Kissing Under The Mistletoe
Page 8
“I’ll take some java, too, Betty.” Jack waited until Mary had taken off his jacket before saying, “I’ve never seen a model at work before. It was fascinating.”
Long ago she’d learned how to accept a compliment graciously, something she thought was at least as important as knowing how to take constructive criticism. “Thank you. Gerry, the photographer, is wonderful to work with. He makes the process as easy as possible for all of us.”
Betty brought over their slices of pie, the ice cream already melting down the edges of the thick crust and warm cherries. But it was the coffee that Mary went for first to warm her cold hands. She held on to it for a moment and enjoyed the heat against her palms before taking a sip.
“How long have you been modeling?”
At the beginning of her career, fame had been tremendously fun and heady for a young girl from a small Italian village. As the years went by, however, it had become more and more invasive. And surprisingly lonely, even with people constantly around her. It was rare that she met anyone who didn’t know who she was.
“Ever since I left Italy when I was nineteen.” She didn’t see a point in hiding her age, so she added, “That was thirteen years ago.”
His eyebrows raised in surprise. “We’re the same age.” He gave her one of his devastating grins that made her heart beat faster. “The years are another thing you wear better than I do.”
“If you ask me,” she murmured, “they look pretty good on you, too.”
Mary couldn’t remember the last time she’d flirted with a man. She was always so careful not to lead anyone on, just in case he thought she was feeling something she wasn’t. But the attraction that had simmered between the two of them in Union Square was heating up with every moment they spent together.
“Where in Italy?”
“A little town nobody has ever heard of called Rosciano.”
“I imagine your life over the past thirteen years has been very different from how you grew up.”
“Well, I had hoped it would be.” Feeling that had come out wrong, she clarified, “I had a great childhood, but I desperately wanted to see more of the world. San Francisco is one of my favorite places, which is why I’ve decided to stay for a while. This city certainly isn’t small, but it still reminds me of my old town in a lot of ways. The hills. The water nearby. How friendly the people are.”
Mary had been interviewed dozens of times over the years, by some of the best journalists in the business. But none of them had ever looked at her with such honest interest. Because even when they’d been friendly with each other, she’d only been a job to them. Mary had worked so much during her adult years that she’d always met the men she dated on the job.
She was extremely glad that Jack had nothing whatsoever to do with her career. It made her feel even more convinced that something might actually be possible with him. She wasn’t a product for him. She wasn’t connected to his bottom line.
She was simply a woman getting to know him.
“Did your brothers or sisters leave the country, too?”
“Unlike most Italian families, I was an only child. My mother—” She paused and tried not to betray the emotion that always came over her when she spoke of her mother, but she could already hear the little bit of an Italian accent that always slipped into her voice when she spoke of home and her childhood. “She always longed for more children, but her prayers weren’t answered.”
“Yes, they were.” His eyes were gentle as he said, “She had you.”
It took Mary a few seconds to push away the emotion his simple words evoked. “Do you have any sisters?”
“Nope, three brothers.” Her eyes widened at the thought of all that testosterone in one family as he asked, “Why do you ask?”
“Because if you had had sisters, you would have known that headstrong young girls and their mothers are rarely a conflict-free combination.” Feeling that she’d already said too much, and knowing she should change the subject before her emotions got the best of her, she asked, “Did you and your brothers grow up here?”
“Born and raised. I went to college locally, too, and haven’t really had much time to travel.”
“That’s another great thing about San Francisco,” she said, pausing in her extremely enthusiastic bites of pie, “between Chinatown, Japantown, the French Quarter, the Mission and North Beach, it’s like having the world at your fingertips. The people, the traditions, and especially the food.” He was so easy to talk to that she realized she’d gotten off track again. “What about your family? Are they all close by?”
“I wish. My oldest brother is up in Seattle with his wife and toddler. Another brother has a house in San Francisco but he is usually in a skyscraper overseas concluding another major business deal. My youngest brother is probably locked in his studio back east painting a masterpiece, and my parents are happily wintering in Florida.”
It amazed her how their conversation was so effortless and yet so totally full of sparks.
“What do you do?”
“I’m an engineer. I’ve been working on a product I invented for most of the past decade.”
Sexy and smart. Now that was a wonderful combination in a man, she thought as she took another bite of pie and ice cream. A cherry popped on her tongue, and the combination of sweet and creamy, warm and cool sent a soft moan of pleasure falling from her lips.
“You were right,” she said after she’d swallowed. “This is amazing cherry pie.”
Jack’s dark eyes were intense as they held hers and he agreed, “Amazing,” though he’d hardly eaten any pie at all yet.
“Help Me,” the hit single from Joni Mitchell, was playing from a portable radio set up in a corner of the diner. And with Mary’s heart pounding hard for a man she barely knew but already wanted so badly to know better, she felt as if Joni were singing about her.
Because after only fifteen minutes with Jack, Mary could tell that she was already falling too fast…with hopes about the future and worries about the past circling inside her mind and heart at the same time.
What if she didn’t let those worries imprison her this time? What if she trusted her instincts, the same way she had when she was a nineteen-year-old girl? And what if, for the very first time in a long, long while, she let herself believe that true love might actually be possible?
