fast. Literally in a moment, they were gone and you were talking to a two-dimensional likeness of who they really were.
It made her want to dig to find out what had happened in this apartment, what had caused a father and son to split so irrevocably.
Son? Sons, she corrected herself. She couldn’t believe Mr. O’Banyon hadn’t mentioned he had multiple children.
“I’ll get my purse,” she said, heading for the living room.
“How about Little Italy?” Sean said as he followed.
“Sounds like heaven.”
She waited as he shoved his feet into a pair of Nikes, grabbed keys from the table next to the couch and slipped a black wallet into his back pocket.
After a quick stop by her place, they got into his rental. As they pulled away from the curb, she noticed that the tension in his face had eased up considerably and she had a feeling it was because they were leaving.
“Sean?”
“Yeah?”
“About the furniture upstairs? Come to think of it, I could really use that kitchen table and those chairs.”
“No problem. When we get back, I’ll hump them down to your place.”
“That would be great.”
She and Mr. O’Banyon had never sat in the kitchen during their Sunday dinners so she didn’t have any deep associations with the little dining set. And she needed one. She was tired of eating either standing up in the kitchen with her butt against the counter or off her lap on her couch.
And maybe there was a little part of her that wanted to keep something of Mr. O’Banyon’s. As she’d looked at all those boxes Sean was going to use, she’d felt an odd fear…as if her friend were truly disappearing even though he was already gone.
A half hour later she and Sean were standing in line outside Bastianelli’s. The restaurant was a Little Italy favorite, barely bigger than a closet with the best Italian food in town. Part of the tradition of eating there was the long line and she always enjoyed the forced slowdown. With nothing to do but inch forward toward the glossy black and brass door, Lizzie found herself calming out and forgetting about the fact that a dear friend had died and she’d lost one of her jobs and her mother was the Imelda Marcos of art supplies.
As the sun set, the heat rolling over the city eased up and a gentle breeze suffused with the scents of oregano and garlic wafted by. The patter of talk from other people in line was like soft, indistinct music, more rhythm than words.
Lizzie lifted her face to the gloaming sky and took a deep breath. When she felt something touch her neck, she jumped.
Sean’s hand hesitated then brushed behind her ear. “Loose strand of hair.”
In slow motion, his fingers drifted over to the other side of her face and did the same thing. “And another one.”
Abruptly, she couldn’t breathe at all. Which was fine. Looking up into his hazel eyes, she didn’t need air to live.
His thumb passed over her cheek and his voice dropped an octave, becoming nothing more than a deep rumble in that muscled chest of his. “You’ve got bruises under your eyes from lack of sleep. What’s got you so tired there, Lizzie?”
She blinked. Then wanted to wince because obviously he thought she looked like hell. “Just have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?” he said in a lazy drawl.
Oh, God…where to go with that one? Because the truth was that she’d stayed awake thinking of him. “I’m out of work,” she blurted.
All at once, his voice shifted back to its normal bass and he dropped his hand. “What happened?”
Way to ruin a moment, Lizzie.
She cleared her throat. “Well, the health clinic in Roxbury where I work is losing state funding so they have to reduce staff. We’re just a small community center and we don’t—they… don’t have enough resources to afford my position anymore.”
His brows came together. “This because of the new
It made her want to dig to find out what had happened in this apartment, what had caused a father and son to split so irrevocably.
Son? Sons, she corrected herself. She couldn’t believe Mr. O’Banyon hadn’t mentioned he had multiple children.
“I’ll get my purse,” she said, heading for the living room.
“How about Little Italy?” Sean said as he followed.
“Sounds like heaven.”
She waited as he shoved his feet into a pair of Nikes, grabbed keys from the table next to the couch and slipped a black wallet into his back pocket.
After a quick stop by her place, they got into his rental. As they pulled away from the curb, she noticed that the tension in his face had eased up considerably and she had a feeling it was because they were leaving.
“Sean?”
“Yeah?”
“About the furniture upstairs? Come to think of it, I could really use that kitchen table and those chairs.”
“No problem. When we get back, I’ll hump them down to your place.”
“That would be great.”
She and Mr. O’Banyon had never sat in the kitchen during their Sunday dinners so she didn’t have any deep associations with the little dining set. And she needed one. She was tired of eating either standing up in the kitchen with her butt against the counter or off her lap on her couch.
And maybe there was a little part of her that wanted to keep something of Mr. O’Banyon’s. As she’d looked at all those boxes Sean was going to use, she’d felt an odd fear…as if her friend were truly disappearing even though he was already gone.
A half hour later she and Sean were standing in line outside Bastianelli’s. The restaurant was a Little Italy favorite, barely bigger than a closet with the best Italian food in town. Part of the tradition of eating there was the long line and she always enjoyed the forced slowdown. With nothing to do but inch forward toward the glossy black and brass door, Lizzie found herself calming out and forgetting about the fact that a dear friend had died and she’d lost one of her jobs and her mother was the Imelda Marcos of art supplies.
As the sun set, the heat rolling over the city eased up and a gentle breeze suffused with the scents of oregano and garlic wafted by. The patter of talk from other people in line was like soft, indistinct music, more rhythm than words.
Lizzie lifted her face to the gloaming sky and took a deep breath. When she felt something touch her neck, she jumped.
Sean’s hand hesitated then brushed behind her ear. “Loose strand of hair.”
In slow motion, his fingers drifted over to the other side of her face and did the same thing. “And another one.”
Abruptly, she couldn’t breathe at all. Which was fine. Looking up into his hazel eyes, she didn’t need air to live.
His thumb passed over her cheek and his voice dropped an octave, becoming nothing more than a deep rumble in that muscled chest of his. “You’ve got bruises under your eyes from lack of sleep. What’s got you so tired there, Lizzie?”
She blinked. Then wanted to wince because obviously he thought she looked like hell. “Just have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?” he said in a lazy drawl.
Oh, God…where to go with that one? Because the truth was that she’d stayed awake thinking of him. “I’m out of work,” she blurted.
All at once, his voice shifted back to its normal bass and he dropped his hand. “What happened?”
Way to ruin a moment, Lizzie.
She cleared her throat. “Well, the health clinic in Roxbury where I work is losing state funding so they have to reduce staff. We’re just a small community center and we don’t—they… don’t have enough resources to afford my position anymore.”
His brows came together. “This because of the new
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