you ready? Can I let them in?” He glares in response.

Swallowing repeatedly, I open the door as if I’m letting in the Grim Reaper.

“Hi,” I say. My father-in-law, his expression as mad as Ethan’s, rubs his chest and doesn’t look at me.
Message received, Gianni. I’m killing you.
Fat tears drip from Marie’s face. “Come on in,” I say. Ah, jeepers. Their luggage is in the hall. A lot of luggage.

“Ethan, how could you?” Marie demands, pushing past me. “Shame on you! Your brother’s wife! And Lucy, I have to say, we’re stunned! Stunned!”

“We never expected this of you, Lucy,” Gianni growls.

“But you expected it of me?” Ethan suggests tightly.

“Well, yes! You’ve always wanted what your brother had!” Gianni shouts.

“For Christ’s sake, Dad!”

“It’s just not decent,” Marie sniffles.

“Okay, settle down, everyone, settle down,” I say. “Look. This is awkward for everyone, right?” Three sets of eyes glare at me, two brown, one Mediterranean blue. Even Jimmy seems to glare at me from our wedding picture. Marie sees my glance.

“In front of Jimmy, even!” she sobs, fumbling through her giant black purse for a hankie. “Ethan, we’re so disappointed!”

Ethan presses his fingertips hard against his forehead.
My mother is giving me a brain tumor.

“Why don’t you sit down, Gianni, Marie?” I suggest. They obey, blatantly avoiding the couch where, moments before, Ethan had been defiling their dear little Lucy. “Eth, could you make some coffee? Guys, would you like some
thing else? Wine, maybe?” I ask. “I have some almond pound cake I just made today.”

“I couldn’t eat,” Marie lies staunchly, clutching her purse against her stomach.

“I’ll cut a few slabs, just in case,” Ethan says, not very nicely. But he goes into the kitchen, and some of the tension leaves with him.

“I’m very sorry you had to walk in on that,” I say quietly, taking a seat on the, er, couch.

“Not as sorry as we are,” Gianni growls. From the kitchen comes the sound of a cupboard slamming.

I swallow again. “Well, first tell me what happened. Why didn’t you call and let me know you were coming for a visit?”

Gianni sighs. “We’re not visiting. We’re back.”

I nearly choke. “Back?” I squeak.

“Arizona…it was so hot. So dry,” Marie says, frowning.

“Um, yes, it does have a bit of a reputation,” I murmur. “But by ‘back,’ what exactly do you mean?”

“We’re back!” Gianni practically yells. “That idiot Luciano, what does he know about anything? He’s running my restaurant into the ground! So yesterday, the ditzy broad who runs Valle de Muerte, she just happens to mention the waiting list to buy into the place, and I says to Marie, I says, ‘Marie, what are we doing here? We don’t belong out here with these dried-up cactus people!’ And the woman, she says she could sell our condo for ten grand more than we paid for it, and I says, ‘Do it, lady. We’re going home.’” He pauses for a second. “Besides, we missed the little guy.”

I hope Ethan heard that last little bit, but he’s slamming around in the kitchen with a vengeance.

“You could’ve called,” I say with a little smile. “Or knocked.”

“We thought you’d be sleeping, with the hours you keep!” Marie cries in her defense. “You gave us a key! Aren’t you happy to see us?” Her face oozes betrayal and a crushed heart.

“Well, uh, sure, I’m happy,” I stammer. “I’m very happy to see you! It’s just…well…you know. The circumstances.”

“We wanted to surprise you,” Marie says with a little pout.

“And you sure did!” I reply, forcing a smile.

Gianni closes his eyes and shakes his head. “That Ethan. What did I do wrong? First, that
schifoso
milkshake. Now, he’s
arrapato
for his brother’s
moglie
.”

A crash comes from the kitchen.

“He’s not a bad person,” Marie whispers, reaching over to pat her husband’s arm.

“Okay, look. Um…you’re right. Ethan’s not a bad person,” I begin. Talk about damning with faint praise. “He’s a very
good
person. And you know, he’s been so wonderful to me since Jimmy died—”

“And now we know why,” Gianni snarls.