Long ago she’d learned how to accept a compliment graciously, something she thought was at least as important as knowing how to take constructive criticism. “Thank you. Gerry, the photographer, is wonderful to work with. He makes the process as easy as possible for all of us.”
Betty brought over their slices of pie, the ice cream already melting down the edges of the thick crust and warm cherries. But it was the coffee that Mary went for first to warm her cold hands. She held on to it for a moment and enjoyed the heat against her palms before taking a sip.
“How long have you been modeling?”
At the beginning of her career, fame had been tremendously fun and heady for a young girl from a small Italian village. As the years went by, however, it had become more and more invasive. And surprisingly lonely, even with people constantly around her. It was rare that she met anyone who didn’t know who she was.
“Ever since I left Italy when I was nineteen.” She didn’t see a point in hiding her age, so she added, “That was thirteen years ago.”
His eyebrows raised in surprise. “We’re the same age.” He gave her one of his devastating grins that made her heart beat faster. “The years are another thing you wear better than I do.”
“If you ask me,” she murmured, “they look pretty good on you, too.”
Mary couldn’t remember the last time she’d flirted with a man. She was always so careful not to lead anyone on, just in case he thought she was feeling something she wasn’t. But the attraction that had simmered between the two of them in Union Square was heating up with every moment they spent together.
“Where in Italy?”
“A little town nobody has ever heard of called Rosciano.”
“I imagine your life over the past thirteen years has been very different from how you grew up.”
“Well, I had hoped it would be.” Feeling that had come out wrong, she clarified, “I had a great childhood, but I desperately wanted to see more of the world. San Francisco is one of my favorite places, which is why I’ve decided to stay for a while. This city certainly isn’t small, but it still reminds me of my old town in a lot of ways. The hills. The water nearby. How friendly the people are.”
Mary had been interviewed dozens of times over the years, by some of the best journalists in the business. But none of them had ever looked at her with such honest interest. Because even when they’d been friendly with each other, she’d only been a job to them. Mary had worked so much during her adult years that she’d always met the men she dated on the job.
She was extremely glad that Jack had nothing whatsoever to do with her career. It made her feel even more convinced that something might actually be possible with him. She wasn’t a product for him. She wasn’t connected to his bottom line.
She was simply a woman getting to know him.
“Did your brothers or sisters leave the country, too?”
“Unlike most Italian families, I was an only child. My mother—” She paused and tried not to betray the emotion that always came over her when she spoke of her mother, but she could already hear the little bit of an Italian accent that always slipped into her voice when she spoke of home and her childhood. “She always longed for more children, but her prayers weren’t answered.”
“Yes, they were.” His eyes were gentle as he said, “She had you.”
It took Mary a few seconds to push away the emotion his simple words evoked. “Do you have any sisters?”
“Nope, three brothers.” Her eyes widened at the thought of all that testosterone in one family as he asked, “Why do you ask?”
“Because if you had had sisters, you would have known that headstrong young girls and their mothers are rarely a conflict-free combination.” Feeling that she’d already said too much, and knowing she should change the subject before her emotions got the best of her, she asked, “Did you and your brothers grow up here?”
“Born and raised. I went to college locally, too, and haven’t really had much time to travel.”
“That’s another great thing about San Francisco,” she said, pausing in her extremely enthusiastic bites of pie, “between Chinatown, Japantown, the French Quarter, the Mission and North Beach, it’s like having the world at your fingertips. The people, the traditions, and especially the food.” He was so easy to talk to that she realized she’d gotten off track again. “What about your family? Are they all close by?”
“I wish. My oldest brother is up in Seattle with his wife and toddler. Another brother has a house in San Francisco but he is usually in a skyscraper overseas concluding another major business deal. My youngest brother is probably locked in his studio back east painting a masterpiece, and my parents are happily wintering in Florida.”
It amazed her how their conversation was so effortless and yet so totally full of sparks.
“What do you do?”
“I’m an engineer. I’ve been working on a product I invented for most of the past decade.”
Sexy and smart. Now that was a wonderful combination in a man, she thought as she took another bite of pie and ice cream. A cherry popped on her tongue, and the combination of sweet and creamy, warm and cool sent a soft moan of pleasure falling from her lips.
“You were right,” she said after she’d swallowed. “This is amazing cherry pie.”
Jack’s dark eyes were intense as they held hers and he agreed, “Amazing,” though he’d hardly eaten any pie at all yet.
“Help Me,” the hit single from Joni Mitchell, was playing from a portable radio set up in a corner of the diner. And with Mary’s heart pounding hard for a man she barely knew but already wanted so badly to know better, she felt as if Joni were singing about her.
Because after only fifteen minutes with Jack, Mary could tell that she was already falling too fast…with hopes about the future and worries about the past circling inside her mind and heart at the same time.
What if she didn’t let those worries imprison her this time? What if she trusted her instincts, the same way she had when she was a nineteen-year-old girl? And what if, for the very first time in a long, long while, she let herself believe that true love might actually be possible?
