I pivot and turn back to Mr. Bella. “I couldn’t remember how you take your coffee, so I grabbed you one of Gia’s mochas too. I hope that’s acceptable.”
“It’s much appreciated.” He takes the cup from my hand, and with his free hand pats my back the way he’s always done. “Thanks, son.”
“So.” Gia’s voice ticks up a notch, taking on an adventurous tone. “Shall I show you to the pantry and the mystery pickles? I don’t have the stomach to dump them out myself. I’d love to stand back on that one.”
“I got it.” I step toward the kitchen, ready to banter. “My stomach’s as strong as steel. If you’ve got petrified pickles, I can handle it.”
Gia opens the large walk-in pantry and motions to the bottom shelf. There’re rows of mason jars with dark murky water with barely visible shadows of items inside. “Have at it.” Her shoulders bounce as if she’s suppressing a dry heave. She’s clearly in agony, but I find her animation quite adorable.
“I’ll be across the kitchen, sorting through his shot glass collection.”
“Hey!” Mr. Bella pipes up with his nose toward the cupboard. “You’d better not get rid of any of those. They’re souvenirs from our travels.”
“Dad, you don’t even drink.” She whips open the cupboard to display stacks of shot glasses, one from every state, and every sports logo ever.
“They might be worth money someday.” Mr. Bella advances toward the cupboard, but Gia maintains her position, blocking him from getting nearer.
“They’ll be worth money now, because I’m selling them on eBay.” She’s stern in her stance, revealing how feisty she is, and it makes my heart pitter even faster. I don’t think there’s anything about Gia I don’t admire. Even though she can be a little sassy, it’s not in a loose cannon kind of way. She always retains her softness. She just has that ability to make the people around her fold.
He rocks back on his heels, glaring at her. “Now I didn’t say you can do that.”
“Dad,” She says his name so gently, it’s as if she’s talking to a baby bird. “If you let me clean these out, I promise I won’t touch your hat collection.”
He sucks in a hard breath before quickly spitting out, “Deal.”
I try not to show my immediate glee as Gia and I share a victory eye lock. It’s random, but yet so normal, it throws my heart into a whirlwind spin. One side of her lips curls up. If there is ever a smile to set off sparks, it’s hers.
“This needs to be the last box.” Gia covers her yawn with a flattened palm as I skim another giant box off the stack of doom in the back of the garage. We’ve cleaned all day, and now we’re burning the midnight oil under the single 60-watt bulb light fixture. It sounds like drudgery but it’s not. We’ve been laughing like kids, talking about the lost years, and sharing stolen smiles as if we’re teenagers. My heart is fluttering so hard, it feels like it’s in spring training camp. “I can’t believe I kept you this long,”Gia speaks through another yawn, this one making her eyes water.
“I’m not a prisoner. I want to be here.” Each time I smile at her, we hold our gazes a little longer. At first, I thought it may be wishful thinking. She’s being nice to me because I’m helping her with this never-ending junk pile. As the looks got longer, smiles turned flirtier, and I can’t deny the chemistry at this point. “But I’ll agree. Last box, and then we call it a night. We both work in the morning, and you still need to drive home.”
“What do you think it is?” Rubbing her hands together in front of the box, she builds anticipation before digging in. “Another bug collection?”
“Judging from how heavy this one is, I’m going with more tools.” I lean over and flip open the box flaps one by one.
“I hope it’s not another box of clothes. That last one had way too many clothing moths in it for my comfort.”
“Nah, it’s too heavy to be clothes.” I peer inside until I make out stacks of flat, black, and vinyl. “Records!” I gleefully report.
“Another box of records.” She scoots closer, and we both take turns pulling them out to read off the funny names, “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy.”
“That sounds yummy,” I tease.
“I actually remember playing this one when I was a kid.” Her smile is so big, it shows all her perfectly even teeth. “Oh, The Everly Brothers,” she coos and holds up the next one. “They were my mom’s favorite when she was younger.”
“1963.” I read the date of release on the record. “It’s crazy to think that wasn’t that long ago, and look how music has changed. Everything is digital now.”
“Sixty years.” Her eyes widen as they snag on the next record still in the box. “My Girl! I wish we had a record player because I loooove this song.”
“I’m sure if we keep digging, we’ll find one or two.” We both chuckle lightheartedly, but I sneak my phone out of my pocket, tap on the YouTube app, and type. “I might have something better than a record player.”
Her eyes shift to me when I tap on the Temptations video, and the first few chords of the song ring through my phone. I set my phone on the box as her gaze goes to watch the video, but that’s not what I have in mind. Instead, I hold out my hand, gesturing for her to stand. “I think I still owe you a dance.”
“Are you for real?” Her brows raise, but she slips her hand into mine, and suddenly time slows way down.
“I hope I’m not too late.” Of course I’m asking about the dance, but everything in my expression wants to make it about the possibility ofus.My breath is even as soon as I wrap my other hand around her back and lead her into a twostep. Holding her is everything I dreamed it would be, and worth the wait times one thousand. The song is an interesting choice for a first dance as it’s a bit of an up-tempo beat that causes us to sway together more than embrace tightly, and it’s impossible not to sing the lyrics. We both drown out the singer through our off-key belting, but we are giggling nonstop by the time the song ends.
“It’s been too much fun today, North.” When the song is over, she sighs dreamily and slips out of my arms, heading back to the box of records, staring down at them. “Should we keep the records, or sell them?”
