Page 5 of Marcello DeLuca

So, she had noticed me. Interesting.

Feeling a little more at ease, I pointed at the theater arts building and asked, “You like theater?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I have practice at the theater every day, so I would say I like it. What about you? What brings you here?”

“I just like the area,” I said, shrugging. “It’s a nice place to hang out.”

She stared at me pensively, and I felt my heart skip a beat. “Yeah, it is a nice place to hang out if you’re involved in the theater. It’s the best part of this area. Otherwise, hanging out in this neighborhood could be for not so good reasons. So, what brings you out to this block?”

I glance over at my boys who are engrossed in a conversation. “My friends live close by, so I come over to hang out with them, but today, I’m here to see you. “

“Me? Really?” she asked with a curious smile, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of surprise and amusement. Her response suggested she wasn't used to being caught off guard.

I chuckled. “Yeah, why not you?”

“Why not me? Good question. You’ve got me there.” She blushed. “Are you in high school or something? I haven’t seen you at Columbus High.” Her words were playful, but they carried a hint of genuine interest.

“Yes, I’m a senior,” I replied, shifting my weight slightly. “But I don’t go to Columbus High.”

Her eyebrows lifted with interest. “Where do you go?”

“Langley Prep, where I’m preparing to start my own business like my father.”

“Sounds interesting,” she said, leaning in a bit closer, her curiosity clearly piqued. “What kind of business?”

“Mostly car sales,” I said, choosing my words carefully. I didn't want to delve into the complexities of our family operations. “It’s our family business.”

“Family…” she repeated softly, almost to herself. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, as if she was processing the word. There was a subtle shift in her expression, a flicker of something deeper, perhaps a connection or a memory.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her fingers nervously playing with the strap of her gym bag. It was as if the word “family” had opened a door to a room she wasn’t comfortable being in.

Desperate to steer the conversation to something lighter, I forced a smile and said, “Hey, have you tried that new coffee place on the corner? I hear they have the best lattes in town.”

Her eyes met mine again, the tension easing slightly as she caught onto the change in subject. “No, I haven’t,” she replied, her voice softening. “But I’ve been meaning to. I’m a sucker for a good latte.”

“We should check it out together sometime, then,” I suggested, hoping to bring back the lightness of our earlier conversation.

Her smile returned, tentative but genuine. “I’d like that, Marcello.”

As we continued to chat about coffee and other mundane things, I kept an eye on her, making sure the discomfort had fully left her. I wanted to be someone she could relax around, someone she could trust. The fleeting glimpse into her discomfort had only deepened my interest in her. She was a mystery I was determined to unravel, piece by piece, with patience and care.

We talked for a while longer, and I found myself getting lost in her words, her laughter, her scent, her vibes. Her very essence was different from anyone I’d ever met, and I knew I had to see her again.

The loud honking of a horn brought me out of my thoughts.

“That’s my ride,” she said, shrugging. “I guess I have to go.”

The driver inside the beat-up Chevy, a hulking older man with a stern expression, leaned out of the window. He pressed his elbow into the car’s horn, the harsh sound echoing down the street.

“Lanay, come on!” he yelled, his eyes piercing through me with a look that sent a clear message: stay away.

Lanay flinched slightly, her smile faltering as she glanced back at me. “That’s my uncle James,” she said, her voice tinged with unease. “He’s... um, protective.”

I took a step forward, trying to keep my composure under the intense scrutiny of her uncle. “I’ll walk you to the car,” I offered.

She shook her head quickly. “That’s not the best idea, Marcello.”

I reached out to touch her hand. “Then, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

---