“No! It’s not like that. He…” I pause. “Look. I love you both. And you knew I was, um…trying to find someone.” I resist the urge to look at my wedding picture. “Is it such a stretch to think that Ethan would be—”
A contender,
I’m thinking, but Marie jumps in.

“The next best thing?” she suggests. Her face wrinkles with the onset of tears. “When you put it that way, maybe it does make sense.”

“Well, no, Marie, I’m not looking for another—”

Gianni snorts. “If you’re looking for another Jimmy, you’re not gonna find him in Ethan, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not looking for another Jimmy,” I say slowly, blinking at my father-in-law. “Ethan’s nothing like Jimmy.”

“Tell me about it!” Gianni shouts. “His whole job is to
get people to stop eating! That’s a slap in my face, an insult to my life’s work.”

“Maybe people don’t like your life’s work as much as you think,” Ethan bites out from the kitchen doorway. He carries in a tray of coffee, cups and a plate of cake slices and slaps it down on the table. “Maybe a milkshake is a welcome change to overcooked pasta and leathery veal.”

“You’re an ungrateful little—”

“Okay! Stop!” I order. “Ethan. Your parents are upset, okay? Settle down.” He glares at me. I turn to Gianni, who also glares at me. “Gianni, please don’t say things you’ll regret later. Ethan’s your son, too.”

“Just not nearly as good as St. Jimmy,” Ethan snipes.

“Stop it,” I whisper. Ethan, all bristling anger and mis-buttoned shirt, sits next to me, deliberately close. I take a deep breath. “So.” I glance at Marie for a little solidarity, but she’s eyeing the pound cake. I push the plate closer to her, and she takes a piece. “A few weeks ago, Ethan and I—”

“Lucy and I are together,” Ethan interrupts. “You can have a problem with it—you already do, I gather—or you can accept it. Obviously, it would be easier if you thought I was good enough for her, but then again, that would negate your little Italian melodrama. Still, if you want to stay on good terms with your one surviving son, who happens to be the father of your only grandchild, you might want to mind your manners.”

“Watch how you talk to your mother,” Gianni growls.

“Ethan, you can’t blame us for being shocked,” Marie tuts. “We just found you doing God knows what with Jimmy’s wife.”

Ethan closes his eyes briefly, and I reach out without thinking and take his hand. He looks at me, his eyes unreadable.

“This is just…ah!” Gianni says, rubbing his chest with vigor. “Isn’t it against the law or something? A man can’t just…” He pauses, giving his son a condemning stare. “Can’t just take his brother’s wife.”

“She’s not anyone’s wife,” Ethan growls. “She’s a widow.”

“Your
brother’s
widow,” Marie adds.

“Thanks, Ma. I forgot.”

“Always with the sarcasm, you,” Gianni snarls. The muscle under Ethan’s eye ticks.

There’s an uncomfortable silence. “So let’s change the subject a little,” I say, since it’s clear no one is going to leave happy tonight. “You’ve come back to Rhode Island. What’s the plan?” I pause. “I’m guessing from the suitcases in the hall, you’d like to stay here.”

“Not if we’re not welcome,” Gianni grumbles.

“You’re welcome. Of course you are,” I assure them, my heart sinking even further.

“I’d be happy to put you up in a hotel,” Ethan offers.

“What would we do in a hotel?” Marie asks. “Hotels are for rich people. You might be rich, Ethan. We’re not rich. Hotels are for people with no family.”

“Then you’ll stay at my place,” Ethan orders, and I mentally thank him with all my heart. I love my in-laws, but God in heaven, I don’t want to live with them. And while Ethan probably feels that sentiment a million times more, they
are
his parents.

“You can stay here,” I whisper to him.

“Oh, so now you’re living in sin?” Gianni asks. “Nice, Ethan. At least Jimmy married her.”

A
THOUSAND YEARS AND FIVE SLICES
of pound cake later, the Mirabellis depart for Ethan’s apartment. “You guys go ahead,” Ethan says. “I need to talk to Lucy.”

“Sleep well,” I call to their backs.

“You, too, sweetheart,” Marie answers. “Thank you for the pound cake. It was just lovely.”

“We’re glad you’re back,” I say, knowing this will eventually be true.

