She stood, clutching her handbag.
“I can’t do this,” she said. “I’m sorry, Ma. But I can’t do this right now.”
It was too much, taking on her mother’s trepidation and doubts as well as her own.
Her mother gaped and Rosie half rose from her chair as Lucy strode for the entrance, fighting her way through the line of people waiting for service at the front counter.
Outside, Lucy stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat and sucked in big lungfuls of air. She stared up at the pale blue winter sky, willing herself to calm down.
It’s going to be okay. I’m twenty-eight years old. Last year, I started my own business. I can do this. I’m a strong person.
She found her car keys in her bag and started to walk, chin up, jaw set.
After all, it wasn’t as though she had a choice.
Dom checked his watch. Five o’clock. One hour until customers started arriving.
He wondered if he would see her today. Then he shook his head. What was he, sixteen again?
“Grow up, idiot,” he told himself as he turned toward the pallet of boxed tomatoes waiting to be unloaded.
She might not even come. For all he knew, she might not even be buying her produce from his father anymore.
He flexed his knees and kept his back straight as he hoisted the first box of tomatoes and lugged them over to the display table. His uncle Vinnie was fussing with the bananas, ensuring the oldest stock was at the front so they could offload it before the fruit became too ripe.
“Be careful with your back, Dom. You know what happened with your father,” he said as Dom dumped the first box and went back for another.
Dom smiled to himself. For as long as he could remember, his uncle had said the same thing every time he saw anyone carrying a box. Dom figured the hernia his father had had while in his twenties must have really messed with his uncle’s head.
By the time Dom had unloaded all the tomatoes, he’d worked up a sweat beneath the layers of sweatshirts and T-shirts he’d piled on that morning. He peeled off a couple of layers, enjoying the feeling of using his muscles again.
It was good to be back. He’d felt a little uneasy as the plane took off from Rome two days ago, but it was nice to be home. Even returning to the old house hadn’t been that big a deal.
Danielle’s stuff was gone. The only sign that she’d ever lived there was the pile of mail addressed to them both that his sister had left on the kitchen counter.
Mr. and Mrs. Bianco. He wondered if Dani was planning on reverting to her maiden name now that their divorce was final. It wasn’t something they’d ever discussed. He frowned as he thought about it. It would be strange to learn she was calling herself Dani Bianco. As though the only part of him that she still wanted was his name.
“Dom, how many boxes iceburg lettuce we got?” his father called from the other end of the stand.
Dom shook his head when he saw that his father had his clipboard out and pencil at the ready. For thirty years Tony Bianco had kept track of his stock and sales in the same way—on paper in his illegible handwriting. Any notation he made would be indecipherable to anyone else.
Dom did a quick tally of the boxes stacked beneath the trestle tables.
“We got two-dozen boxes, Pa,” he called. Enough to see them through the day.
Before he’d left for Italy, he’d spoken to his father about bringing the business into the twenty-first century. There were a bunch of user-friendly, highly efficient software systems available for running businesses like theirs. Knowing what stock they had on hand, what it was costing them, how much they were selling and who their best customers were at the touch of a button would be of huge benefit to Bianco Brothers. Currently, all that information was stored in his father’s head and consequently Tony’s business decisions were often based more on gut-feel and instinct than hard figures.
Predictably, his father had been resistant to the idea of change.
“I do it this way for thirty years,” he’d said, then he’d gestured toward the long rows of produce and the customers lining up to make their purchases. “We do okay.”
His father was being modest. They did more than okay. They did really, really well. But, in Dom’s opinion, they could do better. He’d backed off last time because he’d been too messed up over Dani to concentrate on the business, but now that he was back it was time to start pushing harder. He was going to be running this business someday, since none of his cousins were even remotely interested. He didn’t want to have to deal with boxes full of his father’s scrawlings when he tried to work out where they stood.
He dusted his hands down the front of his jeans and glanced over the stand, checking to see that all was as it should be. Everything looked good, and he turned back to the stack of pallets piled behind their displays. Might as well get rid of those before the rush.
By the time he’d tracked down one of the market’s forklift drivers and arranged for him to shift the pallets to the holding area, half an hour had passed. The bitter cold was starting to burn off as the sun made its presence felt, and Dom shed another layer as he made his way back to the stand.
He’d just finished pulling his sweatshirt over his head when he saw her.
