Page 77 of Fallen Hearts

“For now. Your leave clock is ticking. I heard you have a meeting with Paul Baker on Friday. You seriously considering selling the place? Seems to me you’ve got a solid plan for it.”

“I figured I’d at least hear his offer and go from there. Any of the improvements we make will only increase its value.”

Parker was quiet while he ate. Emptying the box of angel hair into the pot of boiling water, I tried not to think about it. Which was impossible, of course. The end of my leave was like a sword of Damocles hanging over my head. Every day it came closer, my life path seemed more and more uncertain.

And then there was Pia.

“Hey, guys.”

Speak of the devil.

Parker raised a hand in greeting, having just taken a mouthful of chicken. I tried to finish the meal without staring at her like a lovesick teen. Not an easy task. She looked amazing. Jeans. Black booties. A black, low-cut shirt that made it next to impossible not to stare at her incredible tits and imagine myself cupping them, my head leaning down to take each one into my mouth, hardening her nipples while?—

“The water.” Pia gestured to my pasta pot. Shit. I turned down the heat, took a deep breath and tried again.

“Hey, Pia. Don’t mind Parker. He was just leaving.”

“Chicken’s great,” Parker said, putting his dish in the sink. Then to me, he whispered, “Get those bills ready to pay up. You’re going down, buddy.”

“No chance,” I said quietly.

I might be losing the battle, but I could never lose the war. If I was dumb enough to fall in love then I’d have to accept the possibility of the kind of lifelong heartbreak Dad suffered.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Get the hell out of here,” I said.

“There’s a reason he was made sergeant in the army,” Parker said to Pia. “Have a good dinner.”

“See you,” she said, laughing. “So, a sergeant, huh?” she asked, opening drawers. “That explains a lot.”

“Uh huh. Whatcha looking for?”

“A wine opener. Brought a special bottle from Emilio’s.”

“In there.” I indicated a drawer. “You didn’t have to do that. We have plenty of wine.”

“But are they special?”

Not as special as you.

The line rolled through my mind, unspoken. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it was.

“Obviously not,” I said, straining the pasta and plating our meals. “Island or dining room?”

“Island,” she said, turning the lights down slightly and cleaning the counter.

“My father used to always say ‘clean as you go.’ I never realized until a few years ago that came from the army, where he was a cook.”

“Your father was a cook in the army? I had no idea.”

Finishing up, I joined her, picking up my now-filled wine glass. “There’s lots you don’t know about me, Miss Pia Russo.”

“Well, you said you wanted to know everything about me. Same goes for you. Tell me more.”

We ate, drank wine and started from the beginning. I told her about early days, when my mother was still alive, and Pia regaled me with stories of her sisters’ antics. We talked about middle school, high school and college. Even exes.

The thought of Pia with any guy wasn’t a happy one, and I didn’t normally consider myself a jealous person.

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