I shrug. I don’t know. Maybe this is a sign I should.
“I just need to sort out my feelings,” I say. “I’m scared. I’m stressed. I’m overwhelmed. I feel indebted to you for all you’ve done…” Tears sting my eyes, but I’m not sad. I’m not sure what I am. “It’s all just a lot.”
He nods and turns the truck on. We sit in front of The Body Shop for a few minutes, the engine idling, the radio off. Just two people together, each lost in thought. Finally, a loud grumble from my stomach breaks the tension.
“Sounds to me like it’s dinnertime,” Franco says with a grin. “Can I take you someplace? You mind Italian again?”
I think about how much money I have in my account and desperately wish I could buy him dinner to thank him for all he’s done, but before I can protest, he says, “Don’t worry. Where we’re going, we eat for free.”
* * *
“Your brotherreally named his restaurant after himself.” It’s not really a question, more an observation.
Benito’s is this cute little place—surprisingly cute. The exterior looks like a house that’s been converted into a restaurant. The parking lot is large, and based on how full it is even on a Tuesday night, he must have a successful business.
Franco laughs as he gets out of the truck. “That’s my brother.”
When we walk inside, I’m immediately greeted by a feeling just like the one I had at his parents’ house.
“Franco.” The hostess must be close to eighty.
Franco leans down and lets the hostess kiss his cheek. “Rita, this is Chloe. Ann’s niece.”
The woman turns her hands to me, holding her palms up like she wants to cup my face. I smile at her, unsure whether I should hug her, shake hands, or wait for her to pinch my cheeks. She gasps and shakes her head. “Chloe, well I’ll be damned. You’re a stunner.” She elbows Franco and lifts a brow suggestively. “Keep her away from your brother,” she advises.
Franco laughs, and I instinctively slip my hand into the crook of his elbow.
“Rita is Bev’s mother,” Franco explains.
“Bev is so nice,” I say.
A couple comes in behind us, and Rita knows them, so she shoos us past her so she can seat the folks behind us. “It’s their anniversary, so they have a reservation. Go have a drink at the bar, and I’ll come get you when I have a table for you.” Rita greets the couple with her arms outstretched, wishing them an overly loud happy anniversary.
My hand is still at Franco’s elbow, but he angles himself so he can rest his hand at the small of my back. “Go ahead,” he says.
I weave through the crowd of diners and find only one empty stool at the bar. “I can stand,” I say, but Franco’s hand is already on the wooden seat as he pulls it out for me.
“What are you drinking?” he asks. “Have whatever you want.”
The bartender is insanely hot. Like, I mean she could be a model beautiful.
“Holy smokes,” I mumble under my breath. “I think I have a whole new respect for your brother.”
Franco lifts a brow and leans closer to hear me.
“If I owned this place, I’d sleep with the bartender too,” I say.
Franco’s eyelids lower, a seductive, sleepy look like he’s picturing me in bed with the gorgeous brunette. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, Chloe.” His voice is a sensual rasp against my ears, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.
I’m about to try to say something brilliantly witty when the gorgeous girl behind the bar spots Franco.
“Hey, handsome,” she calls over the bar noise. “And who’s this? I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”
I open my mouth to correct her, but Franco leans over the bar and says, “This is Chloe.” He introduces me to the girl whose name is Ashley, and without even taking our order, she sets down two glasses of ice water with a slice of lime on the rim.
She starts pouring alcohol into a shaker and then serves up two candy-apple-red drinks in short glasses. “On me,” she says. “Enjoy.”
Franco takes one of the drinks and hands the other to me. “You don’t have to drink it,” he says. “It’s a negroni. Pure alcohol. Despite its festive color, it’ll get you hammered quick.”