She was wearing a long, cherry-red coat, the furry collar pulled up high around her face as she talked to his father. Her long, straight dark hair hung down her back, glossy in the overhead lights. She turned her head slightly and he watched her smile, noting the quick flash of her teeth, the way her eyes widened as she laughed at something his father said.
As always when he saw her, his gut tightened and his shoulders squared.
Lucy Basso.
Man, but she was gorgeous. Her sleek hair. The exotic sweep of her cheekbones. Her ready smile. The elegant strength of her body.
Gorgeous—and now he didn’t have to feel guilty about noticing.
He stepped closer, automatically smoothing a hand over his hair to make sure he didn’t have any goofy spikes sticking up from dragging off his sweatshirt. Just to be safe, he checked his fly as well. Never could tell when a clothing malfunction was loitering in the wings, waiting to bring a guy down.
All the while, he drank her in with his eyes. She looked even better than he remembered.
Lucy and her sister had grown up in Preston, just one suburb across from his own family’s stomping ground in Brunswick. They’d gone to different schools but the same church, and he’d been aware of her from the moment he’d first started noticing girls. There was something about the way she held herself—tall and proud, as though she knew exactly what she was worth.
He hadn’t been the only guy in the neighborhood who’d noticed. He’d never been put off by competition, but somehow the timing had never been right to make his move. Life kept intervening—other girlfriends for him, then, when he was free, she’d be with some other boy. Then they’d stopped running into each other altogether as they grew up and went out into the world. He’d only reconnected with her in the past year when she’d approached his father about the new door-to-door fresh produce delivery service she was starting up. After that, he’d seen her every day for six months before he bailed on his life for Italy. And he’d felt guilty every time he looked at her and felt the pull of desire. It wasn’t like he’d needed the added hassle as he and Dani battled through the ugly death throes of their marriage, and often he’d resented the attraction he’d felt.
Bad timing—again.
But things were different now. He was a single man. Divorced. Not exactly a shining badge of honor, not something he’d ever planned, but it was what it was.
And Lucy Basso was standing in front of him, looking amazing, daring him to reach out for something he’d always wanted.
She’d been one of the reasons for coming home. Not the main reason, not by a long shot. But he’d always wondered where she was concerned. What if…? And now there was nothing stopping him from finding out.
He was about to take the last step forward when a voice piped up in his head.
What are you doing, man? What happens if things get serious and she discovers you’re an empty promise?
He pushed the thought away. He refused to live half a life, no matter what had happened with Dani. Especially when Lucy was standing within reach.
“Lucy Basso. Good to see you,” he said.
She was already smiling as she turned to face him, her olive skin golden even under the harsh fluorescent lights.
“Dom! Hey, long time no see. I heard you’d taken off for Italy,” she said.
She had an amazing voice. Low and husky.
“Decided it was time to take a look around the old country, see what all the fuss was about,” he said. He tucked a hand into the front pocket of his jeans and rested his hip against the side of the stall.
“And?” She cocked an eyebrow at him, a small smile playing around her mouth.
“The Vatican is an okay little place. And they did some nice work at the Coliseum. But, to be honest, it would have been much more impressive if they’d finished building it.”
She laughed and pulled a face at him. “Bet you didn’t make that joke when you were in Rome.”
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I didn’t.”
She laughed again.
He shot a glance toward his father, aware that Tony was watching their exchange with a big smile on his face.
Go away,
he urged his father silently.
There’s no way I’m asking her out with you standing there. I’ll never hear the end of it.
“I bet you’re glad to have him back, Mr. Bianco,” Lucy said.
“I save work especially for him,” Tony said, rubbing his apron-covered belly with his hands, his smile broadening. “To make up for long holiday.”
His father was looking at Lucy with admiring eyes and Dom realized he wasn’t going anywhere soon. He might be pushing sixty, but Tony knew a beautiful woman when he saw one and he wasn’t above a little harmless flirtation in his old age.
“Six months in Italy. I can only imagine,” Lucy said, closing her eyes for a beat. “Heaven. The way I’m going, I’ll get over there when I’m ready to retire,” she said.
“Make the time. It’s worth it,” Dom said. “Even if you only go for a few weeks.”
She shrugged, her hair spilling over her shoulder. “Nice idea, but it’s not going to happen,” she said ruefully.
Then she reached for her purse to pay for her order, and her coat fell open.
The words Dom had been about to say died in his throat as he registered the gentle bump that had been hidden by the long lines of her coat.
She was pregnant.
