apologize and finish what she was doing.”
“Should I apologize to the last one you got hung up on? I mean, man, you so have a type, don’t you?” Frances Anne said, ignoring her brother, digging in her heels.
“If we’re playing connect the dots, I’m missing a few,” Rosemary said.
Sal glared at his sister, his lips a thin line, his posture at least as stubborn as his sister’s.
Finally, France Anne gave a one-shouldered shrug, turned to Rosemary, and said, “Sorry if I implied something untrue. Sal can be a blockhead at times. We have to save him from himself when it comes to women. Nice to meet you.”
Rosemary didn’t know how to respond to that admission. Something bubbled beneath the surface, but she wasn’t going fishing. Wasn’t any of her business. She barely knew the man. “’Bye.”
Frances Anne gave her brother a look and then made for the tables and silverware she’d abandoned.
Sal held out his hands. “Sorry about that. Frances Anne is naturally suspicious and jumps to too many conclusions.” He said the last bit loud enough for everyone working inside to hear him.
“What did she mean about me being a type?”
“Nothing,” he said, fingering the envelope he’d taken from her. “She’s being pissy because she got in a fight with her boyfriend or something. Everyone’s a target for her this morning.”
“Oh,” Rosemary said, not exactly believing that excuse but, again, not familiar enough with the family dynamics to press him further.
“Rosemary, I’m so happy you came by,” he said giving her the smile she’d dreamed about last night—the one that made her girl parts tingly. All doubts about the words Frances Anne had flung at him disappeared. This was why she’d come to Mama Mello’s.
“I wanted to thank you for last night but I didn’t know your number or address.”
“So you hauled it all the way here to give me this?” he teased. His lips curled sensuously, reminding her of Elvis Presley. That was a huge plus, because she’d always had a thing for the King of Rock and Roll. She’d thought Graceland perfectly decorated. Even the Jungle Room.
Heat flooded into her cheeks. “It wasn’t that far. And it’s just a lame note. I was going to leave it, but there was no place to put it and I didn’t have tape, so . . .” She made a little shrug.
He didn’t say anything. Just kept a knowing smile in place.
“Okay, fine. You said you dropped the ball in my court. How in the heck was I supposed to lob it back to you without your digits? This note”—she tapped it—“was my best attempt at a backhand shot. I wanted to see you again.”
Sal slid a finger under the seal and tore the paper open. His lips moved as he read and after a few seconds he looked up. “You have lovely handwriting.”
Rosemary’s blush increased. She felt so stupid giving a guy like him a thank-you note. So, so stupid. Of course, she didn’t know what else she was to do. He’d dropped a possibility in her lap and left without telling her what it meant. “You can thank Mrs. Gunch for that. She went Nazi on us if we didn’t slant our handwriting to the right or make the proper curlicue on our L s.”
Sal folded the notecard and slid it in his back pocket. “I get off early today, so I’ll take you up on coffee.”
“Or tea if you’d rather have that.”
“Of course a sweet southern girl like you would bring up tea.” He grinned before leaning toward her and tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Damn, you’re pretty.”
She couldn’t stop her heart from galloping at his words. “I might have meant Long Island iced tea, you know.”
“Pardon my presumptuousness,” he said, tugging the strand of hair. His eyes dropped to her lips, and she could see in the chocolate depths of his gaze that he wanted to kiss her. And God help her, she wanted that more than she wanted anything at that moment. Except maybe world peace. She could bear the sacrifice for
“Should I apologize to the last one you got hung up on? I mean, man, you so have a type, don’t you?” Frances Anne said, ignoring her brother, digging in her heels.
“If we’re playing connect the dots, I’m missing a few,” Rosemary said.
Sal glared at his sister, his lips a thin line, his posture at least as stubborn as his sister’s.
Finally, France Anne gave a one-shouldered shrug, turned to Rosemary, and said, “Sorry if I implied something untrue. Sal can be a blockhead at times. We have to save him from himself when it comes to women. Nice to meet you.”
Rosemary didn’t know how to respond to that admission. Something bubbled beneath the surface, but she wasn’t going fishing. Wasn’t any of her business. She barely knew the man. “’Bye.”
Frances Anne gave her brother a look and then made for the tables and silverware she’d abandoned.
Sal held out his hands. “Sorry about that. Frances Anne is naturally suspicious and jumps to too many conclusions.” He said the last bit loud enough for everyone working inside to hear him.
“What did she mean about me being a type?”
“Nothing,” he said, fingering the envelope he’d taken from her. “She’s being pissy because she got in a fight with her boyfriend or something. Everyone’s a target for her this morning.”
“Oh,” Rosemary said, not exactly believing that excuse but, again, not familiar enough with the family dynamics to press him further.
“Rosemary, I’m so happy you came by,” he said giving her the smile she’d dreamed about last night—the one that made her girl parts tingly. All doubts about the words Frances Anne had flung at him disappeared. This was why she’d come to Mama Mello’s.
“I wanted to thank you for last night but I didn’t know your number or address.”
“So you hauled it all the way here to give me this?” he teased. His lips curled sensuously, reminding her of Elvis Presley. That was a huge plus, because she’d always had a thing for the King of Rock and Roll. She’d thought Graceland perfectly decorated. Even the Jungle Room.
Heat flooded into her cheeks. “It wasn’t that far. And it’s just a lame note. I was going to leave it, but there was no place to put it and I didn’t have tape, so . . .” She made a little shrug.
He didn’t say anything. Just kept a knowing smile in place.
“Okay, fine. You said you dropped the ball in my court. How in the heck was I supposed to lob it back to you without your digits? This note”—she tapped it—“was my best attempt at a backhand shot. I wanted to see you again.”
Sal slid a finger under the seal and tore the paper open. His lips moved as he read and after a few seconds he looked up. “You have lovely handwriting.”
Rosemary’s blush increased. She felt so stupid giving a guy like him a thank-you note. So, so stupid. Of course, she didn’t know what else she was to do. He’d dropped a possibility in her lap and left without telling her what it meant. “You can thank Mrs. Gunch for that. She went Nazi on us if we didn’t slant our handwriting to the right or make the proper curlicue on our L s.”
Sal folded the notecard and slid it in his back pocket. “I get off early today, so I’ll take you up on coffee.”
“Or tea if you’d rather have that.”
“Of course a sweet southern girl like you would bring up tea.” He grinned before leaning toward her and tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Damn, you’re pretty.”
She couldn’t stop her heart from galloping at his words. “I might have meant Long Island iced tea, you know.”
“Pardon my presumptuousness,” he said, tugging the strand of hair. His eyes dropped to her lips, and she could see in the chocolate depths of his gaze that he wanted to kiss her. And God help her, she wanted that more than she wanted anything at that moment. Except maybe world peace. She could bear the sacrifice for
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