Page 19 of The White Picket Fence

Charlotte’s brows rose as they followed the woman to their table. “Who is Polina, and why will she hug you?”

That she sounded a little miffed was good for Tino’s ego. “She’s the owner of the restaurant. My brother Gino’s company built this place and I did some of the artwork. Polina was so happy with the result that she kind of adopted us.”

“Many women seem to have adopted you,” Charlotte said dryly. “Marian Gargano, Angela from this morning, and now this Polina.”

Tino laughed. “I’m not complaining. Most of them feed me.”

He pulled out Charlotte’s chair for her, more out of habit than anything else. She’d insisted on it when they’d been teenagers. She’d said her mother taught her not to date boys who didn’t have manners.

In the many years that had followed, Tino had rarely pulled out a chair for another woman without remembering Charlotte.

“What?” she asked softly when he’d taken his own seat. “Your face just got sad.”

“Memories,” he said, hoping she’d leave it alone.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Having a lot of those today. But artwork.” She looked around. “They’re all portraits. Which ones did you do?”

“All of them,” Tino said. “Polina especially likes the one I did of her and her husband. Her parents and grandparents, too.” He pointed to the far wall where the six portraits hung. “She wanted a wall where she could showcase her family, since the recipes she uses were passed down from her grandparents.”

Charlotte studied the portraits for a long moment before she smiled. “You do faces so well. What other portraits have you painted?”

Tino felt his cheeks heat. “Well, for a while I was doing more...personal portraits. Mostly married women who wanted something sexy to give to their husbands.”

She laughed, the sound husky and inviting. “You did boudoir portraits?”

Her laughter took him back once again. Made him want what he couldn’t have. “Don’t knock the boudoir portraits. They helped me earn my half of the down payment on the house my brother Gino and I own. We bought the house intending to flip it, but we liked it too much to part with it once we were done. So we kept it.”

Her expression sobered. “You always wanted a house of your own. Does it have a white picket fence?”

He had to take a deep breath. He’d grieved the loss of the married life he’d envisioned after she’d left for college. She clearly hadn’t shared his dream, being so very desperate to leave Philly, to leave everything behind and have adventure. That was what she’d called it then. Adventure.

“It does. I finally realized I could have my dream house even if I was alone.”

She winced and he considered retracting the words or at least apologizing, but if they were to move forward, even as friends, he had to be honest.

“I’m glad you have it,” she said stiffly, then sighed. “And I deserved that.”

“You didn’t, but I deserved to be able to say it.”

“That’s fair.” She picked up her menu. “What’s good here?”

“Everything, but my favorite is the spanakopita. Save room for dessert. Polina makes a baklava that’s to—” He cut himself off before he could sayto die for. “It’s like nothing you’ve ever tasted.”

“You can say ‘to die for,’” she said, smirking slightly. “My stalker didn’t actually kill me, after all.”

Tino shuddered. “Thank God for that.”

“I do.” She put her menu aside and folded her hands in front of her as she straightened her spine. “Aunt Dottie said you got enough for a good sketch. Can I see it?”

She’d left the hospital room when he’d resumed his interview with her aunt, needing to take the call from Nick Lawrence. But she hadn’t come back until he was finished and had packed up his sketchbook.

After their conversation that morning, he’d understood. Even if her attacker was in jail and not the man who’d attacked her aunt, hearing Mrs. Johnson talk about a man with big hands had brought back some very bad memories.

“Are you sure you want to?” he asked quietly.

She hesitated before shaking her head. “I don’t want to, but I need to.”

He took out his phone and showed her the photo he’d taken of the image. “I sent it to Lieutenant Lawrence. He’ll upload it to the server and it will become evidence in your aunt’s assault case.”

---