Page 10 of Players Love Hard
“I have a lot going on at school. Between my coursework, my sorority, and the boy I like?—”
“A boy?” Her voice reaches a higher octave. “What’s his name?”
“Jameson… well, he goes by Jamie. I’ve known him for years.”
“Is this boy a friend?”
“Sort of. We were acquaintances until this weekend when we kissed. And now we’re something else. I’m not sure what, though.”
“Men are complicated.” She drops the dough to the wooden board and grabs a rolling pin. “But if he’s the right one, he’ll make your life easier. That’s how you’ll know he’s the one.”
I chuckle. “The one? Mrs. R, we’re barely friends.”
She hums a tune under her breath as she works with the dough. “Lovers?”
I shrug. “No, not yet.”
“Pay attention to how he treats you. A lot of men will say things you want to hear, but a man who deserves your time and attention will show you with his actions.”
I smile at her. “You always give the best advice, Mrs. R. How did you get so wise?”
A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Age and experience. My Antonio taught me a lot of things over the years. I had to kiss a few frogs before I found my prince.”
“Mr. R was a good man,” I offer.
She turns her head away from me for a second before meeting my gaze with a hint of tears in her dark eyes. “He was. I miss him every day. The bakery isn’t the same without him around.”
Seeing the pain on her face, I want to wrap my arms around her and squeeze the life from her. Mr. Rizzo hired me at the beginning of my senior year of high school. He passed away from cancer last year. We both miss him. He was like a grandfather to me—a kind man who would do anything for anyone.
His smiling face and the beautiful Italian songs he used to hum are just a few of the things missing around here. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose the love of your life. Mrs. Rizzo puts on a strong front, but I know she’s hurting on the inside.
“You can leave early,” Mrs. Rizzo says. “I can finish up here.”
I glance up at the clock on the wall across the room. “I still have another fifteen minutes.”
She cups my shoulder. “Go ahead. You have two buses to catch, a little brother to tuck into bed, and I’m sure plenty of homework.”
Yes to all of this. I have so many things to do when I get home. Strickland University is ten minutes from the bakery in South Philadelphia. But I live in the Northeast, which requires two buses to get home from campus.
“Are you sure?”
She squeezes my shoulder. “You work hard, Shannon. Take a few minutes for yourself. You can use it.”
I pull the apron over my head, drop it onto the table, and slap a kiss on Mrs. Rizzo’s cheek. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow after school.”
She smiles in response.
* * *
After riding two buses and walking six blocks in the cold, I push open the front door. The scent of clean linen mixed with berries—my mom’s favorite candles—fills my nostrils. She has four different mason jars burning in the living room, one at each corner of the room.
I sneeze a few times before she peeks up from the book in her hand. “Hey, honey.” My mom drops the book on the coffee table. “How was work?”
I shift the bag on my shoulder to redistribute the weight and force a smile. “Same old, same old.”
Wondering where Cameron and my dad are hiding, I look around the living room and into the dining room. “Where’s Dad and Cam?”
“Upstairs. Cameron couldn’t wait until you got home.” Relaxing against the couch cushion, she sighs. “He begged your dad to play that video game with him.”
