Page 3 of Gin & Trouble

“Eggs, no, but a bloody Mary and some dill shooters work wonders.” I loved that she had the same slightly off sense of humor as me. I loved damned near everything about her, except the part where she’d gone out of her way to avoid meeting me.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“So what do you think? Want to Sci-Fi and chill?” I hated how desperate I sounded, but I was more than ready to meet her. Hell, I hadn’t even seen her pic. I had no clue what she looked like and didn’t care. I just wanted to be with her.

The line went as silent as the freaking grave.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Julia drew a deep breath. “I don’t know…Danny.”

My stomach turned for an entirely different reason than bad turkey or asking her out nerves—I’d lied to her for months.

About my name. And any other tidbit that would have linked me to my family.

New Orleans was a big city, but in a lot of ways it was as small town as Mayberry—only with more booze and beads and boobs. A Sicilian family did not simply waltz in and buy half the French Quarter without creating a few million rumors.

In the south, rich plus Italian equaled the mafia. In our case, the stories were true, or they had been until about a year ago.

“I can’t.” Julia lowered her voice. “My sister’s here. I’m not sure she’s up for company, and I hate to leave her alone on a holiday.”

“That’s cool. I get it.” I spent a fair amount of time bellyaching about my big fat Italian family, but in reality, I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

I don’t know what she heard in my voice, but she sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you…”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’d feel the same way if it were just me and my brother.” Memories of Joe threatened to pull me under again.

“It has to be hard without your older brother there.” Julia had spoken so softly I wasn’t sure if the words had come from her or my imagination.

“I’m okay.” I hadn’t completely lied. That she knew exactly what was wrong without my having to explain meant the world to me. Besides, the last thing I wanted to do was to drown her in my grief. Again.

It won’t help. The only thing that can is Sophia Abruzzo paying for his murder.

When she spoke again, the humor had returned to her voice. “This is weird, but I was watching a movie earlier. Before they ate their turkey, the characters took turns saying what they were most thankful for. It was cute, but totally unrealistic.”

“Sweet but cheesy.” I had no idea where she was going with this, but she had my attention.

“Exactly. So I thought with us, beingus, we should change it up a bit.” A rustling sound came over the line as if she’d changed positions. “Let’s share two things we’re thankful for and one thing we’d be thankful to get rid of.”

Ideas rose to the surface of my brain like bubbles in champagne. “You first.”

“This year, I’m thankful for my job and you.”

And just like that, my black grief cloud lifted. “I feel the same way about you….and my job, but mostly you. I’d like to banish beige, dry turkey from all future holiday meals.”

She snorted, choked, and alternated between coughing and laughing.

My smile widened. “Soda shot out your nose didn’t it?”

“No comment.” Julia pulled herself together enough to ask, “Was the turkey really beige?”

“More likegreigewith undertones of green.” I deadpanned. “What about you? What’s the one thing you’d like to leave behind?”

“I was thinking…” Her coy tone made my pulse race.

“Yeah?”

“I’d like to get rid of the mystery in our relationship.”

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