“Leave the luggage, Dad,” Ethan says. “I’ll bring it up in ten minutes.”

Gianni gives him a baleful look and grabs the handle of the biggest bag and begins dragging it toward the elevator.
I’d rather have another coronary than let you help me, whippersnapper.

The door finally closes behind them. Ethan picks up the cups and carries them into the kitchen, and I follow with the plate of pound cake (sneaking in a bite of the remaining piece, not wanting Ethan to know I’m starving, since it seems insensitive).

“Gosh, that was fun,” I say, hoping to get a smile from my buddy there. I don’t. “So,” I continue. “What’s it like to be
arrapato
for your brother’s
moglie?

“Not funny, Lucy.” Ethan folds his arms and stares at me.

“Sorry,” I mutter, my figurative tail dropping between my legs.

“You said you were going to tell them,” he reminds me.

“I didn’t,” I answer.

“Yes. I got that.” His jaw looks like he’s grinding diamonds between his molars.

“Well, Ethan, I certainly wish I had,” I say with undeniable sincerity.

“So why didn’t you?” he asks, looking over my head to burn a hole in the wall.

“I…I don’t know.” I sag against the cool granite of the counter at my back.

“Then I’ll assume you didn’t tell them because you’re
either a coward or you’re not sure we’ll work out,” he says evenly.

“Or both,” I suggest, wishing I had the kind of sense of humor that would disappear, rather than mushroom, during tense events.

He drags his eyes to mine. Funny how they can look as inviting as a warm cookie sometimes, as forbidding as granite at others. They’re definitely on the stony side now. “Have you told your family?” he asks.

“Well, I tried. Today, actually, at our meeting. But then Rose wanted to talk about her skin tags, and Mom brought up Botox…you know how it is.” He looks as if he
doesn’t
know how it is. Not at all. “I told Jorge, though,” I offer.

“You told your mute assistant. Anyone else?”

“Um…”

“I see.” His jaw is so tight I won’t be surprised if he spits out chunks of his own teeth.

“Ethan, why don’t we sit down and—”

“I’m fine standing, actually.”

“Okay.” I consider putting my hand on his arm, then reconsider. “Ethan, here’s the thing, and I know you don’t like to talk about it, but here it is.” He lifts an eyebrow. “I’m scared.”

“That’s clear, Lucy. When do you think you’ll get over that?” Then he seems to realize how harsh he sounds, because he looks down. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

I take a deep breath. “Ethan, look. When Jimmy died,” I say now, my voice near a whisper, “it changed me. I loved who I was back then, this dopey, happy bride, half of a couple. I loved thinking about the rest of my life. And when he hit that tree…”

Something flickers through Ethan’s eyes and he gives a half nod, asking me to continue.

“Ethan, you know—you know better than anyone—how hard it was to crawl back from that sloppy mess you used to scrape off the floor every weekend. I had to…I don’t know. Grow scar tissue over my heart, just so I could get through the days. And there have been so many days, Ethan.” My voice grows rough with tears, and I clear my throat.

“Lucy, I do know all this,” Ethan says. His voice is quiet, but still tight. “But you have to decide when you’re going to…deem me worthy or whatever.”

I swallow. Again. “You
are
worthy, Ethan. The thing is, when I lost Jimmy, I lost me, too.” I pause. “I’m just not sure if I can do that again. It’s not that I don’t…”

It’s not that I don’t love you.
The words are obvious, if unspoken. “It’s not that I don’t care about you, Ethan. You know I do.”

He seems to know it’s the best I can do for now. His gaze drops to the floor.

“You said you’d be patient,” I whisper.

“I’m trying,” he says. “But I can’t wait forever, either.”

“I’m trying, too!” I blurt. “Can’t you see that? The whole thing on the couch just now, and on the sailboat…I’m trying, Ethan!”

He jams his fists in his pockets. “Well, thank you so much, Lucy. I’m sorry if it’s such a trial for you.”

“It’s not a trial! Please, Ethan. I’m doing this because I want to. But it’s hard. And it’s hard for your parents. Tonight they saw their dead son’s wife with someone else. Even if it was their other son, Eth. Put yourself in their shoes.”