Lucy Basso was pregnant. Which meant she was married. Not free. Not available. And definitely not about to go out with him.
Bad timing again. The worst timing in the world, in fact.
Fifteen years of lust, blown away in a few seconds.
Damn.
“Uh, yeah. When are you due?” he asked.
“Just before Christmas.”
“Wow. I guess your husband must be over the moon,” he said, fishing unashamedly.
Who had she married? How come his mother hadn’t mentioned it in one of her letters to him? He’d gotten updates on every other birth, death or marriage in the neighborhood. Why would she miss Lucy Basso’s?
Lucy tugged her coat closed and slid a button home to keep it that way.
She shrugged casually, as if to say that her husband’s happiness was a given.
“You know, I’d better get going with all of this.” She gestured toward the trolley she’d filled with her supplies for the day.
Dom frowned as he noted several large boxes and bags of produce in her order.
“I’ll give you a hand,” he said, stepping forward.
“It’s okay. I’ve got a hydraulic tailgate in the back of the van,” she explained.
“Right.” He rocked back on his heels.
She was nothing to him, a neighborhood acquaintance and now a customer, but he hated the idea of her lugging groceries around all day when she was four months pregnant.
She laughed, obviously interpreting the look on his face.
“Italian men,” she said, shaking her head. “Honestly, I’m fine. I wouldn’t do anything to put my baby in danger.”
She curved her hand possessively over her bump, and he felt that tight feeling in his gut again.
Forget it, buddy. Forget her. It’s over.
“Okay. If you’re sure,” he said.
“I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow. You, too, Mr. Bianco.”
She smiled once more before pushing her trolley up the aisle.
He wasn’t aware that he was staring after her until his father came and stood next to him.
“Beautiful girl.”
Dom forced a casual shrug. Beautiful, married and pregnant. Not exactly a winning combination.
“Yeah, she’s nice,” he said.
He turned back toward the stand. Ridiculous to feel as though he’d just lost something valuable. For all he knew, she was a ball-breaking shrew with bad breath and a worse temper. There was nothing for him to mourn, no loss had occurred. They barely even knew each other.
He was so absorbed in trying to look busy that he almost missed his father’s next words.
“Such a shame. Her mother very worried, I hear.”
“Worried? Why?” Dom asked. Then his mind jumped to the obvious. “Is there something wrong with the baby?”
He knew what it was like to hope each month for good news, only to learn that once again all the wonders of modern medicine could not make up for the failures of nature. For four years he and Dani had tried in vain to have a baby. He could only imagine how wrenching it would be to have all the joy of finding out you were pregnant, only to learn there was something wrong with your child.
“Something wrong with the baby? How would I know?” his father asked, giving him a look.
Dom returned it in full measure.
“You’re the one who said her mother’s worried. What’s she worried about if it’s not the baby?”
Tony rolled his eyes, then held up his left hand, pointing to his own well-worn wedding ring.
“No husband. Lousy no-good left Lucy for other woman,” he said. He looked like he wanted to spit, the notion offended him so much. “Poor Lucy, she left with business and bambino all on her own.”
Dom stared at his father.
“She’s not married?” he asked, just in case his ears were deceiving him, feeding him what he wanted to hear.
“Didn’t I just say that?” his father asked. Muttering to himself in Italian, he strode off to serve the customer hovering nearby.
Dom stared blankly into space for a few long seconds.
Not married.
Single, in fact.
A smile curved his lips. He even turned on his heel, ready to race after her and ask her out.
He stopped before he’d taken a step.
She was pregnant.
Four months pregnant with another man’s child.
Not exactly your typical dating situation.
“Hey, Dom, those arms of yours painted on?” his uncle Vinnie called from the other end of the stall.
Dom blinked. A queue of customers had formed in front of him, waiting to be served.
Right. He was at work. There was stuff to do. He could think about Lucy Basso later.
It was a great theory, but he found it impossible to stop himself from thinking about her as the morning progressed. The flash of a red coat glimpsed briefly through the crowd. The sight of a woman pushing a baby stroller. A young couple walking hand in hand, both glowing with obvious contentment over her big, swollen belly. Everything seemed to remind him of her. She’d rocketed from being a vague incentive to come home to the most important thing on his agenda in the space of a few minutes.
Why was that? Because of the profound disappointment he’d felt when he’d thought she was married, lost to him for good?
Man, she’s pregnant,
he reminded himself for the twentieth time that day.
But did that really matter? Really?